While I was burying our one-year-old daughter, my husband was enjoying a vacation with his mistress. He was sure I would forgive him and eventually forget everything, but he had no idea what kind of revenge was waiting for him when he returned home 😰
That night, our daughter woke up at around two in the morning.
At first, I thought she was teething. She was crying, burning hot, refusing to drink water, and constantly reaching out for me. I took her temperature and saw that it was almost forty degrees.
I immediately called an ambulance.
While the doctors were on their way, my little girl’s condition began changing literally before my eyes. She became extremely weak, almost stopped responding to my voice, and strange dark spots appeared on her skin.
Later, the doctors said it was a rapidly progressing bacterial infection that had caused severe sepsis. Sometimes a condition like this develops so quickly that it is not a matter of days, or even hours.
I did not know that then. I was simply sitting on the floor beside her crib, holding my daughter in my arms and calling my husband over and over again.
He had supposedly left for work three days earlier.
I called him ten times, then twenty. I sent voice messages and wrote that our child was very sick, that the ambulance had arrived, and that we were being rushed to the hospital.
He did not answer. When the doctors took our daughter to intensive care, I sent him another message:
“Please call me. The doctors say it is very serious.”
A few minutes later, the screen finally lit up.
I opened the message, certain that he was about to ask what had happened and where he needed to go.
But there were only a few words:
— I’m busy. Deal with the problem yourself.
I read that sentence several times.
The problem.
He had called his own daughter’s condition a problem.
A few hours later, the doctor came out into the hallway, and the moment I saw his face, I understood everything.
They had not been able to save our little girl.
After that, I barely remember anything. Someone called our relatives, someone handled the paperwork, someone asked me questions that I answered automatically.
It felt as though all of it was happening to someone else.
Two days later, I returned home holding a small urn in my hands.
Inside were the ashes of my daughter, who only a few days earlier had been crawling around that house and laughing.
I placed the urn beside her crib and sat on the floor for hours.
I held her tiny pajamas in my hands and cried so hard that afterward I could barely speak.
And all that time, my husband did not even come home.
Later, I found out why.
An acquaintance accidentally came across photos posted by his mistress.
The sea, an expensive hotel, a restaurant, champagne, a swimming pool.
And beside her was my husband.
One of the photos had even been taken on the morning after our daughter’s death.
He was smiling.
At that moment, it felt as though something inside me switched off for good.
I no longer wanted to scream at him, demand explanations, or ask how he could have done something like that.
I decided he would understand everything himself when he came back.
And when he returned home, a terrible revenge was waiting for him. 😢😔 The continuation of the story can be found in the first comment 👇👇
Three days after our daughter’s death, my husband finally returned home.
He was probably convinced that he would come back, hug me, say a few comforting words, cry beside the urn, and that eventually I would forgive him.
But when he opened the apartment door, I was not there.
Three strong men were waiting for him in the living room.
One was sitting on the sofa, the second was standing by the window, and the third silently closed the door behind him.
My husband froze.
— Who are you?
No one answered right away.
There was a folder on the table, and beside it lay a printed message.
His own message.
“I’m busy. Deal with the problem yourself.”
One of the men slowly stood up.
— Your wife asked us to tell you that she has dealt with the problem.
My husband immediately began backing toward the door, but they stopped him.
I had deliberately chosen not to be there.
I had cried too much over the past few days, and I had no intention of looking at his face anymore.
The man pointed to a chair.
— Sit down.
This time, my husband obeyed.
He immediately understood that making excuses was useless.
— I can explain everything.
— You don’t need to explain anything to us.
The next few minutes became the most unpleasant of his life.
The three men quickly made it clear to him that after leaving his wife alone at the moment their own child died, he would not simply be able to return home calmly and continue his old life.
When it was over, my husband was no longer speaking arrogantly or demanding explanations.
They placed another document in front of him.
Divorce papers.
Beside them was a list of his belongings, which I had already packed and sent to a storage facility.
— No one is forcing you to sign anything, — one of the men said. — This is only a copy. The originals are already with the lawyer.
My husband raised his head.
— Where is my wife?
— As far as you’re concerned, she is no longer here.
The next day, he received the divorce documents.
A few days later, his mistress found out why he had suddenly returned home, and she disappeared from his life too.
For several months, he tried to contact me from unfamiliar numbers.
I never answered him once.
