Three years ago, I divorced my husband. As they say, we just didn’t see eye to eye.
He was always criticizing me, saying I was a terrible homemaker, that I didn’t spend enough time with the kids, and that all I cared about were clothes and partying. Meanwhile, all he thought about was work, work, work, and nothing else.
After living together—or rather, putting up with each other—for five years, we decided to part ways. Maybe we wouldn’t have even gotten married if I hadn’t accidentally gotten pregnant.
So, the divorce. Court hearings, stress over dividing property, alimony, determining where the kids would live, and their visits with their father. It’s a long story, but I want to share something else.
During the property division, we sold the house we lived in. My ex-husband proved in court that he had more rights to it, so after the sale, he gave me only a third of its value. It was decent money, though. It was enough for me to buy a one-bedroom apartment.
The kids stayed with me. Living with two children in a one-bedroom apartment was, of course, cramped. Exhausted from the messy divorce and troubles at work, I couldn’t even find peace at home. The kids were noisy, fighting with each other, crying, and throwing tantrums. They were dealing with our separation in their own way.
Meanwhile, my “dear husband” bought himself a two-bedroom apartment and didn’t stay single for long. He soon found himself a new wife. The young couple lived happily. By court order, their father took the kids on weekends. I could see that his wife treated my children well. I, too, needed to sort out my personal life.
Around that time, I met a decent man and was afraid of scaring him off. I didn’t want him to know right away that I had two kids. Plus, we needed a place to meet. And honestly, the kids were wearing me out. Maybe I’m a bad mother, but I was tired of my own children. So, I talked to my ex-husband about taking the kids to live with him for a while. His wife didn’t mind. He agreed, but on the condition that we sign a notarized agreement stating the kids would live with him. I said yes. If only I’d known what I was signing.
Sadly, nothing came of my dates with the new guy. He wasn’t interested in a serious relationship. He turned out to be unreliable and liked living off others. I wasn’t the right fit for him. I needed a man who could provide for me and my kids. We broke up.
At first, I enjoyed the freedom and carefree life. I reconnected with my single friends. We went wild, like back before I got married. We danced all night in clubs, drank cocktails, and met guys. I made a few more attempts to build a personal life, but they all failed. I never managed to hook a decent man with money.
Then I decided to take the kids back and live for them, giving up on the idea of ever remarrying. That’s when I found out that my ex-husband and his wife had no intention of giving the kids back, claiming the agreement was permanent. I had signed it without reading, desperate to breathe freely, and that’s what my carelessness led to.
Worse, they now want to take me to court to strip me of my parental rights, saying I don’t care for the kids and lead an immoral lifestyle—dating different men and drinking. Yes, I had that phase in my life, but now I want to live like a normal person and desperately want my kids back. Despite my recklessness, I can’t imagine never seeing my beloved little ones again. The thought makes me sick. I’m determined to fight for my babies. I know it’ll be tough—my ex-husband knows the law well and is personally acquainted with good lawyers.
Now I regret ever handing the kids over to their father…
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