My Ex-Wife Was About to Remarry—
I Texted “Wish You Happiness” and Broke Down Crying at Her Reply

Late one night, I received a wedding invitation from my ex-wife. I quietly sent her a short message:
“Wish you happiness.”
But when I read her reply, I couldn’t hold back my tears.

Dung and I had been divorced for three years.
Back then, we came together through a family arrangement. We seemed compatible, so we decided to get married. In the second year of our marriage, our son was born, and our little family was peaceful and warm.

But that peace slowly turned into monotony.
No storms, no conflicts—we lived together like polite roommates. Respectful, yes, but lacking real love. To outsiders, we looked like the ideal couple. But deep down, we both knew we felt more like relatives than husband and wife.

Then I met Yến at the office.
She was the first person who made me truly feel what love was. She knew I was married, so she always kept her distance. But that only made me want her more.
I decided to divorce Dung, giving her only one reason:

“I want to chase after love. She is my true love.”

I thought Dung would object—but she didn’t. She simply said softly:

“Our son will live with me. If you and she want to marry, please don’t rush. I’m afraid our son and our families might resent you.”

I agreed, thinking our son would be better cared for with his mother. Both sides of the family strongly opposed the divorce, saying we were selfish and didn’t consider the impact on our child or our parents. But Dung stood firm. She even stepped up to defend me. I’ve always remembered her kindness—but I still chose love.

After the divorce, Yến agreed to be with me.
We moved in together, but didn’t rush to register our marriage. She said she was afraid people would call her “the other woman,” and advised me to wait three years after the divorce before getting married.

During those three years of living together, the passionate love we had at first gradually faded. We began arguing over petty things. At first, I told myself that arguing was just part of marriage. But as time went on, I realized those arguments only deepened the cracks in our relationship.

I once thought that having a child might change things. But Yến didn’t want kids. She was afraid of losing our “just us” world and always feared I’d rekindle something with my ex-wife whenever I visited my son. So I gave in—I visited my son less and less.

As for Dung, she hadn’t dated anyone in the past three years.
I only dropped by occasionally to see our son, then quietly left.
Until one day, she sent me a message

“I’m getting married,”
she wrote.

Attached to the message was a wedding invitation. I was stunned. I clearly no longer loved her, yet I felt a tightness in my chest I couldn’t explain.
Looking back, I was the one at fault. She had every right to seek happiness—I had no reason to be upset.

That night, I sent her a message:
“Wish you happiness.”

Half an hour later, she replied:

“Whether I’m happy or not doesn’t matter. What I truly want is for our son to have a complete family. He needs a father. I accepted this proposal because that man treats our son very well, and our son truly likes him.

I understand that no matter how passionate love may be at first, it will eventually turn into something more like companionship in marriage. What I need now is that simple, quiet kind of care.

And don’t worry—you can still visit your son. After all, he is the life you brought into this world.”

Reading her words, I choked up.
The love Dung has for our son is something I could never compare to.
I was a terrible father—and a selfish husband.

Only now do I truly understand:
Marriage doesn’t need to be dazzling—
It just needs to be peaceful and lasting.

Looking back at my current marriage, the countless arguments have swept away all the love we once had. We’ve grown more and more distant—far from what I had imagined it would be.

In that moment, I found myself deeply longing for those simple, peaceful days with my ex-wife—a kind of happiness I no longer deserve to have.

My eyes welled up, and silent tears rolled down my cheeks.
Sweet or bitter—whatever the outcome of my choices—
in the end, I am the one who must bear them alone.