“Dad’s the Hero, Mom’s the Villain”: I Returned from Abroad Months Ago, Yet My Kids Rarely Visit or Call

Life has a way of throwing curveballs when you least expect it. My name is Victoria, and if you had asked me a decade ago if I thought my life would take the turn it did, I would have laughed. I was married to Gregory, a man I thought was my forever. We had two beautiful children, Ellie and Michael. Our life, by all accounts, was perfect. But as Gregory neared his 45th birthday, our seemingly perfect world began to crumble.

It started subtly. Gregory became distant, his late nights at the office becoming more frequent. Then came the bombshell. He had met someone else, a younger woman named Cora, and he wanted a divorce. The news shattered my world. But what came next was even more devastating. Gregory didn’t just want to leave; he wanted to take half of everything, including our home.

The legal battles that ensued were exhausting. I fought tooth and nail, not just for the house, but for custody of Ellie and Michael. In the end, the court ruled in a way that felt like a loss, even though I kept the house. Gregory was granted significant visitation rights, and the kids, swayed by his narrative and perhaps the allure of a less strict household, started to drift away from me.

Months turned into years, and I took a job abroad, hoping a fresh start would mend my broken heart. It didn’t. The distance only widened the gap between me and my children. When I returned to the States a few months ago, full of hope that we could rebuild our relationship, the reality was a cold shower. Ellie and Michael rarely visited. Phone calls were short and infrequent. Through the grapevine, I heard how Gregory had painted me as the villain in our family’s story, the one who was too busy to care, too focused on her career.

The truth is, I never stopped caring. Every decision I made, including taking the job abroad, was in the hope of providing a better future for my children. But somehow, that narrative got lost, twisted into a tale where Dad was the hero, and Mom was the villain.

Now, as I sit in the home that was once filled with laughter and love, I can’t help but wonder where things went wrong. Was it when Gregory met Cora? Or was it earlier, perhaps a slow drift that I was too busy to notice? The silence of the house is deafening, a stark reminder of the family I once had.

I’ve reached out, sent messages, and made calls, trying to bridge the gap. But the responses are few and far between. It seems Gregory’s version of events has taken root, and my children view me through a lens clouded by his influence.

This isn’t the story of a triumphant return or a family reunited. It’s a tale of loss, of love that was, and the painful realization that sometimes, despite your best efforts, happy endings remain out of reach.