My Husband Cheated on Me, So I Filed for Divorce – I Haven’t Told Him I’m Pregnant

I couldn’t believe that Matthew had left for good. It couldn’t be. Maybe he was just mad because of the mess in the apartment that I had caused. Yes, I was wrong to have broken all his things. But Matthew would cool down and come back. We’re family, right? And most importantly, we’re going to have children. How are we going to talk about divorce? This is just ridiculous.

To avoid drowning in self-pity and depression, I started cleaning the apartment. I forbade myself from thinking about Matthew’s scandal and his filing for divorce. I was sure we would get married, and I didn’t want to stress the baby in my belly.

I tried to avoid negative thoughts. I immersed myself in household chores. I picked up Matthew’s broken things, swept away the glass. I had a few big bags of trash. Then, I went to the online store where Matthew often bought things and ordered new ones for him: suits, ties, pants, t-shirts. The courier would deliver them in a few days.

It was late, past midnight, but I still cooked dinner. I roasted meat, Matthew’s favorite, and grilled vegetables, his favorite. It was already one o’clock, and he was still not there. That’s okay, I wouldn’t call him. Maybe he was just at the hotel. He’d be home tomorrow.

But the next day, he still hadn’t come. I suppressed my fear, I kept waiting. To relieve my anxiety, I opened our photo albums, looked at our wedding photos. We were so happy, so full of love. Our wedding was beautiful—exactly what I had dreamed of. Then, we went on our honeymoon to a tropical island. Two weeks, together all the time. I thought our happiness would last forever.

By evening and Matthew still wasn’t there, it was harder to contain my anxiety. Every thought about divorce made my hair stand on end. I couldn’t accept it, I couldn’t imagine it. My brain didn’t want to accept the reality that we were going to break up. It wasn’t real.

It was Monday, and I realized I had to distract myself or I would go crazy waiting. I cooked some food that Matthew liked. He had school today, and he would probably be home around nine. I made borscht and some of his favorite salads. I kept looking at my phone, hoping he would text me. He often texted me during the day, but for two days, nothing.

After cooking, so as not to be consumed by fear, I went to the salon and got my hair groomed. Then, I went shopping to entertain myself. When I got home, he still hadn’t texted or called.

My chest was pounding with anxiety. I couldn’t think of anything to do but call my friends and invite them to meet up. They were free after work because they were all single. In our group in college, I was the only one who got married early, at the age of twenty. They were busy with their careers.

A few friends agreed: Pauline, Rita, and Maria. They were obviously tired from work, but still energetic and happy. They immediately had news—Pauline got promoted, Rita went on vacation to Argentina, and Maria bought an apartment.

“What’s new with you, Julia?” Rita asked. “Don’t say you’re still the same, just home.”

“I’m still single.”

Sometimes they tease me because I’m a full-time housewife and focused on my husband. They ask me why I studied at Moscow State University if I’m just going to be my husband’s servant. They just don’t know what true love is. Maria, lived-in for six months, also broke up. Rita, had many flings before, but nothing happened. Now she’s a career woman. Pauline, she has such high standards for men—she even has a list of qualities that must be met. I don’t know if there are any men like that.

I didn’t tell them about my pregnancy and the divorce Matthew filed for. I didn’t want to experience questions, pity, or sympathy. And the divorce might not go through. I couldn’t imagine that he would leave me now that I was pregnant.

“Girls, I’m going home. It’s late.”

“It’s only eleven o’clock!” Pauline complained.

“It’s late for a married man.”

“Ah, can’t Matthew sleep without you?” Rita teased.

“I hope not.”

My friends shook their heads.

“You called us and you’re the first to leave,” Maria said.

“Because I want to go home to my husband.”

“We have school tomorrow too, but we’re still here.”

“No, girls, I’m really going home,” I quickly took out the money and left it on the table. “Thanks for coming.”

“Oh my,” Rita sighed. “We’ll just take a while.”

“Okay, you guys.”

So that no one would interrupt, I hurried out of the café. Outside, I hailed a taxi and waited for a long time. I was afraid to go home. I was afraid to see the apartment without Matthew.

Maybe he was already there, wasn’t he? He couldn’t have been staying at the hotel for long.

“What if he wasn’t at the hotel, but with another woman?” the bad idea suddenly came to mind. I quickly dismissed it. No, Matthew couldn’t be wrong. He said that, and I believed him.

But when I entered the apartment and was greeted by silence, my hand shook and tears filled my eyes. I slowly understood—the divorce was no longer a fantasy. It was right in front of me.

My tears fell. I couldn’t help it. I leaned my forehead against the wall of the bedroom and cried silently. My mind didn’t want to accept it, but I felt a deep loneliness. It filled me.

Matthew left. He had left me.

Sometimes I banged my head against the wall. Then, I sat on the floor, hugged my knees, and sobbed. I dreamed that the door would open and Matthew would come in, but the answer was silence. The silence seemed to be annoying.

Finally, I managed to crawl to the computer. I logged into the government site and saw the notification: Matthew Alexander Poletov had filed for divorce against me. It said I needed to confirm.

I was shaking. A wave of pain, fear, and dread gripped me. My head was pounding: “Matthew is gone, for good.” I covered my mouth to stop the scream that was about to burst out.

This was the end. The real end.

With trembling fingers, I confirmed the divorce. And in that moment, a switch seemed to switch in my mind—from love, to anger.

After weeks of silence, one night the apartment door suddenly opened. It was Matthew—pale, thin, but full of remorse. He came over, hugged me, and almost cried as he touched my stomach.

“Julia,” he whispered, “forgive me. I know I did wrong, and I want to make things right. I can’t afford to lose you, especially our child.”

For the first time since everything was over, I smiled. It’s not easy to forget the pain, but in that hug, I knew we were ready to start over—not just for us, but for the new life that was to come