Shithead and Sarah have been like famiIy to my wife and I for several years, practically ever since we moved in across the street from them. The four of us were extremely tight. Our kids are the same age as theirs and are all good friends. We were one big family unit. We did dinner together a few times a week. We went on vacations together.
I truly saw Shithead as a brother, and my wife and Sarah were very close too.
Five months ago, I was completely blindsided by the discovery of an affair between my wife and Shithead. My wife had left her emaiI open on our computer, and I saw an email from her to her longtime therapist saying that Shithead would be joining her at an upcoming session “again.”
Uh, WTF? My mind started racing – why in the world would Shithead be going to her therapy sessions without my knowledge? I did a search and found some other emails to and from the therapist proving that Shithead had been going to sessions together with her for about six weeks.
I checked our mobile phone account and discovered that, since late summer, they had been exchanging hundreds of texts every day, peaking at nearIy 500/day by the holidays. Speaking of the holidays, my wife and I hosted both of our families (parents, siblings, etc) for both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner, and Shithead and Sarah joined us either for dinner or after dinner on both holidays.
Text records showed that the entire time that they were at our house celebrating with our families, my wife and Shithead were texting each other across the room. They were doing that pretty much every time the four of us hung out, for months. And, you know, all day every day just in generaI. But what bothers me the most is that they were doing it with Sarah and I right there.
I confronted my wife with the evidence and she admitted that yes, she and Shithead had fallen in love. “It just happened! I don’t know how! But I love him and I just don’t feeI anything for you anymore, I’m sorry!” They had gone on a school district trip together, something had happened in her hotel room, and things had moved quickly from there. She explained, as I lay face-down on the couch, unable to look at her, that they had already made plans to move out and divorce me and Sarah, and while they didn’t plan to move in together immediately because of the kids, they’d probably do so eventually.
The meetings with the therapist were supposedly mostly for the purpose of finding a way to break this to me and Sarah as gently as possible, because they were so very concerned for our well-being. (Sarah and I are fairly certain that they weren’t pIanning on telling us about the affair at all, and were simply going to “discover” their feelings for one another several months down the line, after they’d come up with some other reason to divorce the two of us.)
My wife moved out two months ago. I was, and still am, utterly destroyed. I cry every day. I cried writing the first few paragraphs of this story just now. I worry non-stop about the impact on our kids. But I am also not exactly a shrinking vioIet when I feel that I’ve been wronged. And in this case I was, objectively, very very wronged.
So, a couple of years ago, Shithead ran for a Board of Education seat as a pretty extreme underdog. I helped him with his campaign materials and debate prep, and my wife, a well-known school district employee (this becomes important later), got the word out as best she couId. Much to our surprise, he actually won in a squeaker, by just a few dozen votes.
Being on the Board became the center of Shithead’s world. He joined every committee that he could. This turned into the foundation of his affair with my wife, as they were constantly going to school events and meetings together on evenings and weekends.
Once I discovered the affair, my thoughts turned pretty quickly to revenge, and it occurred to me that an extramarital affair between a member of the Board of Education and an employee of the school district was at least bad poIitics and possibly vioIated district policy. Making things far worse for them was that my wife was in the running for an open administrative position, and everyone knew that she was more or less guaranteed the job and the major pay raise that came with it. She had just finished her master’s degree in school administration, at the urging of her principal and the superintendent, so that she could be promoted to this specific position.
I had plenty of evidence of the affair – texts from both of them admitting to it, text records showing that they were texting hundreds of times a day, emails to and from the therapist, etc. I considered simply emailing all of the evidence to the Board and the superintendent, but felt like I, as the grieving, betrayed spouse, might not be seen as a credible source.
So instead, I invented a fictitious “furious friend” who was planning on showing up to the next Board meeting and publicly shaming the two of them for their affair. I told my wife that I’d tried to taIk this person down but couldn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t show up and humiliate them publicly. As I expected, this led Shithead to conclude that the only option was for him to preemptively admit the affair to the Board. The superintendent subsequently recommended that Shithead resign, which he did. Sarah said that he was utterly humiliated and crushed, and barely got out of bed for a few days afterward.
Once word of the affair and Shithead’s resignation started getting around, the superintendent (a longtime friend of both my wife and Shithead) contacted my wife and tearfully informed her that it was no Ionger politically appropriate for her to be promoted to an administrative position within the district.
The position that had been lined up for her was later filled by an outside candidate. This sent waves of confusion and rumor throughout the district, as it was pretty well-known that my wife was getting the job. The day after she was informed that she wasn’t getting the promotion, my wife and I, despite our crumbling marriage, took our son out to breakfast together on his birthday, and a parent stopped by our table to congratulate her on her new roIe. She said thanks, then excused herself to go cry in the bathroom for a while.
I let the dust settle for a couple of weeks, and then, right before my wife moved out, let them in on my little secret – there was never a “furious friend” threatening to expose them in the first place. Just me.
Word of all of this has gotten around our fairly small town, which Shithead grew up in and my wife has worked in for nearly 20 years. My wife refuses to taIk to me about how things are at work now, but I’ve heard from some people I know in the district that her formerly spotless reputation has taken a major hit.
Shithead, formerly a gregarious social presence in our neighborhood and at events and pubs in town, has completely gone underground and barely emerges to mow his lawn. He’s moving out soon, to a shitty little townhouse which is all he can afford due to all the child support he’s going to have to pay his wife.
My wife and Shithead claim that they plan on trying to make things work together, despite all the public humiliation. I wish them lots of Iuck with that. I’m sure it will be a lot of fun to show their faces together in town.
Husband Walks Into Hospital and Immediately Dumps Wife After Seeing Their Newborn Twins!
Here’s the article rewritten in simple language while keeping the same word count and paragraphs:
“You lied to me!” Instead of being happy about our newborn twin daughters, my husband got angry and accused me of being unfaithful. With hurtful words and a cold exit, Mark broke our family apart. Now, I’m determined to make him pay for leaving us.
I lay in the white hospital bed, feeling tired but happy. Even though my body was sore, it all felt worth it as I looked at the two beautiful baby girls resting beside me.
Midjourney
Here’s the article rewritten in simple language, maintaining the same word count, paragraph length, and removing the image sources:
The babies cooed softly, and tears of joy ran down my face. After years of trying to have children and a long, difficult pregnancy, I was finally a mom. It was the best feeling in the world!
I reached for my phone and typed a message to Mark, my husband: “They’re here. Two beautiful girls. Can’t wait for you to meet them.”
I hit send, a content smile forming on my face as I imagined his excitement.
This was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of our lives, and I never could have guessed how quickly it would turn into the worst.
A little while later, the door opened, and there he was. But instead of joy, Mark’s expression was cold — like a man walking into a meeting he didn’t want to attend.
“Hey,” I said softly, forcing a smile. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
Mark finally looked at the twins, and I saw his jaw tighten. His face showed disappointment before his lips curled in disgust.
“What is this?” he muttered, more to himself than to me.
Confusion filled me, pressing heavily against my chest. “What do you mean? They’re our daughters! What’s wrong with you, Mark?”
His gaze sharpened.
I could see the anger building up, ready to explode. And when it did, it hit like a storm.
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong: you tricked me!” he shouted. “You never told me we were having girls!”
I blinked, stunned. “Why does it matter? They’re healthy. They’re perfect!”
I reached for his hand, trying to calm him, but he yanked it away, disgust clear on his face.
“It matters a lot! This isn’t what I wanted, Lindsey! I thought we were having boys!” His voice grew louder, bouncing off the hospital walls, and I felt every word cut into me. “This family was supposed to carry on my name!”
My heart sank. “You’re serious? You’re mad because… they’re girls?”
“You’re darn right!” He stepped back like the sight of the babies made him sick. “Everyone knows only boys can carry on a legacy! You… you cheated on me, didn’t you? These can’t be mine.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. It felt like he knocked the air out of my lungs.
“How can you even say that?” I whispered, tears filling my eyes. “You’re really accusing me of cheating because I had daughters?”
But he was already walking toward the door, his hands clenching in anger.
“I’m not raising someone else’s kids,” he spat, his voice harsh and final. “I’m out.”
Before I could respond — before I could beg or scream or cry — he was gone. The door slammed shut behind him with a loud thud. And just like that, everything I thought I knew fell apart.
I looked down at my daughters, still in my arms, their tiny faces peaceful.
“It’s okay, sweethearts,” I whispered, though my heart felt anything but okay.
And for the first time since they were born, I started to cry.
Mark disappeared. No calls. No messages. The only news I got about him was from friends, who said he was on vacation somewhere sunny, drinking cocktails with the same guys who cheered us on at our wedding.
That’s right; he left me and went on vacation. It wasn’t just the betrayal. It was how easily he walked away, as if our life together meant nothing.
But the worst was yet to come.
I was back home, settling into a routine with the girls, when I got the first message from Mark’s mother, Sharon.
I was so relieved! Sharon was a tough woman, and I believed Mark would change his mind if his mother supported me.
My hands shook as I played Sharon’s voicemail. Her words were harsh and cruel.
“You ruined everything,” Sharon said angrily. “Mark deserved sons. How could you do this to him? To our family? How could you betray my son like this?”
I was so shocked, I dropped my phone. Her words cut deeper than anything Mark had said. To them, I hadn’t just given birth to daughters — I had failed. And they wanted me to pay for it.
I stared at my phone, trying to process this new attack.
Then my phone started ringing again. It was Sharon. I let it ring and watched as another voicemail notification popped up.
Then the texts started. Each message was more hurtful than the last. Sharon called me every name you can think of, blaming me for cheating on Mark, for having daughters, for not being a good wife… it just went on and on.
Mark’s entire family had turned against me. I was completely alone.
I tried to stay strong, but at night, the nursery became both my safe place and my prison. I’d sit in the rocking chair, holding my daughters close, whispering promises I wasn’t sure I could keep.
“I’ll protect you,” I said softly, the words as much for me as for them. “We’ll be okay. Everything will turn out just fine, you’ll see.”
But some nights, I wasn’t so sure. Sometimes, the loneliness and fear were so heavy that I thought I might break.
One night, I found myself crying as I fed the girls. It all felt like too much.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I sobbed. “It’s too hard. I can’t keep waiting…”
And then it hit me. I’d been waiting for Mark to come back and realize his mistake, but he hadn’t done anything to make me believe that would ever happen. He hadn’t even called.
I looked down at my girls and knew it was time to stand up for them and for myself.
A lawyer gave me my first bit of hope.
“With Mark’s abandonment,” she said thoughtfully, “you have a strong case. Full custody. Child support. We’ll handle visitation on your terms.”
Her words were like a lifeline. Finally, I had some control and something to fight for. And I wasn’t stopping there.
Mark wanted out? Fine. I was more than happy to divorce him, but he wouldn’t get away so easily.
I created a new social media profile, carefully sharing the story I wanted people to see.
Post after post showed my daughters’ milestones: tiny hands grabbing toys, their first smiles, and giggles. Each photo showed a piece of our happy life, and every caption carried a clear message: Mark wasn’t part of it.
Friends shared my posts, family left comments, and soon, everyone knew. Mark might have left, but I was building something beautiful without him.
The open house was my final stand. I invited everyone. The only person not welcome was Mark. I even made sure the invitation said so.
On the big day, the house was full of warmth and laughter. The twins wore matching outfits with tiny bows in their hair. Guests couldn’t stop admiring how adorable they were.
Then the door burst open, and there was Mark, angry and wild-eyed. The room fell silent.
“What is this?” he shouted. “You’ve turned everyone against me!”
I stood, my heart racing but steady. “You left us, Mark, because you didn’t want daughters. That was your choice.”
“You robbed me of my chance to pass down my legacy!” he shot back, his eyes filled with rage.
“You’re not welcome here,” I said, my voice calm. “We don’t need a man like you in our family. This is our life now.”
My friends stood beside me, their presence silent but strong. Defeated, Mark turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Weeks later, Mark received the court papers detailing the child support, custody, and visitation arrangements. He couldn’t escape. He’d still have to face the responsibility of being a father, even if he wasn’t going to be a dad.
Sharon’s final message came later — maybe an apology, maybe more anger. It didn’t matter. I deleted it without listening.
I was done with their family and done with the past.
That night, as I rocked my daughters, the future stretched out before us — bright, open, and ours alone.
Leave a Reply