On my thirtieth birthday, I believed my husband Jerome was finally putting me first. He had promised a perfect day—breakfast, downtown plans, and dinner at my favorite restaurant. I woke up excited, decorated the house, and prepared a special morning for us.
Then his phone rang. It was Natalie—his ex-wife. She claimed her father had a heart attack, and Jerome rushed out to “help,” promising to return in an hour. That hour turned into the entire day. Text after text pushed our plans aside while he stayed with her.
I spent my milestone birthday alone.
At midnight he came home—with flowers for Natalie.
The next morning I learned the truth: her father never went to the hospital. He’d only had heartburn. This wasn’t a one-time mistake—it was part of a pattern. For years Jerome had dropped everything for Natalie while his mother openly preferred her over me.
That birthday was my breaking point.
Weeks later I reconnected with an old boyfriend, Nathan, who made me feel valued. I brought him as support to Jerome’s mother’s funeral—partly out of hurt, partly out of revenge. It forced Jerome to finally see what he’d been doing.
Afterward I left him.
Jerome began therapy, cut off Natalie, and admitted his failures. Slowly, with counseling and honest effort, he started proving he could change. I ended things with Nathan and gave my marriage one last chance.
Months later, Jerome and I renewed our vows privately. We promised honesty, boundaries, and to finally choose each other first.
For the first time, I truly believed him.