I never thought my marriage to Paul would fall apart. We got married when we were still in college, truly in love with each other. I was certain he was the one I’d spend my life with. We did everything together—worked, went on vacations, raised our kids. I always tried to create a warm, welcoming home for him.

Our house was always spotless, and I baked pies or cookies almost every day. Sometimes, I’d treat Paul to something special. My friends were always amazed:

«Your home is like a restaurant! Paul’s so lucky! No one would ever leave a wife like that!»

I really didn’t expect that our marriage could ever crumble. But as the years went by, and the kids moved out, I started noticing Paul becoming distant. He’d go fishing more often or take long walks, saying he just needed some fresh air. Then one day, he came home and said:

“I need to tell you something. I’ve been seeing someone else for the past two years. I’m leaving to be with her.”

“Who is she?”

“Lisa from work. Do you remember her?”

“But she’s married!”

“She told her husband everything, and they’re getting divorced.”

Honestly, I couldn’t believe it. How could my Paul do something like this? It felt like he wasn’t the same person. We had such a good life. I was in shock, while he calmly packed his things. I remember I had just baked his favorite meat pies that day.

Without even thinking, I packed them in a container and handed it to him.

“Here, take them. I’m not going to eat them anyway.”

And he took them, without a shred of shame. He probably shared them with his new love.

For months, I couldn’t get over it. I was in constant pain. Thankfully, the kids stood by me. My daughter practically dragged me to the gym and the salon. I changed my lifestyle, and slowly, I started to feel alive again.

One day, while I was walking home, a man approached me.

“Can I invite you for coffee?”

“What makes you think I’m single?”

“I live nearby and often see you—sometimes alone, sometimes with your daughter. Sorry if I’m wrong!”

“No, I’d love to get coffee.”

His name was Sam, and he was four years younger than me. At that point, I had already turned 48. He was tall, fit, and a very pleasant man. On top of that, he was an interesting conversationalist. He worked as an attorney and had his own practice. We dated for several months, and then he suggested we go on vacation to the Rockies together. We came back as a couple and moved into my apartment, since his place was a small studio he was renting out.

I don’t know how my ex-husband found out about all this, but a month later, he showed up at my door with his suitcases.

“Amy, you’re really not going to let me in? We spent 25 happy years together! I made one mistake, and I deeply regret it!”

“Listen, I don’t regret anything. I’m happy now and didn’t waste any time—I’m with someone new.”

“But we have kids!”

“Our kids are grown, and they fully understand my decision.”

“How could you bring your lover into our apartment? I never agreed to that, I’m against it!”

“Then we’ll move out. We can sell the apartment and split the money. Either way, I’m not going back to you.”

He stood there, shocked, unable to believe what he was hearing. But he left. The next day, my daughter called.

“Mom, Dad was crying so much. He came over in tears. He says he can’t live without you, that he only now realizes how badly he messed up. He’s genuinely sorry!”

“Would he have felt that way if he didn’t find out I was with someone else? Sweetheart, I’m not changing my mind.”

“Mom, think about it. He’s so miserable. He’s even lost weight.”

The kids keep trying to convince me to take him back. Meanwhile, Sam and I are preparing to move into his one-bedroom apartment. What do you think? Should I forgive Paul?