The bitterness tasted like ash in my mouth. How could he? How could he just walk away, leaving us like discarded toys? Mark, my husband of fifteen years, the man I’d built a life with, had traded us in for a shiny, new model. A twenty-year-old, no less. A coworker. I’d suspected something was off, the late nights, the secretive phone calls, but I’d pushed it aside, trusting him. Foolish me.
The day I caught them, at that cheap motel on the outskirts of town, was seared into my memory. The look on his face, a mixture of guilt and something disturbingly close to relief, still haunted my dreams. He didn’t even try to deny it, just mumbled some pathetic excuse about “finding himself.”
The divorce was a whirlwind of lawyers and paperwork, a cold, clinical process that stripped away the remnants of our life together. He’d agreed to everything, too quickly, too easily. I was left with a pittance, barely enough to cover a few months’ rent.
Then came the real insult. He’d put our marital home, the house where we’d raised our kids, the house filled with memories, up for sale. And he’d listed it for an absurdly inflated price, far exceeding the online valuation used during the financial order. The judge had signed off on it, seemingly oblivious to the glaring discrepancy.
I was left scrambling, barely able to make ends meet, while he was raking in a fortune. Seeing that listing online, the photos of our home, now staged and impersonal, was like a knife to the heart. It was a constant reminder of everything I’d lost.
But the final straw was when his new fiancée, the mistress, announced on social media that they were buying a “dream home” because they were expecting a baby. A baby! He was building a new life, a new family, while my kids were struggling, while I was drowning in debt. The injustice of it all was suffocating.
I was consumed by rage, a burning desire for revenge. I wanted him to feel the same pain, the same despair, that he’d inflicted on me. I wanted him to understand the consequences of his actions.
It wasn’t until I visited my former mother-in-law, a woman who had always been kind to me, that a plan began to form. She was as devastated by Mark’s actions as I was. We sat in her cozy kitchen, sipping tea, and she told me stories of Mark’s childhood, of his father’s own infidelity, a pattern repeating itself.
Then, she mentioned a small, overlooked detail. A safety deposit box, inherited from Mark’s father, containing… well, she wasn’t entirely sure. She’d always assumed it was just old documents.
The next day, I went to the bank. I’d remembered Mark mentioning the box once, years ago, but he’d dismissed it as unimportant. I presented myself as his legal representative, using a power of attorney document I’d obtained during the divorce proceedings, a document Mark had signed without reading thoroughly.
Inside the box, nestled amongst faded photographs and yellowed letters, was a stock certificate. A substantial amount of shares in a company that had recently skyrocketed in value. Mark, in his haste to leave, had completely forgotten about it.
I sold the shares.
The money, a significant sum, allowed me to pay off my debts, secure a comfortable apartment for myself and the kids, and even put a down payment on a small business.
I didn’t tell Mark. I didn’t gloat. I simply moved on, building a new life for myself and my children. The satisfaction wasn’t in the money, but in the knowledge that I had taken back control, that I had turned his betrayal into my liberation. And maybe, just maybe, he’d learn that some things, like family, are worth more than any fleeting infatuation.
At 72, Jane Seymour proudly showcases her twin sons, whom she welcomed at 44, calling them “handsome young men”
Beyond her illustrious career as an actress, Seymour is also an accomplished author and a devoted mother. Her journey through motherhood has been filled with both challenges and joys, particularly in raising twin sons.
The actress, who has been married and divorced four times, is the proud mother of Katherine, 42, and Sean Flynn, 39, from her union with David Flynn. Additionally, she shares twin sons, John Stacy and Kristopher Steven, 28, with filmmaker James Keach.
Seymour has openly discussed her struggles on the path to motherhood. In an interview with People, she shared how in-vitro fertilization led to two miscarriages, almost leading her and her then-husband to give up hope. However, her third pregnancy at the age of 44 was a success, resulting in the birth of her twin boys.
The twins arrived six weeks early through an emergency C-section due to pre-eclampsia, presenting a host of challenges right from the start. Reflecting on this difficult experience in an interview with Loose Women, she stated: “I nearly died having them, and the babies nearly died”.
Despite the risks, Seymour expressed no regrets about her decision to have children, affirming: “I’m very glad I had them”. The early days were particularly crucial, as both boys required close monitoring due to health issues. At one point, Johnny even turned blue after returning home, necessitating another hospital visit for close observation of his breathing and swallowing.
To ensure she was fully present in their lives, Seymour made choices that allowed her to include her children in her work. As they grew, the twins formed a strong bond, often sharing a crib and later a bed.
Recently, Seymour delighted fans with a touching photo of herself alongside her now-adult twin sons, who have grown tall and handsome. Comments flooded in, praising both the boys and their mother: “Love this Jane. The boys are so handsome, and you look beautiful”, one fan wrote. Others added: “Two handsome men! And a beautiful mother!” and “Your boys are handsome”.
Seymour’s experience as a mother of twins, marked by both hardships and joys, showcases the profound strength of a mother’s love. As her sons stand tall beside her, she continues to celebrate the blessings of parenthood and the lasting impact of family.
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