“You Lost, Roman”: How a Man Ended Up with Nothing After Betraying the Wife Who Gave Him Everything
When Emily returned from the countryside, where she’d left the kids for summer holidays with her aunt, she never imagined she’d find another woman in her home. Him. Roman. Her husband. Surrounded by packed bags, his expression ice-cold, delivering the final blow.
“We’re done. Lily’s pregnant. I’m leaving you for her.”
The words hit her like a truck. She didn’t scream—just clenched her fingers around her handbag strap. He didn’t give her time to process. Just demanded the house keys and spat,
“The house isn’t yours. Not the business, not the accounts—nothing. It’s all in my uncle’s name. You’ve got no claim.”
“What about the children?” she whispered.
“We’ll split custody. But if you kick up a fuss, I’ll leave you with nothing.”
He walked out. Lightly, as if their life together had been nothing more than a cheap motel stay. As if Emily hadn’t given him her best years, borne his children, sold her parents’ flat to invest in *his* dream.
Once, they’d been happy. Or so she’d thought. He’d been charming, sweeping her off her feet. After her father’s death, Emily had been alone—her mother hadn’t survived the grief. Roman had stepped in. Or pretended to.
“Let’s leave,” he’d said, “Start fresh. I won’t let you down.”
She hadn’t hesitated. Said yes. Married him. Had a son, then a daughter. Worked until maternity leave. The business? Registered under his family—”safer that way.” Then, bit by bit, it all unraveled.
Roman thrived—gym-toned, café meetings, “business trips.” Meanwhile, she was stuck at the stove, sleepless nights, heart pounding every time he didn’t come home. His mother made it worse:
“Look at you. What are you next to my son? He deserves better.”
After the divorce, Emily moved in with her aunt. Kids in tow. No money. Just pain. But she didn’t break. They started a small haulage service—two vans, one dispatcher. Within years, it was a fleet. Emily rebuilt.
Roman? He crashed.
Lily left him almost immediately. Took the child, left him with court debts. His uncle washed his hands of the business. The bank repossessed his flat. He rented a shoebox, scraped by on odd jobs. Had nothing.
Then—an interview. A driver’s job. He submitted his CV, walked into the office. And there *she* was.
Emily. In a tailored suit, stride confident, gaze unshaken.
“You?” His throat tightened. “How… how are *you* here?”
“I work here.”
“I—I need the job. Hire me. For old times’ sake.”
“We don’t hire men who abandon their children.” Her voice was steady. No spite. Just fact. “Deadbeats aren’t our style.”
“I’ll pay it back—I just fell on hard—” His eyes dropped.
“No, Roman. You didn’t *fall*. You *chose*. Dug your own grave. And I built everything… without you.”
The door opened. Her son—tall, steady, her mirror image—peered in.
“Mum, ready to go?”
“Yes, darling.”
And Roman stood there. A stranger. Because that’s all he was. He’d lost. Destroyed it all. Not even respect remained—just the hollow ruin he’d made of his own life.
