I thought my marriage had the perfect balance of love and trust, until my husband’s ex came crashing into our lives. So I made a bold move to fight back: I invited his mother to move in.
Let me start by saying I used to be one of those “cool wives.” You know the type, who doesn’t get jealous and snoop. I believed in trust, space, and the idea that marriage is a partnership until I discovered my husband’s infidelity.
I was one of those wives who definitely didn’t ask too many questions about “why Sasha is still liking all your beach photos from 2016.”
For me, our marriage was meant to be a beautiful bond, not a surveillance operation.
I also believed my husband, Nate, 31, was just an airheaded himbo with a gym membership and a mild addiction to protein powder.
Turns out I was wrong about one of those; his addiction was severe.
Nate and I, Jamie, 29, had been together for seven years, married for three.
He was the type of man who could charm a cashier into giving him free gum but couldn’t remember to take the chicken out of the freezer.
I am embarrassed to say that I handled most of the adulting, including bills, birthdays, and basic survival. He oversaw the grill, which basically meant placing the meat I had defrosted and marinated over the fire.
Nate never made the bed, but he loved getting praised for “helping” with chores.
I am now ashamed that his biggest contribution to our marriage was working in corporate middle management, earning more.
In hindsight, I think I accepted a lot of my husband’s behavior mainly due to my background. I grew up with very confrontational and stifling parents.
So, I quickly learned to be conflict-avoidant, always trying to “keep the peace.”
Some people would probably describe me as “easygoing,” but that was just on the surface. Beneath it, I was quite emotionally intuitive.
Now, don’t get me wrong, my husband wasn’t a bad guy. But I married him when I was young, and honestly, he made me feel chosen…
until he didn’t.
Things started to feel off when Sasha, 30, moved back to town “for work.” She was the infamous ex.
The one he said he “hadn’t thought about in years.” And yet, somehow, she was now in our orbit like an Instagram thirst-trap comet. She was flaring into visibility every few days with a new “accidental” sighting of my husband or a cryptic comment on his posts.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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