I married Will after a short courtship, believing we’d be happy. His insistence on introducing me to his kids, Tamara and Nick, within days of dating seemed odd, but I didn’t see it as a red flag.

At 22, I was swept off my feet by Will, 29, a widower. We married a year later, with me making special vows to his children. However, the fairy tale quickly faded. Will dumped all household responsibilities on me despite my full-time job, justifying his disengagement by claiming exhaustion from work.

His free time was spent on video games and nights out, while I juggled everything. His attitude soured, and his children began treating me like a servant, echoing his dismissive behavior. I felt bound by my promises to the kids but eventually, the strain became unbearable. I filed for divorce and left with a heavy heart, leaving a note:

“I’ve tried my best, but I can’t stay where I feel undervalued and used. I’m sorry I couldn’t honor my promises.”

Years later, I received a call from Tamara. Trembling, I braced for anger but was shocked to hear gratitude instead. She and Nick cherished the time we spent together, considering me their main mother figure.

We met, and they thanked me for the positive influence I had on their lives. Despite my regrets, seeing the adults they’d become filled me with pride. Leaving felt necessary for my well-being, but their words showed the seeds of love I sowed had grown strong.