‘You’re Just a Babysitter, Not a Real Man,’ My Wife Said Before Leaving Me with Three Kids

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I thought I had it all—a loving wife, three amazing kids, and a life we built together.

But the night I followed her to that party, everything I believed in came crashing down.

My day always started with the familiar symphony of chaos.

Timmy’s sharp cries came from his crib. Kevin crashed his toy cars together on the carpet, making explosion sounds.

Meanwhile, Emma stood in front of me.

“Daddy, I have to wear my pink dress today. Everyone will love it. It’s the most amazing dress ever!”

I nodded as I tied her hair into a neat bow.

“Of course, sweetheart.

Everyone will be impressed.”

The warm, sweet aroma of chocolate cookies wafted from the kitchen. My cookies were my signature, baked and ready for the kids’ lunch snack. While the oven did its job, I focused on stitching the last piece of Kevin’s dinosaur costume.

“This has to be the coolest dino ever, Dad!” Kevin said, leaning over the table to inspect my work.

“It will be, buddy,” I reassured him.

“Just you wait.”

In the background, a soft audiobook played. It wasn’t much, just something to keep the kids entertained. Those moments brought me peace.

They reminded me that no matter how much life had changed, I still had something to hold on to.

But it hadn’t always been that way.

I used to run a successful business. Long days and nights of hard work allowed Angela and me to buy this house and pay for her law school. She had dreams, big ones, and I wanted to make them come true.

When Emma was born, she asked me to stay home temporarily so she could finish her internship.

I agreed, thinking it was just for a little while. Then Kevin came along, and Angela’s career took off.

“I’ll handle the house and kids,” I told her. “You focus on work.”

Angela didn’t even take maternity leave with Kevin, rushing back to work just two months after giving birth.

Promotion after promotion followed, and her time at home dwindled to nothing.

I became the one who fed the kids, read parenting books, and even baked birthday cakes. I didn’t mind. I was proud of how capable I’d become.

That afternoon, as I stitched the last seam of Kevin’s costume, Angela came home earlier than usual.

She didn’t greet me or the kids. Instead, she rushed to the bedroom.

A few minutes later, she appeared in the hallway, transformed. Her black dress hugged her figure perfectly, and her red lipstick glistened under the light.

She looked stunning.

“There’s a work party tonight. I need to be there,” she said, adjusting her earrings.

“A work party?” I asked. “You didn’t mention anything.

I could’ve gone with you.”

“It’s late. It’s for work. You wouldn’t enjoy it.”

I stood there, watching her leave without a backward glance.

For a moment, an idea sparked.

I grabbed the phone and dialed our neighbor, Mrs. Graham.

“Hi, could you watch the kids for a couple of hours tonight?”

With her agreement, I turned off the oven, slipped into my best shirt, and grabbed a bouquet of Angela’s favorite lilies.

“Tonight,” I murmured, “I’ll remind her of what we used to have.”

***

The party was alive with energy when I stepped into the venue. The music pulsed through the air, and the room shimmered with expensive fabrics and sparkling jewelry.

I felt a little out of place in my simple shirt and slacks, clutching a bouquet of lilies like a lovesick teenager.

As my eyes scanned the crowd, they landed on Angela. She was on stage, the center of attention. She looked breathtaking like someone who had just walked off the cover of a glossy magazine.

I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as I listened to her speech.

Her words flowed effortlessly, and the audience hung onto every sentence.

My wife is brilliant. My Angela. How did I get so lucky?

I adjusted my grip on the lilies, imagining her smile after getting them.

Her speech ended with thunderous applause.

But before I could step forward, another man appeared beside her. He handed her a massive bouquet of orchids, the kind I could never afford.

Then, he hugged her. The lilies nearly slipped from my hands.

Angela’s face lit up, but not with the smile she gave me.

This was warm and intimate.

The room blurred around me as I followed them through the crowd, staying just far enough behind to avoid being noticed. They stopped near the exit. I heard her voice, clear and sharp:

“Just a little longer, and we won’t have to hide.

I’m filing for divorce soon.”

My legs trembled, but I forced myself to step forward. I held out the flowers silently. Angela’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say a word.

Without looking back, I turned and walked away.

***

Angela had become someone I barely recognized. The kind, ambitious woman I once adored had transformed into someone cold and cynical. Her sharp words still echoed in my mind.

“I don’t love you anymore,” she said after that evening.

“You’re nothing more than a babysitter, not a real man.”

The disdain in her eyes cut deeper than I cared to admit.

She stood in the middle of the living room, listing her demands as though reading off a shopping list.

“I’ll take the house, the car, and all the savings. I’ll leave you with the most precious thing. The kids.”

It wasn’t an act of love.

Angela didn’t want them.

The divorce dragged on, a cold and transactional process. There were no heartfelt talks, no apologies. I braced myself for the worst, but in the end, the court sided with me.

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