He Chose the Mistress Over Me—Now They Beg for My Return

The day I sealed my divorce from Victor Hale, I booked a high-speed train to my ancestral village. A phone, an ID, and a bank card with a meager balance—my life’s remnants after years of toil. The housekeeper rang, insisting I retrieve forgotten items. “Toss them,” I snapped. He hesitated, then added, “Young Master Elias is crying for his mother.” I smirked, “He’ll soon have a new one—the one he’s always pined for. Like father, like son in their tastes. I once wept over why it wasn’t me, but now? If he doesn’t love me, so be it.” As the train hummed to life, I spoke my last words, “Tell him I’ll never intrude again.”

I powered off my phone, swapped the SIM, and severed ties with that city. Beside me sat a wide-eyed girl, about Elias’s age, watching me warily. I once adored kids, but now nothing stirred me. She stayed silent, unlike her boisterous guardian, who cursed into a phone. I donned headphones and drifted off. A gentle tug awoke me. “Auntie, my mom’s gone. Can you help?” she pleaded, lips trembling. Her aisle seat was empty. I alerted the conductor and train police. They discovered her mother had disembarked midway, glancing back with guilt—abandoning her daughter.

Passengers buzzed, labeling the mother heartless, pitying the girl. She sat still, uncried. I gave the police my ID, address, and contact, claiming her. Off the train, I carried not just my scant belongings but a child—Liora.

I settled in my village, reviving a neglected courtyard with fruit trees and herbs. I framed my grandmother’s portrait, hung it proudly, and named Liora “Liora Vale,” registering her under my name. My household book, once a lone page, now held two.

Liora never smiled, her gaze solemn, wise beyond her four years. When I fell ill, she cooked porridge, standing on a stool. I thought of Elias, the Hale heir, gifted ski resorts and candy factories on whims—worlds apart. Liora asked why I took her in. “I was lonely. Will you stay with me?” I asked. After a long silence, she nodded fiercely, “Yes, forever.”

Time flowed. Liora started kindergarten, then school, became a monitor, and—shockingly—fought. Her teacher, flustered, met me, explaining the new boy, Elias, claimed Liora stole “his mom” after seeing our photo in her pencil case. In the office, Elias ran to me, “Mommy!” I gently pushed him back, “You’re mistaken.” My eyes met Victor’s—Liora’s father, my ex.

I never foresaw facing Victor again. The world is vast, and avoidance is easy. Elias wailed, accusing me of abandonment. Liora gripped her pen, annoyed. Victor watched, expectant. I sent Liora home, then faced him.

Our past was simple. My grandmother saved Victor’s kin from bandits, binding our families. She asked the Hales to guide me in the city. At the station, Victor—dazzling, phone in hand—met me. Love bloomed naturally, though I knew our worlds clashed. We studied together; he brought gifts from his family. I heard of his romance with his childhood love, Elara—sweet, stormy, public. I was a bystander, occasionally wistful.

During my internship, commuting grueling hours, Victor asked after me. Soon, his grandmother offered a house near my work—his house. Guilty, I stayed minimal, using the guest room. One night, drunk, he collapsed on the sofa. Worried, I covered him. He woke, pinned me, and we erred gravely.

That night blurs, pain fading with time. Victor called Elara’s name. He’d only said “Clara” once—at our first meeting. If life stayed as first seen, why did sorrow follow?

At school’s end, Victor asked, “What’s this about?” I pressed, “What’ve you told Elias?” He claimed ignorance, blaming his mother. “He demanded to see you,” Victor said. I smiled, “He’ll tire of me—unlikable as I am.”

Back home, I opened a cozy eatery, limiting patrons. It thrived among tourists. Young Clara dreamed of tech millions; now, I cherished my 100-square-meter haven. Elias visited daily, driven by a chauffeur. Victor rarely came. Why trust a child here? Still, he was my blood. I’d nursed him through fevers, crafted toys, scarring my hands—selfish hopes dashed by his disdain.

Elias once clung to me, needing me to sleep or carry him, shielding me from Hale scorn. But as he grew willful, rejecting my rules, he turned. “I want Aunt Elara as my mom. You don’t deserve me. Leave!” he’d cried.

Liora confided, “I don’t like Elias—he hurts you.” Stunned, I asked why. “He knows you’re sad but keeps coming,” she said, offering to fight him. I enrolled her in martial arts; her master praised her grit. Victor once mocked, “Who’d love you?” But Grandma did, Liora does, and now I do.

Victor visited, travel-worn, eating silently before taking Elias. Neighbors gossiped he chased me. I laughed, “He’s not blind.” I cared not for his motives.

Elias’s game—winning me back—dragged on. My coldness fueled his clinginess, his loneliness feigned. I felt nothing, just annoyance.

Summer began; Elias didn’t appear. Relieved, I assumed he’d quit. Home, I found him with a cake box, Victor beside gift bags. “Dad, will Mom be happy?” Elias asked. Liora corrected, “Her birthday’s not today.” Elias argued, “We share it!” Victor greeted, “Clara, happy birthday.” I unlocked the gate, “I changed it. Trivial, no?”

I once loved birthdays. Grandma crafted feasts, cakes, gifts—never lonely. Pregnant with Elias, I hid my pain, lying about Victor’s care. He ignored me, that night a drunken mistake. His grandmother forced our marriage, ignoring Elara. Pregnant, trapped, I endured Hale disdain, Miranda’s taunts, and labor pains after Grandma’s death—triggered by seeing Victor and Elara kiss.

Resentment grew. Grandma died mid-surgery; I birthed Elias amid screams. Guilt kept Victor near, but Elara’s return stole his focus. On Elias’s birthday, they lingered, leaving me alone. I stopped celebrating.

I let them in, served water. Liora showed the true date. Victor apologized, “Next time—” I cut, “No need.” He asked to talk privately. In the yard, he proposed remarriage for Elias. I countered, “What about Elara?” He faltered, “Past.” I pressed, “Admit you love me.” He covered his eyes, sobbing. I left, “Don’t return.”

Elias clung, crying, “Mom, don’t send me away!” The car drove off. Liora asked, “They won’t come back?” “No.” “Sad?” I rubbed her head, “All passes. Move forward.”

I dreamed of Elias’s birth, Victor’s rare tenderness. A lifetime’s too long for one companion. Victor was a vivid stroke, now faded. That night, I slept soundly.

Epilogue: The Hales grew dour post-divorce. Victor worked relentlessly; Elias, spoiled, asked, “Where’s Mom?” Told of the divorce, he wept, “She abandoned me!” Victor’s cruelty shocked the family. Miranda offered marriage; he refused, citing Elias. She mocked his self-deception.

At eighteen, Victor remained single; I wed a gentle coder who loved Elias. At the wedding, Victor attended, gifting a card I refused. He confessed jealousy of Grandma and Elias for my love, admitting clarity that night. “If unhappy, come to me,” he said, jealous of my joy. I smiled, free.