My ex-husband’s actions caused a lot of turmoil in our lives, but I thought once the divorce was final, things would improve. Then one night, everything changed. What happened that night forced me to take measures to protect my daughter and myself, and it revealed just how far his selfishness could go.
A few weeks ago, my divorce was finally finalized. That night, as I lay in bed, I thought I’d feel relief, but instead, I found myself thinking about everything my ex-husband, Liam, had put me through. Our marriage had always been difficult, but it felt like a never-ending struggle. There was always something—his latest schemes, investments, and obsessive pursuits that always seemed to take priority over our family.
Two years ago, our daughter Danielle, who was ten at the time, asked me for ballet lessons. As any parent knows, these lessons are expensive, but I was ready to make sacrifices for her. Just as I was about to finalize the budget for her lessons, Liam came home excited, telling me he had used our savings to invest in a new cryptocurrency.
“We’re going to be rich!” he said, clearly oblivious to my concern.
Unfortunately, the investment was a scam. Danielle never got her ballet lessons, and I was left to break the news to her.
Liam, however, was unfazed. “These things happen. The next one will be the big one,” he said.
But there was always a next one. The next investment. The next big plan.
Months passed, and I watched him become more consumed with his latest obsession—trading. I had had enough.
“Liam, we need to think about our future,” I said, desperate. “What if something goes wrong? What about Danielle’s college savings?”
He barely glanced up. “I am thinking about the future. We’re going to be rich. You just don’t believe in me.”
I shook my head. “You’re right. I don’t believe in you anymore. This has to stop.”
“You don’t trust me?” he said, leaning back with a smirk. “Maybe we should just get a divorce then.”
It was a turning point for me. There was no apology, no regret. Only indifference. And so, after years of struggling, I agreed.
The divorce took time to finalize. Danielle, now twelve, struggled the most. Liam barely called or visited, and when he did, it always revolved around him. At least we were able to keep the house that had belonged to my grandfather.
That night, I thought I’d feel free, but as I lay there, I found myself wishing things had been different—wishing Liam had been the kind of person I hoped for, not for me, but for Danielle.
Then, in the middle of the night, I woke up to Danielle’s terrified scream.
“Mom!” Her voice echoed through the house.
I rushed to her room, only to be knocked aside by a shadowy figure. Pain shot through my shoulder, but I focused only on reaching Danielle.
When I turned on the light, I found her curled in bed, trembling.
“It was a man,” she whispered, looking frightened. “I think it was Dad. He had a crowbar.”
My heart sank. “Are you sure?”
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