I Realized My Mistakes and Wanted to Reconcile with My Ex-Wife After 30 Years, but It Was Already Too Late…

I saw my mistakes too late and tried to return to my ex-wife after thirty years, but the clock had already struck midnight

My name is Edmund Whitmore, and I live in Dorset, where the grey drizzle drags across the empty fields. Im fifty-two now, and I have nothingno wife, no family, no job, no purpose. Just emptiness, like the hollow whistle of wind through a derelict house. I tore down everything I had with my own hands, and now I stand in the ruins, staring into the chasm I dug myself.

For thirty years, I lived with my wife Margaret. I was the breadwinnerworking, providingwhile she kept the home. I liked her there, safe, untouched by the world outside. But in time, I grew irritated by her care, her habits, the sound of her voice. Love faded, worn thin by routine. I thought it was normal, inevitable. I was comfortable in that grey, numb stability. Then fate threw me a test I couldnt pass.

One evening at the pub, I met Sophie. Thirty-two, twenty years younger than mebright, alive, eyes full of mischief. She felt like a dream come true, a gust of fresh air in my stale life. We started meeting. Within weeks, she was my mistress. For two months, I lived a double life until I realisedI didnt want to go home to Margaret anymore. I was in love with Sophieor at least, I thought I was. I wanted her to be my wife, my new destiny.

I mustered the courage to tell Margaret the truth. She didnt scream, didnt smash platesjust stared at me with hollow eyes and nodded. At the time, I mistook her silence for indifference, proof her feelings had died long ago. Now I see how much I wounded her. We divorced. Sold the house where our children had grown up, where every corner whispered memories. Sophie insisted I leave Margaret nothing. I obeyedtook my share and bought a spacious flat for Sophie. Margaret was left with a cramped bedsit, and I didnt lift a finger to help. I knew she had no income, no way to survive, but I didnt care. My sons, Oliver and James, turned their backscalled me a traitor and cut all ties. Back then, it didnt matterI had Sophie, a new life, and I thought that was enough.

Sophie got pregnant, and I waited for our child with eager hope. But when the boy was born, he looked nothing like me. Friends whispered. My brother warned me. I ignored them. Life with Sophie became a nightmare. I worked myself to the bone, paid for everything, while she vanished at night, came home drunk, reeking of liquor. The flat was a messno food, constant shouting over nothing. I lost my jobexhaustion and rage took their toll. Three years I endured this, until my brother convinced me to take a paternity test. The result hit me like a hammerthe boy wasnt mine.

I divorced Sophie the same day I learned the truth. She vanished, taking everything she could carry. Aloneno wife, no children, no strength leftI decided to go back to Margaret. I bought flowers, wine, cake, went to her like a whipped dog begging for mercy. But her tiny flat had a new tenant, who gave me her new address. I arrived, trembling with hope. A man opened the door. Margaret had found work, remarried a colleague, looked happyalive, glowing, in a way Id never seen before. Shed rebuilt her life without me.

Later, I found her in a café. I fell to my knees, begged her to return. She looked at me like I was a pitiful fool, then walked away without a word. Now I see the idiot I was. Why did I leave the woman I spent thirty years with? Why trade my family for a girl who drained me dry and left me hollow? For an illusion, for blind faith in love? Im fifty-two, and Im a ghost. My sons wont answer my calls, my job slipped through my fingers like sand. I lost everything I ever loved, and Ive only myself to blame.

Every night, I dream of Margarether calm eyes, her voice, her warmth. I wake in the cold silence and knowIm the one who pushed her away. She wont wait for me, wont forgive me, and I dont deserve forgiveness. My mistakea brand that burns my soul. I wish I could turn back time, but its too late. Far too late. Now I wander the streets of Dorset like a spectre, searching for what I destroyed. I have nothingjust regret, a shadow that will follow me to the grave. I tore apart my family, my life, and I carry that weight alone, knowing nothing can ever be mended.