The Translation

We married back when we had nothing. We lived in a tiny rental and ate humble meals, yet our home was always filled with laughter. But now, when we finally have everything, we are on the brink of falling apart because my husband is having an affair with a single mother in our upscale townhouse complex.

To everyone else, our family was the “gold standard.” My husband and I were college sweethearts who toughed out the hardest years of our youth together. In the early days of our marriage, despite living in a cramped apartment and scraping by on simple meals, we were happy. I truly believed that as long as we stood together, we could overcome any hardship.

After years of grinding, our lives finally stabilized. we had the house, the cars, and the financial security we once only dreamed of. We were blessed with two well-behaved children, a boy and a girl. Friends often told me how lucky I was to have a successful husband and a peaceful home. I took pride in that and only hoped it would stay that way forever. Moving into our semi-detached villa (townhouse) felt like a milestone—the ultimate reward for a long journey of hard work. The house was spacious, the neighbors were professional, and it was a great environment for the kids. I never imagined that this very place would be the beginning of our family’s tragedy.

Next door lived a single mother—beautiful, young, and independent. She lived with her child and frequently needed a hand with odd jobs around the house. My husband, being the helpful man he is, stepped in to assist whenever she asked. Initially, I didn’t give it a second thought; I trusted him to be mature enough to know the boundaries.

But the “quick favors” turned into more frequent late nights. I still trusted him, but that absolute faith blinded me to the red flags that were becoming increasingly obvious.

Then one day, I discovered the truth: they had been seeing each other for nearly a year. A year is long enough for casual check-ins to become a habit; long enough for sympathy to turn into emotional dependency. My husband could no longer hide it. When I confronted him, he didn’t deny it. No excuses, no dodging the question—he simply confessed that he “couldn’t live without her.”

Those words hurt worse than the betrayal itself. They made me realize I wasn’t just being lied to; I had been pushed out of the life of the person I loved most.

I ask myself, where did I go wrong? We survived the leanest years together, believing our bond was strong enough to withstand any temptation. But I was wrong. It seems that when material wealth is plentiful, the most fragile thing in the house is trust.

Now, this villa that was supposed to be our happy home feels suffocating. I am still a wife and a mother, but I am no longer the only woman in my husband’s heart. I am facing the hardest choice of my life: do I let go, or do I try to save their father for the sake of the children, even when my trust has been shattered into pieces?