After years of struggling to hold my marriage together, I never imagined my husband, Logan, would humiliate me like this. We had been married for five years, and the tension from trying to conceive had taken its toll. Logan drifted away, indulging in his midlife crisis while I spiraled into despair.
One night, my best friend Lola convinced me to go out. We ended up at a cozy jazz club, where Lola pointed out Logan, sitting with a young woman. My heart sank. I marched over to their table, confronting him. Logan smirked and bluntly told me, “We’re done. I’m in love with someone else.”
The next morning, I returned to find my belongings tossed onto the front lawn. Logan stood on the porch, grinning with his new girlfriend, Brenda. As if that wasn’t enough, Mr. Duncan, Logan’s grandfather, arrived. He took one look at the scene and demanded to know what was happening. When Logan tried to explain, Mr. Duncan turned on him. “You’re out,” he declared. “Natasha stays.”
Mr. Duncan had always treated me kindly, and now, he made sure I was protected. He offered to pay for IVF and reassured me that the house was mine. Logan was cut off from the family, and Brenda quickly vanished when the money dried up.
A week later, Logan showed up, begging for help. But this time, I had no sympathy. “You made your bed, lie in it,” I said, slamming the door.
