That night, the house was quiet. The kids were fast asleep, and the only sound was the soft hum of the fan. Suddenly, my phone buzzed — a message from him, my ex-husband, the father of my children.
“Can I call you?” he wrote.
I hesitated for a moment, then replied, “Yes.”
Minutes later, I heard his voice on the other end of the line. It was heavy, tired — almost broken.
He started talking about the project he was working on, how he was hoping to at least get half of the payment to settle some debts. But it turned out to be nothing. No money came in, and all his bills were overdue.
“Do you know anyone who could help me?” he asked, his voice desperate.
I took a deep breath.
“No, I don’t,” I replied softly.
There was a long pause before he spoke again, this time with a cracked voice.
“I regret everything. I regret cheating. I regret marrying her. My life is falling apart. My debts keep growing, and I can’t find peace. My soul feels restless.”
I listened quietly. I could have been angry, I could have reminded him of the pain he caused me, but instead, I spoke gently:
“Don’t regret it. That was your choice.”
He went silent again. Then he said that even though his current wife is a government employee in Makassar, it hasn’t made life any easier. In fact, their debts keep piling up.
And in my heart, I couldn’t help but think — it’s true what people say: different wife, different fortune.
Maybe he thought marrying his mistress would make life lighter, easier.
But instead, it’s only gotten heavier.
That night, I ended the call with mixed feelings. Part of me pitied him, but another part of me felt relief.
My life after the divorce may not have been easy — but at least I can sleep peacefully, without debt collectors chasing me, without regret gnawing at my soul.
