A year and a half ago, my world fell apart. My family broke, and I was left trying to move on. When I learned about my ex’s new relationship, I made a choice I regretted, forcing me to face what truly mattered.
One evening, I came home to find Emma crying at the kitchen table. She told me she couldn’t continue our marriage, feeling distant for months. Despite trying therapy and yoga, nothing changed. Six months later, she said she didn’t have romantic feelings for me, and we divorced. I moved away for a fresh start, but it cost me time with Oliver, our son. We only talked on video calls, and he visited me once.
When Emma and Oliver came to stay for two weeks, I hoped to reconnect, but I learned she was dating David, our former yoga instructor, which felt like a betrayal. The next day, when Oliver ran into my arms, I was happy, but Emma dropped a bombshell—she and David were going away for the weekend. Overcome with anger, I reached out to a friend for a private investigator.
As I made the call, Oliver asked me to play soccer, but I promised to join him later. Guilt hit me as I left him with Mrs. Jones. When I returned, he had locked himself in a room, and I realized he was gone. I searched the town until I found him sitting alone at a soccer field. He’d run away, thinking I didn’t care about him.
We talked, and Oliver admitted he missed me. I promised him I wouldn’t leave again. We played soccer until sunset, and when I returned home, I canceled the investigation. I realized my ex’s life didn’t matter to me anymore—Oliver did. I spent the evening with him, and that’s all that mattered.
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