Here is a continuation of the story in the same voice and style as the original post.
…Felt ridiculous even hearing it.
My phone started blowing up immediately after I hung up. Text after text. First, it was the generic “How dare you hang up on me,” followed by a dissertation on how “cruel” and “bitter” I am. He actually had the nerve to type out: “You’re punishing Jane for something she can’t control just because you’re still not over the past.”
I had to put my phone down and walk a lap around my kitchen just to stop myself from screaming.
Let’s be clear about something. I am not “punishing” Jane because she is infertile. That is a heartbreaking struggle for anyone, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. But here is the reality check my ex seems to have missed: My children are not emotional support animals for his mistress-turned-wife.
They are human beings. They are teenagers and pre-teens who lived through the hell of their father destroying our family. They remember him leaving. They remember the confusion. And, most importantly, they remember the custody battle where he and “Jane” tried to paint me as unfit just so they could play house with my babies without me in the picture.
Now that the judge shut them down and they have to deal with the reality of being weekend parents, they’re realizing that kids aren’t stupid. My kids are cold to Jane. Not because I tell them to be—I actually encourage them to be polite—but because they know who she is. They know she’s the reason Dad wasn’t there for dinner for four years.
I finally texted him back a few hours later. I said:
“I hung up because your request is delusional. You two spent years breaking this family apart. You tried to take full custody to erase me from their lives. You don’t get to turn around now and ask me to do the emotional labor of making my children love the woman who helped wreck their home just because she’s sad she can’t have her own. Bonding is earned, not forced. If she wants a relationship with them, she needs to build it herself—starting with an apology to them for the trauma she caused. Do not call me with this nonsense again.”
He read it and didn’t reply.
I talked to my oldest (15M) later that night, just testing the waters. I asked how things were over at his dad’s house. He rolled his eyes and said, “Jane just tries too hard. She buys us stuff and then cries when we don’t call her ‘Mom.’ It’s weird, Mom. I just go to my room.”
My heart broke for him, but it also solidified my decision. It is not my job to facilitate a mother-child bond between my kids and the woman who knowingly slept with their father. If Jane wants to be a parent, she can look into adoption, fostering, or therapy. But my children are not a consolation prize for her infertility struggles, and I will never apologize for protecting them from forced intimacy with a woman they barely respect.
So, am I the villain? Maybe in their story. But in mine, I’m just a mom holding the line. Life goes on, indeed—but strictly on my terms.
