He Left When She Was Nine Months Pregnant and Asked to Come Back Three Years Later

Its absolutely true what they say: the longer couples date, the more disastrous their marriages often turn out. Irony at its finest.

Take, for example, this pair from London whod been an item for seven long years before finally tying the knot. Amusingly, during those entire seven years, theyd never spent a full day togethereach was quite content with their own space and routine. But then fate, in the form of a surprise pregnancy, swept in and nudged them toward the altar.

At first, living together was rather thrilling for both. There was the excitement of giving their tiny flat in Hackney a much-needed spruce up (her Nan kindly moved in with her parents to free up the space), and the fun of going furniture shopping together at IKEAbecause nothing says young love like arguing over bookshelves and saucepan sets. Yet, as soon as theyd finally finished nesting, the young couple found themselves inexplicably ill at ease sitting together, just the two of them, between those four, freshly-painted walls.

Before long, the husband started pleading for nights out at the pub with the lads, while the wife was more than happy to wave him off and enjoy a bit of blissful solitude. This arrangement soon became their norm, much as it had been in those seven years of courtship: theyd only see each other at home very late in the evening, if at all.

The due date drew nearer by the day, and the husband grew gloomier and gloomier, moping about like a wet weekend in Brighton. The wife, preoccupied with baby scans and knitting tiny booties, barely noticed until the phone rang one afternoon. On the other end was a rather deranged-sounding woman, who announcedbetween dramatic sobsthat the husband was moving in with her. True to her word, hed packed his bags and scarpered while the wife was off at her usual check-up.

What really took the (Victoria sponge) cake was that the husband didn’t even bother to offer an explanationhe simply vanished. He didnt even show up for the divorce proceedings. Unfazed, the wife made sure that, when the baby arrived, there was no mention of a father on the birth certificate. Thanks to a few well-placed connections, she managed to tidy it all up quick as a flash.

She gave birth to a strapping, beautiful boy with the kind of dimples that put even the most seasoned British grandmother into fits of cooing. The moment she first set eyes on her son, she felt truly at peace and the sting of abandonment faded into the background, alongside bitter memories of previous relationships. Her parents helped raise the child, who grew up surrounded by love (and more than a few cups of tea). The notion of getting involved with men again was swiftly dismissed; the wound inside her seemed destined never to heal.

Three years passed. One afternoon the doorbell rang. Expecting her mum to look after her grandson, she didnt bother with the peephole and opened the front door. There he stood: her ex-husband, clutching an enormous bouquet of English roses (her favourite) and a flashy racing car toythe first present hed brought for his son since disappearing those three years prior.

She gazed at him in silence, bracing herself.

Im sorry Ill do whatever you want

Really? After all these years, you think Id just forgive you?

At that moment, their son bounded into the corridor.

No. And dont bother coming back. Weve managed perfectly fine on our own all this timewe dont need you anymore.

The bitterness was gone from her voice; time had softened the edges of her hurt. Now, all she felt was a quiet pity for her ex-husbanda man who had lost more than he could ever know.