— Our boy was born deaf? Leave him at the hospital, I’m not ready to nurture such a child!” — my wife’s voice rang with a fury I had never noticed before.
“— Olga, what are you saying? This is flesh of our flesh,” — I looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.
The doctor put his hand on my shoulder: “Congenital deafness, complete. Unfortunately, there’s no chance of recovery.”
In these sounds, which my son would never hear, reality was terrible.
“— You don’t understand, Sasha,” — Olga said.
“This is a sentence for us for life. Special conditions… We’ll just destroy ourselves. When will we live?”
I shifted my gaze to the tiny bundle. A small, wrinkled face, gently pink and peaceful.
“— I’m taking him home,” — I said quietly but firmly. “— What?” “— I said I’m taking the baby. Alone.”
“— Are you out of your mind? You’re working part-time as an electrician! How are you going to raise such a baby?” “— Exactly the same as any other. Day by day.”
In the morning, I found that Olga had abondoned, leaving a note with two lines: “Sorry. I can’t control it.”
Five years of life together were only four words on a torn notebook page.
A week later, I delivered my son to my home.
“— And how are you going to manage alone?” — our neighbor Marina Petrovna called out from behind the fence as I approached the house. “— No idea,” — I answered honestly. “— But there’s no choice.”
The first months transformed into an endless survival race. I learned to alter diapers with one hand while working part-time job.
The village commented: “Poor guy,” “He shouldn’t have let his wife go,” “It’s not a man’s job to suffer from diapers.”
I realized a simple truth: my son didn’t know he was missing anything. To him, the world had always been peaceful. But that didn’t make him imperfect. In his world, there were just unsimilar rules.
Every day, we learned a new language. Seeing my sleeping son in his crib, I often thought: “How can anyone reject their own child just because he’s not like everyone else?”
Fortunately, I had recently received a house from my parents and sold it, so I had enough money for living expenses, and I could only work in my free time when the neighbors could watch the baby.
Thus, we began a new life.
After 5 years, Denis grew into a smart, smiled boy with unruly brown curls.
Our house was full of a language without sounds — a language of images and touches. I mastered the sign language for objects, actions, and feelings. My son also learned.
At night, when Denis fell asleep, I would call the representative of schools to register for study.
“— Alexander, you understand that our school is not equipped to teach a child like yours?” — the principal, Nadezhda Igorevna, said softly but firmly. “— Specialists are needed, special methods…”
“— What if I accompany him to classes? Translate everything the teachers say?”
“— And when will you work?” — she sighed. “— Sasha, understand, he needs a boarding school for the hearing impaired in the city.”
The solution came unpredictedly with the arrival of a new teacher.
Anna Sergeevna transferred to our village school from the city. I met her for the first time in our local store, where she was unsuccessfully trying to explain to Nina Fyodorovna that she was prepare for the local press.
“— We don’t have any newspapers,” — I intervened. “— But there’s Zinaida Petrovna. She delivers the mail and also collects and expands all the gossip. A walking newspaper, you could say.”
Anna laughed said:
“— Thanks for the tip,” — she extended her hand. “— I’m Anna, the new elementary school teacher.”
“— My son says you have a beautiful smile,” — I translated.
“— You understand sign language?” — she quickly questioned.
“— Yes,” — Denis responded with gestures. “— Dad taught me.”
To my surprise, Denis already understand a lot — he had learned to read some words by lip-reading and had taught himself the basics of math.
“— And an incredible attention to detail. He can’t hear, but he notices what others miss.”
One evening, when Denis was already in the middle of the tenth dream, we sat on the veranda.
“— You know,” — Anna said quietly, “— I’ve never met a father like you.”
“— What kind of father?”
“— A real one. The kind who doesn’t take the easy path.”
Six months later, their marriage came true.
No fanfare, no noise, just the closest ones. Denis carried the pillow with the rings, beaming with pride over the task entrusted to him.
And then, six months later, a little miracle occured in our life.
Anna brought back from a trip to the city an experimental hearing aid she got through old connections.
“— It won’t improve full hearing,” — she concerned, “— but it may help distinguish very loud sounds.”
We installed the device, not expecting much. Anna picked up a bell and rang it right next to Denis’s ear.
My son’s face transformed — his eyes widened, his lips parted in amazement.
“— I felt something! What was that?”
And over time, Denis called Anna “Mom” for the first time.
“— Tell me about my real mom,” — Denis’s gestures were confident.
I knew this question was undeniable. But it still caught me off guard.
“— Why now?” — my hands moved slower than usual.
“— I want to know everything that’s left in the past before moving forward,” — Denis smiled.
“I’ve been offered a job,” — Denis smiled. “— At an IT company. Remote development. They liked my contest project.”
Despite deafness, he developed an amazing ability to see patterns in code that others missed.
“— Congratulations, son!” — I hugged him. “
“— A new stage is coming,”
“— I want to settle everything that’s left in the past before moving forward.”
When the doctors shared her about your deafness, she broke down.
She was scared she wouldn’t deal with, scared of the life that awaited us.
“— She wanted to leave me at the hospital?” — Denis said.
“— Yes,” — I admitted. “— She said she couldn’t nurture a special child.”
“— Did you ever tell her about me? Did you try to find her?”
“— No,” — I mutted. “— She left for good. I heard she got married in the city, had more kids. I didn’t seek out a meeting. I thought — if she wants, she’ll find me.”
“— Do you regret it?” — His gaze was piercing. “— Staying with me alone?”
I smiled:
“— Not a single day, son. Not a single minute.”
“— What’s this serious conversation about?” — her hands fluttered in the air, creating words.
“— The past,” — Denis answered, then turned to me. “— I forgive her, Dad. But I don’t want to meet her. My real mom is here,” — he threw a warm glance at Anna.
“— He’s grown into an amazing person,” — she said, resting her head on my shoulder.
“— Thanks to you,” — I kissed her on the temple.
“— No,” — she shook her head. “— Thanks to your decision.”
So we sat together under the evening sky — not a perfect family, but a true one. She left because she couldn’t deal with my health. And we stayed. And became a family.
My Best Friend Married My Ex-husband — Then She Called Me in the Middle of the Night, Terrified
When Stacey married Lily’s ex-husband, Alan, it seemed like the ultimate betrayal. But a late-night call filled with terror revealed a dark secret neither woman was prepared for, forcing Lily and Stacey to confront the man who shattered both their lives.
Alan and I had been married for seven years. Seven long years that gave me two beautiful daughters, Mia (5) and Sophie (4), and left me with a heart fractured in ways I didn’t know were possible.
A couple | Source: Unsplash
At first, Alan was my dream man. He had this magnetic charm, the kind that made people lean in just a little closer when he spoke. He knew how to make me feel like I was the only woman in the world. But that glow didn’t last.
By year five, I noticed the cracks. Alan would come home late, his excuses so thin they were practically see-through. Work trips that didn’t make sense. Texts he wouldn’t let me see. Then, one night, I got the confirmation I’d been dreading. A single blonde hair on his suit jacket. Not mine.
My heart screamed with rage. I knew something was wrong. I knew he was destroying everything we built.
A distressed woman | Source: Midjourney
I confronted him. His reaction? A cold denial, followed by an avalanche of gaslighting. “You’re imagining things, Lily. Stop being so insecure,” he yelled once.
But it wasn’t just my imagination. It was real. Silently, I vowed to myself that I would not let him make me doubt my instincts.
The final straw came when I caught him red-handed. The image of him with her — Kara, a woman I didn’t even know — was burned into my memory. He didn’t even apologize. He just packed a bag and left as though nothing had happened.
And just like that, Alan abandoned me and our daughters. For a year and a half, I struggled to rebuild my life. Therapy, late nights working to support the girls, and a constant ache in my chest that wouldn’t go away.
Then came the news that made my stomach churn: Alan had married Stacey, my best friend.
A newlywed couple | Source: Unsplash
I couldn’t believe it at first. Stacey had been my confidante during my marriage, the one person I told everything to. She knew everything about me… about how I felt like I was losing Alan, how I feared he was cheating, and how devastated I was when he finally left.
A painful realization cut through me, “How could she do this to me?”
When Stacey called to tell me she was engaged to Alan, I froze. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“No,” she said. “Alan loves me, Lily. I hope… I hope we can still be friends.”
Friends? Was she serious?
“You’re marrying the man who broke me, Stacey. And you think I want to stay friends? Good luck with that.” I hung up before she could respond.
Grayscale shot of a woman holding a phone | Source: Midjourney
I thought that was the end of it. I wanted it to be the end of it. But then, a year into their marriage, my phone rang at three in the morning, dragging me back into Alan’s world.
Groggy and annoyed, I squinted at my phone. Stacey’s name flashed on the screen. I didn’t want to believe it.
“Of all the nerve, calling me at this hour?” I muttered to myself.
I debated ignoring it. Why would she, of all people, be calling me in the middle of the night? But curiosity won out, and against my better judgment, I answered.
A phone on the bed flashing an incoming call | Source: Midjourney
“Hello?” I said, my voice heavy with irritation.
What I heard next made me sit up straight.
“Lily, I need your help!” Stacey’s voice was frantic and barely coherent. “This concerns you more than you think. Please… don’t hang up. Please.”
My heart raced with anger and anticipation. What could she possibly want?
A woman seeing her phone | Source: Midjourney
“Stacey?” I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess. “What’s going on? Look, I don’t have anything to—”
“Alan… he’s not who I thought he was. He’s worse, Lily. So much worse,” she cut me off.
I felt a shiver run down my spine. What could be worse than what I already know?
“Worse? What are you talking about?” I asked.
She inhaled sharply, trying to steady her voice. “He has a wardrobe in his office. He always told me not to go in there, but yesterday I did. Lily, the inside is covered in photos. Of women. Dozens of women. Me. You. Her. And others I don’t even recognize.”
An anxious woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
A cold realization crept into my thoughts. This is about to get ugly.
I gripped the phone, my stomach turning. “Photos? What kind of photos?”
My mind raced with horrifying possibilities. What could be in those photos? How had I not found them? Was this why he’d prohibited me from entering his office when we were married?
“They all have dates and numbers written on them,” she whispered. “I think… I think he’s been cheating on me. On both of us. On everyone.”
A woman holding a photograph of another lady | Source: Midjourney
My throat felt dry. But I didn’t care. “Stacey, why are you telling me this? You married him. You knew what he was capable of.”
Her voice cracked. “Because I didn’t believe you! I thought you were bitter. But now, I’m scared, Lily. I don’t know what he’ll do if he finds out I’ve seen it. Please, can I come over? I don’t feel safe.”
Stacey showed up at my house less than an hour later, her face pale and drawn. She was clutching her phone like a lifeline.
“Start talking,” I said, crossing my arms. My eyes bore into her, demanding the full truth.
She sat on my couch, wringing her hands. “I went back into his office last night. After he left for a two-day fishing trip, I managed to break into the wardrobe. He keeps it locked. But I managed to open it with a screwdriver. It wasn’t just photos, Lily. There were journals. Notes about the women. Ratings. Scores. He’s been doing this for years.”
A frustated woman | Source: Pexels
A twisted sense of validation burned inside me. “I always knew he was worse than he seemed,” I laughed.
“How many women?” My heart raced, dreading the answer.
“At least 40 during your marriage,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “And eight more since we got married. Eight women in just two months.”
The weight of betrayal pressed down on me, threatening to suffocate. It was like a punch to the gut. I thought I had moved on, but the betrayal felt fresh and raw.
“Why are you dragging me into this?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Because he’s the father of your daughters,” Stacey said. “Don’t you want to know who he really is? What he’s capable of? Don’t you want to expose him?”
A woman lost in deep thought | Source: Midjourney
Her words hit a nerve. As much as I hated Alan, I had to protect my girls. “Fine,” I said, grabbing my laptop. “Show me what you’ve got.”
For the next few hours, Stacey and I worked together, identifying the women in Alan’s photos. Reverse image searches online led us to their social media profiles. When we reached out and met some of them in person the following morning, most confirmed short, meaningless encounters with Alan.
My mind raced with horror and vindication. How could one person be so calculated?
One woman described him as “charming, until he wasn’t.” Another called him “cold and calculating.” Each story added a new layer to the monster I’d once called my husband.
A bitter laugh escaped me. “I should have known. I always knew something was off,” I told Stacey.
Two women sitting on the couch | Source: Midjourney
By dusk, she looked at me, her face pale. “What do we do now?”
“We’re not victims anymore. We’re survivors,” I declared. “We fight back.”
A dangerous glint entered my eyes, “Alan has no idea what’s coming,” I added.
When he returned from his fishing trip and found Stacey gone, his rage spilled over. He tried to show up at her new place, banging on the door, demanding answers. She called the police, and he left before they arrived.
The weeks that followed were a whirlwind. Stacey filed for divorce, cutting all ties with Alan. I reopened my custody case, armed with evidence of his behavior.
Alan didn’t take it well. He sent me a flurry of messages, first pleading, then threatening. I blocked him.
A woman looking at her phone | Source: Pexels
In court, the evidence we presented was damning. Alan’s charm couldn’t save him this time. The photos, the journals, the testimonies… every bit of it painted a clear picture of the man he truly was.
After the dust settled, Stacey and I found ourselves sitting in my living room, a quiet relief hanging between us.
“We made it through!” I said, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders
“Thank you,” Stacey said softly. “For helping me. For believing me.”
My anger softened, replaced by an unexpected understanding. We were both victims of his manipulation. But we were not weak.
A sad woman | Source: Midjourney
I looked at her, the anger I’d carried for so long finally fading. “We both deserved better than him.”
A moment of shared pain and healing passed between us.
She nodded. “So… what now?”
My spirit felt renewed, ready for whatever came next. I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Now, we move on. Together.”
A fierce sense of sisterhood emerged, stronger than any betrayal. And for the first time in years, I felt free. Not just from Alan, but from the pain he had caused.
Two women hugging each other | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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