When my husband forced me out of our home during my pregnancy, it felt as if my entire world had collapsed. However, I discovered a reservoir of strength within myself — and my subsequent actions brought him to his knees in remorse.
My name is Emilia, and I was married to Artyom for six years. His work often necessitated lengthy business trips — he could be away for weeks or even months at a time. We had long dreamed of starting a family. Just a month after his latest departure, I learned I was expecting. I was overjoyed and eagerly anticipated sharing the news with him.
One afternoon, an old friend from school, Timur, came to visit me. He had a passion for photography and wanted to capture some beautiful sights. We spent the day reminiscing about our youth, chatting, and simply enjoying each other’s company. When it was time to say goodbye, we shared a friendly hug.
Little did I know that this innocent gesture would set off a chain of events that would change my life forever.
When Artyom finally returned home, he was furious. He threw a photo of me hugging Timur in my face. His aunt, a notorious gossip, had sent it to him.
I tried to clarify that Timur was just an old friend and insisted that nothing inappropriate had happened between us. However, Artyom refused to listen.
“How could you betray me?” he shouted.
“Artyom, it was merely a friendly embrace!” I pleaded.
“Don’t lie!” Without allowing me to explain, he threw me out of the house.
I begged him to let me stay until morning since it was already dark outside, and I had nowhere to go. But he remained adamant.
“I don’t care. Leave, and don’t come back.”
Standing on the doorstep, I trembled from the cold, feeling betrayed and crushed. I called my brother, Dima. He lived four hours away but assured me:
“Just wait. I’m on my way.”
Dima arrived in the middle of the night, clearly frazzled. He took me in, hugged me tightly, and quietly murmured:
“He will pay for this.”
After that, Artyom vanished. He ignored my attempts to reach out and my family’s inquiries. The only communication came through his colleague, who conveyed that “Artyom needed time to think things over.”
He showed no interest in either me or the baby. Instead, he was posting on social media, accusing me of infidelity, along with pictures of himself with other women.
When I gave birth, Artyom was absent. Even three days later, he hadn’t shown up until Dima literally dragged him into the maternity ward. He didn’t acknowledge me or our son. He walked straight to the nurse and demanded:
“I need a paternity test.”
I couldn’t believe my ears.
“He was just born… Do you really want to do this now?” the stunned nurse asked.
“Yes. I need to be sure,” he replied, coldly.
The results arrived the following day. He read the document, and his face drained of color.
“This… this is my child…”
But it was too late for me to care. He had betrayed us precisely when we needed him the most. I resolved that it was time for revenge.
After my discharge, I contacted Timur and recounted everything. He readily agreed to help me. He had photographs, messages — all the evidence showing that nothing had ever transpired between us.
I hired a lawyer, and we began preparing a defamation lawsuit. Artyom had effectively built a case against himself by publicly accusing me.
I also reached out to his friends and colleagues, those who knew us both. I presented them with the truth, and gradually, whispers of his lies began to spread. People started to realize who had truly shattered our family.
Then, while Artyom was away on another trip, I entered our home with my lawyer using a duplicate key. I gathered my belongings and important documents. However, I left behind a few items: a positive pregnancy test, the doctor’s report, and a letter.
In the letter, I wrote:
“Artyom, you destroyed everything we built together. This serves as proof that you doubted your own son. I’m leaving not out of vengeance, but to save myself and our child from your toxicity. We won’t be returning. If you wish to see us — it will only be through the court. Goodbye.”
I also sent a letter to his boss — detailing facts, evidence, and the emotional distress he had caused me, and how it was affecting his performance at work.
When Artyom returned to find an empty house, my letter, and the evidence, he realized he had lost everything. He began calling and messaging, but I ignored every attempt. Only my lawyer communicated with him.
Then, I decided to share my story on social media — with facts, messages, and photos. People rallied to support me. He ended up alone.
Days later, he showed up at my brother’s house, crying. He fell to his knees.
“Forgive me, Emilia. I understand everything now. Please, give me another chance.”
I looked at him calmly:
“No, Artyom. You betrayed us. You were absent when we needed you most. It’s over.”
“But he’s my child too! I have the right to see him!”
“Where were you when he was born?” I replied coldly. “Leave. Don’t come back.”
I filed for divorce, sought full custody, child support, and compensation. The court ruled in my favor, obliging Artyom to pay a significant sum.
And I moved on.
I anonymously reported his questionable income to the tax authorities. An investigation began. Artyom lost not just his family but also part of his wealth and reputation.
As for me… I finally felt a sense of freedom. Now, all my focus is on my son and our new life together.
How do you think I handled things?