The Cheating Ex Lost Everything I Gained

Young love and devotion fell to his marital greed. In reckless indulgence, Nate ruined his lifelong lover and family. He sided with his mistress, ignored my agony and child loss, and pushed me into despair. Seven years later, the once-glorious Wall Street elite fell utterly abandoned and destitute. Repentant and desperate, he begged for redemption. But his belated love now only meets my cold, unwavering indifference.

Outside the gates of an exclusive private school, I ran into my ex-husband, whom I had divorced years ago. We held our respective children by the hand, brushing past each other like strangers. But as I turned away, he suddenly grabbed my arm.

"That girl... those gray-green eyes, they're exactly like yours when you were little."

I froze slightly. So he still remembered.

Childhood sweethearts, young spouses. We had seen every version of each other, pouring all our passion into the most beautiful years of our youth. I had loved him more than anything, even fantasizing about walking with him to the very end of our story.

But right then, I merely slipped my hand, clad in a Van Cleef & Arpels glove, out of his grasp.

"Sir, you have the wrong person."

I had no desire to bring up the past. I refused to taste that bitter medicine ever again.

...

"I know you don't want to acknowledge me."

We hadn't seen each other in seven years. The once high-spirited Nate had lost his straight-backed posture; his overcoat was pilling, exuding a quiet sense of destitution. But at that moment, tears welled up in the tall man's eyes, his voice choking with emotion.

"But Elle, I really, really miss you. Have you thought about me at all these past years?"

Elle. That exclusive nickname had been a ghost to my ears for a very long time. Only my late parents and he used to call me that. I finally deigned to look Nate straight in the eye and offered a faint smile.

"I did."

The man's eyes instantly lit up. But in the very next second, I extinguished that light completely.

"Every time I think about how I actually shared a man with a forty-five-year-old Eastern European physical therapist with calloused hands, I get so disgusted that I need to book a full session of psychological therapy."

I stared him down.

"I wonder if your married life is still as fiercely passionate as when you were sneaking around behind my back?"

Nate froze in place, his face turning deathly pale. I stepped around him, leaving him with a slightly mocking, "Excuse me."

Some things had long since turned the page. But some memories had become scars, carved deep into the heart. Merely mentioning them brought a bone-deep, agonizing pain.

Like fifteen years ago. During our high school ski trip, Nate had thrown himself in front of an out-of-control snowmobile to save me. He shattered both his legs and, as a result, missed his athletic scholarship trials for the Ivy League. Lying on the stretcher, he flashed a pale, reassuring smile at me.

"It's fine, this is better anyway. From now on, wherever you go, I'll follow you in a wheelchair to protect you."

Or like seven years ago. Standing next to the paper shredder in the study, I pieced together an ultrasound report from a top-tier private hospital. There were only two women living in that estate at the time. Myself, five months pregnant. And Oksana, the forty-five-year-old Eastern European physical therapist.

So, when I teased Oksana about finding love late in life, I never could have imagined the truth. The baby growing inside the belly of this bloated, honest-looking woman with her thick, grating Eastern European accent was also the child of my deeply beloved husband.

Back then, I genuinely treated Oksana as a good friend. I often sat at the kitchen island, asking her with deep concern:

"Do you think Nate will give in to loneliness and cheat on me? He's a junior partner on Wall Street now. There are dozens of young, beautiful, Ivy-League girls at his firm. Will they hit on him?"

The woman always answered me with a submissive, downward gaze:

"How could he? Who could possibly be more beautiful than you, ma'am? Besides, the bond you and your husband share since high school is something no one could ever compare to."

Relieved, I affectionately patted Oksana's thick, heavyset hand.

"Thank God I kept you when that high-end domestic agency turned you away. You really are my anchor!"

Initially, Oksana had faced nothing but scorn in the domestic helper market. She was a newly arrived immigrant with broken English. Recently divorced and dragging along a good-for-nothing younger sister dressed like a juvenile delinquent, she couldn't find a single employer willing to hire her. It was me who took pity on her difficult struggle to make a living. I not only paid her a highly generous salary but also let her move straight into the guest quarters of the estate.

"By the way, when did you get a boyfriend? Why didn't you tell me?"

Oksana stared at me stiffly, while the smile on my face grew even deeper.

"I saw the ultrasound! Oksana, that's not very fair of you to keep secrets!"

Suddenly, a massive crash echoed from behind me.

I turned around to see that Nate had returned home at some point. The limited-edition bottle of red wine he held, meant to celebrate his arrival, had dropped onto the marble floor, shattering into pieces. I greeted him joyfully, completely ignoring the identical expressions of sheer panic flashing across both their faces.

At the dinner table that evening, I casually sliced my steak and suggested that Oksana bring the man over so we could meet him.

"It's so irresponsible of him not to marry you when you're already pregnant!"

Nate's hand jerked violently as he poured my water. Oksana's smile remained unchanged, perfectly maintaining that submissive, honest facade.

"Ma'am, everyone has different ideas."

"Not everyone is as lucky as you, to have such a good family background and a husband who loves you so much, to be able to make your own choices."

"It doesn't matter if he won't marry me. As long as he has me in his heart, that's enough."

Before I even had the chance to respond, Nate abruptly stood up without a single word. His face looked dreadful as he strode quickly toward the front door.

"There's a transoceanic video conference on Wall Street. It's urgent."

He left in such a rush that he practically abandoned his briefcase on the sofa.

I ran over and grabbed his bag to hand it to him, only to fish out a massive, insanely tacky ruby brooch from inside. It was very strange. Ruby red was the color I detested the most, and its size and ostentatious design screamed Eastern European nouveau riche aesthetics, perfectly matching Oksana's vibe. An absolutely absurd thought exploded in my mind, flashing violently like lightning.

Yet, I refused to believe it, even to my dying breath.