My husband left me for his mistress when I ended up in a wheelchair, but I refused to let him take our daughter too – Story of the day

I thought my husband would support me no matter what. But the night I met him and my best friend, my world shattered. I fled into the storm, blinded by tears, not seeing the sharp turn that was coming.

I had always considered myself happy. I had a loving husband, a daughter I adored, and a best friend I trusted completely. My life seemed picture perfect: cozy dinners, laughter at the table, kisses before bed.

Mark was my rock. He always knew how to make me laugh, even on my worst days.

“Kate, don’t stress. What’s the worst that can happen? Dinner gets burned? We order pizza. Problem solved.”

Sophie, our six-year-old daughter, was pure joy. She loved bedtime stories, caramel ice cream, and our spontaneous dance parties.

“Mommy, spin me! Higher!” she laughed, spinning in my arms.

“Okay, but if I fall, you carry me to bed,” I joked, making her laugh even more.

Mark shook his head. “Two troublemakers. I don’t stand a chance in this house.”

We were a team, a perfect trio. Or so I thought.

And then there was Sarah. My best friend. The person I trusted with everything.

When she told me she didn’t want to celebrate her birthday, I assumed she was just in a bad mood. But a birthday without a celebration? That didn’t seem right to me.

So I decided to surprise her. I bought her favorite chocolate cherry cake, smiling to myself.

I would roll my eyes and say, “Kate, you are ridiculous.”

I parked in front of his house, but something didn’t fit. The door was ajar.

“Sarah?” I called, entering.

Silence. I took a few more steps and stopped.

Mark was on her couch. His hand was resting on the small of her back. Their fingers intertwined. His face… so close to hers. Too close. The air left my lungs.

“Kate…” Mark stood up, pale.

Sarah’s eyes widened. “Wait, just…”

Their voices blurred, muffled. My heartbeat roared in my ears. The cake slipped from my fingers and landed with a thud.

I turned and ran. Outside, the rain pelted my skin as I fumbled for my keys. My hands shook so badly I could barely get them into the ignition.

“Breathe, Kate. Breathe.”

The engine roared. My chest heaved. My vision blurred.

I stepped on the accelerator. The streetlights blurred into golden streaks.

Sharp curve sign. Too late. Tires skidded. A violent, crushing force.

The blackness.

I woke up in a hospital bed. My body felt strange, broken and unresponsive. I tried to move, but something was wrong…

“Kate,” came the doctor’s calm voice. “You need to know…”

His words burned like fire. Paralysis of the lower body. A wheelchair. A chance of recovery, but no guarantees.

I couldn’t understand how it was possible. How could I stop walking?

Panic rose in my throat. And then I saw her.

Sophie was standing by the door. Her eyes were huge, filled with fear and pain. She ran to me, hugged me, and buried her face in my shoulder.

“Mother…”.

I hugged her as tight as I could.

Mark was standing there. His face was distant, cold, devoid of any remorse. I looked at him and, for the first time, I felt real fear.

“We’ll get through this,” I whispered, because I had to believe it. I had to.

He exhaled, long and heavy. “Kate…”

I asked Sophie to go play with her teddy bear in the hallway. A kind nurse offered to stay with her for a few minutes.

Finally, Mark continued, “I can’t go on like this.”

The world stopped.

“That?”.

“I’m leaving.”

No apologies. No regrets. No hesitation. Just a simple statement of fact.

I clenched the sheets so tightly that my fingers turned white. “For her?”

He didn’t answer.

“I’m sticking with Sophie for now,” he added dryly. “We’ll decide on the rest later.”

Then he turned around and walked away. I was left alone. Tears ran silently down my face.

I had to get back on my feet. For Sophie.

Rehab was hell. That’s when Alex came into my life.

He was my physical therapist, coming in every day and teaching me how to move. He was like a child learning to walk for the first time. He was kind and patient, but he never let me give up.

“Again, Kate. You can do it.”

But I couldn’t.

I was angry. At myself. At my husband. At Alex, who kept demanding that I focus on my legs when all I could think about was the betrayal and how much I wanted to drown myself in self-pity.

A week of failed therapy passed. Then Sophie returned.

She was not only happy, but radiant. She ran across the room and jumped onto the bed, her long hair falling over her shoulders and her voice full of pure excitement.

“Mom, you won’t believe this! We went to the amusement park.” She plopped down in front of me, her eyes shining. “Dad let me ride the biggest roller coaster, and Aunt Sarah bought me the biggest cotton candy.”

Her words hit me like a hammer. Aunt Sarah.

I forced myself to smile, even though there was a lump in my throat.

“That sounds wonderful, honey.”

“Mom, can we go together next time?” She grabbed my hand excitedly.

I wanted to say “yes.”

But I had barely learned to get in and out of the wheelchair by myself. Doing basic household chores was an exhausting challenge. The idea of ​​going anywhere in this chair seemed unbearable, impossible.

I wanted to promise her that I would run beside her, that I would laugh with her, that I would hold her hand as she screamed with joy on the rides. But I couldn’t. My legs wouldn’t move. My legs didn’t exist in the world she lived in.

Sophie waited. Her big eyes looked at me with hope, and it burned me more than words ever could.

I looked away. “I don’t know, honey.”

Disappointment flashed in his eyes. He gently let go of my hand and his shoulders slumped.

“Oh… well, maybe another time,” she whispered.

That night, Mark called.

“Sophie is fine with me,” his voice was calm, confident, as if he had already decided everything for us. “I think she should live here.”

I grabbed the phone. “You didn’t even ask me.”

“Kate, be honest. It’s hard for you. Sophie deserves a normal childhood.”

I almost screamed. “And you think I can’t give it to her?”

Mark sighed, as if talking to a child who refused to understand something obvious.

“You see for yourself. I’ll pick her up tomorrow; she has a dentist appointment and then a birthday party. Or do you want to take her?”

I clenched my jaw. He didn’t wait for my response. He hung up.

The next morning Sophie left. When Alex arrived, I looked at him coldly.

“I’m done.”

He was surprised, but unfazed.

“Kate, it’s normal that you’re exhausted. But you mustn’t stop now. You’ve come so far.”

“And for what?” My voice cracked, hysterics setting in. “For what? To see my daughter having the time of her life with my ex and his lover? To find out that she’d rather be with them than with me? To keep staring at my legs and hope they’ll magically start working again?”

Alex pressed his lips together. “Sophie loves you. But you need time.”

“He needs a mother who can walk.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “He needs a mother who doesn’t give up.”

“I can’t keep doing this,” I whispered.

Alex looked at me for a long moment, his eyes full of understanding.

“Okay”.

I frowned. “Okay?”

“If you want to give up, I can’t stop you.”

He stood up. “But if you ever need my help again, you know where to find me.”

Then he left. I sat by the window and watched as it began to rain.

The next day my mother came over. I hadn’t invited her. I hadn’t even told her what was going on. She suspected that Alex had found her number and called her.

He came into the room without asking permission and sat next to me.

“My sweet girl,” he squeezed my hand gently, like he used to do when I was little and scared. “It’s going to be okay.”

I didn’t answer.

“Doctors say you have to believe in yourself.”

I let out a dry laugh. “I don’t believe in anything anymore, Mom.”

He sighed, stroked my hand, and without saying anything else, opened the laptop.

On the screen, I saw myself as a little girl. Running along a beach, laughing, falling into the sand, getting up again, running to my mother, who would lift me into the air and spin me around.

I stared at the screen in shock. “What is this?”

Mom smiled.

“Your childhood. This was the time when I didn’t have the strength to pick you up. I had cancer. I was recovering from chemotherapy.”

I shuddered.

“I remember that time… but I didn’t know you were sick. You always seemed so strong. You just… started carrying that scarf everywhere. But I never knew.”

He looked at me with soft but firm eyes.

“When your father died, I became ill. The doctors told me my chances were fifty-fifty.”

“But you recovered.”

“Because I saw your eyes,” he squeezed my hand. “I didn’t want to betray your happiness.”

I never knew. He gently brushed a strand of hair from my face.

“And Sophie… they want to take her away from me,” I whispered.

“Honey, I’ll take care of Sophie. Until you get better. And that will be soon. I believe it.”

He winked at me. “And Alex… I think he believes in you too.”

Suddenly, I saw my mother in a whole new way, and in that moment, I realized that if she could do it, so could I. That night, I called him.

“I’m going back to rehab.”

“I knew you would,” he said.

The days that followed were brutal. But Sophie and my mother were there, and that gave me the strength to carry on.

I fell. Alex picked me up. I tried to move. Over and over.

“If you need me outside of this, I can help you with Sophie. Your mother deserves a break sometimes too.”

I looked up at him, something warm and unexpected stirring inside me.

“Is this your way of asking me out?”

He chuckled. Then I took my first step. Then the second.

A month later, I organised a birthday party for Sophie. I sat by her side. No wheelchair.

Alex took my hand. Mark watched from a distance. But I never looked back.

Tell us what you think about this story and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.

If you liked this story, read this one: I Survived Cancer to Hug My Daughter Again. But when I finally saw her at the fair, her words crushed me: “You’re not my mother. You’re just a bald lady.” And I knew exactly who was behind it. Read the full story here .

This story is inspired by the everyday lives of our readers and has been written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to real names or locations is purely coincidental. All images shown are for illustrative purposes only. Share your story with us, it could change someone’s life. If you want to share your story, send it to info@amomama.com .