She was a marketing executive—the most put-together woman I’d ever seen. Even after marriage, her hair never faltered, her clothes never wrinkled. She looked flawless, even during childbirth. That’s what I loved about her. But I never expected her to leave during the hardest time.

The first year after she left was pure hell. Crushing loneliness, endless worry about money, and the exhaustion of working nights as a rideshare driver and days delivering groceries—all while caring for Max and Lily alone. My parents helped with childcare but couldn’t support us financially. The kids asked about their mother constantly, and I tried to explain as best I could.

In year two, things improved. I landed a freelance coding job that turned into a full-time remote role. We moved to a cozier place, I found a routine, and we began to thrive.

Then, exactly two years after she left, I saw her—alone in a café, tears streaming down her face. The polished woman I knew was gone. She confessed she’d made a mistake, lost her job, and wanted to come back.

I told her no. I had built a life without her, and my kids deserved someone who puts them first.