Three years after my husband Stan left us for his glamorous mistress, I never expected to run into them—let alone feel victorious. But it wasn’t their downfall that struck me most. It was how far I’d come without them.

For fourteen years, I thought our marriage was solid. We had two beautiful kids, Lily and Max, and a life I treasured. But one evening, Stan came home… with her. Miranda. She insulted me to my face, and Stan just stood there. Then came the blow: “I want a divorce.”

He left us with barely anything. I moved in with my mom and started over. It was brutal—financially and emotionally—but I worked, held my kids close, and slowly rebuilt. Stan disappeared. The kids stopped asking for him. And I stopped waiting.

Then, by chance, I saw them—Stan and Miranda, at a café. He looked worn down; she looked tense. He called after me. “I messed up. I miss the kids.”

I looked him in the eye and said, “They’re doing just fine without you.”

As I walked away, I felt peace. Not because he lost, but because we won—my kids and I. We didn’t just survive. We thrived.