My ex-wife and I dated for over three years before tying the knot. In the early days, we had simple dreams: a cozy little house, a small garden, and children playing in the yard. However, everything changed after we got married.
When she became pregnant, I was consumed by work, and my mother, a rather stern woman, took charge. My wife suffered from severe morning sickness, but I never truly stood up for her. Whenever my mother criticized or hinted at her shortcomings, I remained silent.
During childbirth, my wife had to undergo a C-section. The postpartum period, a time when she needed love and support the most, was filled with loneliness. My mother believed my wife was “living a life of leisure,” and I was too oblivious to realize that no woman should endure such treatment after giving birth.
Once, over a minor household issue, my mother angrily told my wife to take our child and leave. I didn’t stop her. To this day, I can’t forgive myself for that.
During her pregnancy and after our child’s birth, I and my family treated her terribly—Illustrative image.
When our son was over a year old, my mother began pressuring me to divorce. She had a close friend from a wealthy family with an unmarried daughter. My mother insisted that marrying into that family would secure a brighter future for me.
Back then, I was foolish enough to believe that money could compensate for everything. And so, my first marriage ended.
After the divorce, I quickly remarried the woman my mother had chosen. While our material life improved, what I desired most remained elusive. Despite being married for nearly four years, we still hadn’t conceived a child.
Initially, we attributed it to work stress. But as time passed without any news, we decided to visit a major hospital for tests and prepare for IVF.
On a scorching day, I was driving my new wife through a busy intersection when I spotted a familiar face. It was my ex-wife.
I knew it was her, even though we hadn’t seen each other in five years. My new wife, after looking back and forth, recognized her too, having seen our wedding photos and heard stories about my previous marriage.
What surprised me most was that my ex-wife was pregnant. Her baby bump was quite visible, yet she stood in the blazing sun, handing out flyers to passersby. Sweat soaked her shirt, and her face was flushed from the heat.
I felt a strange mix of emotions—curiosity and smugness. Both my new wife and I burst into laughter, as if we both understood what the other was thinking.
At that moment, I assumed her life after the divorce must have been difficult, forcing her to take on such a demanding job.
I even considered stopping the car to ask her a few sarcastic questions. But just then, a black car pulled up to the curb.
A young man stepped out, hurried over, and held an umbrella for her, saying, “Hello, Director. It’s too hot, please take a break inside.”
I was stunned. Director? Before I could process it, more employees approached.
Some brought water, others fanned her, all respectfully addressing her as “boss.”
A young woman smiled and said, “Even though she’s pregnant, our director is still handing out flyers with us. Everyone admires her so much.”
Another added, “She’s been with us since morning for the grand opening of our sixth branch. She’s the most dedicated boss I’ve ever seen.”
I stood there, frozen. After a brief conversation, I learned the truth. After our divorce, my ex-wife returned to her hometown in the Mekong Delta. She started by selling local specialties online to support herself and our child.
It turns out my ex-wife is now very successful and expecting another child—Illustrative image.
Step by step, from a few small orders, she built her own agricultural product brand. In five years, her company has established five stable branches. That day marked the grand opening of the sixth.
And handing out flyers wasn’t because she was struggling, but because she wanted to stand alongside her employees on this special day. My throat went dry.
The woman I had abandoned during her pregnancy, the one I had sent back to her parents’ home while she was still recovering, now stood before me with a life I could barely imagine attaining.
I stepped closer. For the first time in years, I didn’t know what to say. I could only stammer, “Are… are you doing well?”
She looked at me, her expression strangely calm—no resentment, no hatred, no emotion at all. She simply smiled politely, handed me a flyer as she would to any stranger, and said, “Take a look.”
That was it. No answers, no questions, no mention of the past, no accusations. In that moment, I realized the most painful thing isn’t being hated by someone. It’s becoming completely insignificant in their life.
The car behind us honked impatiently. My wife asked from the backseat what was taking so long. I clutched the flyer tightly and walked away silently.
Behind me, my ex-wife continued handing out flyers, her smile radiant under the umbrella held by her employees.
And I suddenly understood that five years ago, the one who lost the most in that divorce wasn’t her. It was me.
Story shared by reader: thenam…
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