Rushing to divorce so I could be with my lover, nearly a year later, I received an ending that couldn’t be more bitter./th

After everything fell apart, I went mad with resentment toward life. I drowned my sorrows in alcohol. In the dark of night, I was overwhelmed with regret — but it was far too late.

I’m 38 years old now, and I once had a happy family with my wife and two little daughters. But in a moment of blind foolishness, I destroyed it all myself, only to end up with nothing but bitterness and remorse.

Eleven years ago, I stepped into marriage with my first love. At that time, my wife was a gentle, caring woman who skillfully managed the household. She wasn’t the type to be socially adept or extraordinarily talented, but she always stood quietly behind me, taking care of the family and supporting me in my work.

Because of that, throughout all the years we lived together, I never had to worry about anything — whether it was dealing with family matters or social relations on both sides. My only job was to go out and earn money; she took care of everything else.

But perhaps because of that, over time, I began to feel that my married life had become dull. I no longer felt any excitement toward my wife, no longer found her attractive—especially after the birth of our second child, when she seemed to age visibly.

Right at the time I was growing tired of her, my company hired a new employee—a young woman full of energy, with a fairly attractive appearance. I was assigned to help her get familiar with the job.

It was like a dry tree meeting the rain; my spirits instantly lifted. Outside of work, we started having casual coffee chats, and evening “dates” under the pretense of working overtime.

With her, I felt young again, admired, and able to protect a fragile, delicate woman—something I hadn’t had the chance to feel toward my wife in a long time.

After just over two months, the inevitable happened. We crossed the line and became entangled in a secret affair. I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t want to end things. Especially when she told me she was pregnant with my child and wanted an official status so the baby could have a complete family, I felt forced to make a choice.

On one side was the woman who had been with me through years of hardship; on the other was the young lover who made me infatuated, carrying the child she claimed was mine. In the end, I chose to frequently pick fights with my wife to find an excuse for a quick divorce. Eventually, I achieved my goal when my wife agreed to sign the papers nine months ago.

After the divorce, my two children lived with my ex-wife, just as she wished. I moved out and continued to provide full financial support for the kids as agreed. At that time, even though I faced plenty of gossip and was scolded to my face by my own parents, I accepted it.

Because back then, I was still intoxicated with the fresh happiness my lover brought me, filled with hope for a beautiful future. But reality turned out to be far from my imagination.

In the beginning, everything seemed fine. We lived together like newlyweds in a rented apartment. We dined at fancy restaurants, strolled through romantic spots, and I didn’t hesitate to buy her expensive gifts or indulge her childish whims—because, at that time, I found it endearing.

But after a few months, things started to unravel. I had to support my two children, pay the rent, and spend endlessly to please my demanding pregnant lover, which drained me financially. Without the restaurant meals or the ability to fulfill her every request, she began to criticize and lash out at me constantly.

She accused me of being useless and unable to provide for her and the baby, then disappeared from home for weeks without contact. She used the unborn child to pressure me into giving her hundreds of millions of dong for childbirth expenses, warning me that I would regret it otherwise.

For the child’s sake, I handed over everything I had. In the end, the money ran out, she came back, and I still had to borrow heavily to cover the delivery costs.

But that wasn’t the worst. A week ago, she gave birth, and I was stunned to see the baby with slightly curly, light-brown hair—looking exactly like a foreign partner at my company. Suspicion grew, and I decided to have a DNA test done. I was devastated when the results showed the child wasn’t mine.

So, all this time, I had been nothing but a fool—a man who willingly abandoned his family to chase after a younger woman, only to end up raising another man’s child.

I went mad, consumed with bitterness toward life. I drowned myself in alcohol, and in the darkness of the night, I was overcome with unbearable regret. I knew this was the price I had to pay—and that it was already far too late.