Looking back on everything that happened, it’s clear that my relationship with my ex after the split was just as complex and painful as the breakup itself. Even though we had separated, there was still an undeniable bond between us—years of history, shared memories, and, most importantly, our children. But as much as I wanted to find some way of keeping things civil, the truth of what I had done—the affair that had shattered our relationship—was always there, casting a shadow over every interaction.
The extent of the affair was something I never fully disclosed to her. In some sort of twisted way, I thought I was protecting her from the full weight of it. I knew how much it would hurt if she knew the truth in its entirety. The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that sparing her from that knowledge was the right thing to do. But, deep down, I knew I was wrong. I didn’t have the guts to tell her everything, and I didn’t have the courage to face the fallout that would come with full disclosure.
Part of me wondered, Could she have ever forgiven me if she knew everything? Could we have come back from that? But I already knew the answer. I had betrayed her in a way that left her devastated, and even if she didn’t know the full extent, what she did know was enough to shatter her trust in me completely. I’d wrecked the foundation of our relationship, and it was naïve to think that we could ever return to what we once had. The truth is, even if we had somehow found a way to stay together, I know now that I wasn’t ready to fully commit to the change it would require.
The affair wasn’t just a mistake; it was a symptom of deeper issues within myself, issues I hadn’t yet faced or addressed. Had we reconciled, I fear it would have only been a matter of time before I did it again, because I wasn’t the man I needed to be. In some ways, maybe my silence was self-preservation. I wasn’t strong enough to face her knowing that I had betrayed her so completely, and if the affair hadn’t come to light the way it did, I don’t think I ever would have had the courage to admit it.
Post-split, things were strained, but for a while, we tried to maintain some form of communication, if only for the sake of the kids. I would visit the family home to see the children, and sometimes, I would even cook dinner for them. But every time I walked into that house, it was clear that things had changed. Her family was there, providing her with support, and I felt like an outsider in the home I had once been a part of. The tension was palpable, and it was hard to ignore the distance between us. We were no longer partners; we were two people navigating the wreckage of a broken relationship.
There were moments, though, when I would wonder, What if her family hadn’t been there? What if mine hadn’t either? Could we have worked it out? In those early days, part of me clung to the idea that, maybe, if we had been able to talk openly, without the interference of others, we might have found a way through it. Our getting together involved the opinions of her friends, our marriage was overshadowed by our parents’ expectations, and even our split was influenced by those around us. We never did it ourselves. Maybe if I had been honest from the beginning—told her the truth about my affair instead of hiding behind half-truths and omissions—things could have been different.
But the reality is, even if we had spoken openly, I had already betrayed her in a way that was unforgivable. And as much as I hate to admit it, I think deep down, I knew that staying together would only have delayed the inevitable. I wasn’t the man she needed me to be, and if we had tried to repair things, it’s likely I would have hurt her again. I just didn’t have the courage to face her, and if my affair hadn’t been exposed, I don’t think I would have ever come clean.
After rehab, I gained some clarity about the situation. I understood that what had happened couldn’t be undone and that the focus had to shift away from trying to repair a broken relationship to building a healthy co-parenting dynamic for the sake of the children. I came out of rehab with a new perspective, determined to let go of the anger I felt towards her and focus on what was best for the kids.
However, the challenges didn’t disappear. Even after rehab, I felt like an outsider. She wouldn’t allow me to have the kids overnight on school nights, which meant that during the week, my only interaction with them was picking them up from school and dropping them off with her—often in a rushed 20-minute window. It was emotionally exhausting, and I felt like a glorified taxi driver, but I did it because seeing them, even for a short time, was better than nothing.
Yet, it became clear that she was still holding all the cards. She would often make last-minute changes to our plans or shift the arrangements to suit her schedule. In some ways, I couldn’t help but feel like she was using the children to exert control over me. Even now, as we’re going through court, she continues to change things—sometimes reducing my time with the kids or rearranging plans with little to no notice. But I’ve learned not to rise to it anymore. Whether she’s changing drop-offs or reducing my contact time, I’ve come to realise that the bigger picture is what matters. I see my children regularly, and slowly, we’re rebuilding our relationship.
Despite the challenges, I remain focused on the end goal: providing a stable, loving environment for my children. My relationship with my ex may never be what it once was, and I’ve accepted that. But I’m committed to being the best father I can be and ensuring that, no matter what happens between us, our children come first.
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