I’m Lena. I’m 41. For 17 years, I thought I knew the man I married. Derek and I had two beautiful kids and a home full of memories. But slowly, his love turned into ridicule.
It started with “jokes.” If I came downstairs without makeup, he’d say, “Rough night, huh?” When I found my first gray hair, he laughed: “Guess I’m married to Grandma now.”
The teasing became constant. No compliments. Just comparisons to younger women online. One day, he muttered while scrolling Instagram, “See, that’s what taking care of yourself looks like.”
I tried harder. Bought a new dress for his company party. Did my hair. He looked me over and said, “Maybe more makeup. Don’t want people thinking I’m out with my mom.”
That night, I suggested therapy. He laughed. “Therapy can’t fix gravity, babe.”
Then I found the messages. Tanya. A 29-year-old wellness influencer. Botox selfies. Flirty texts. “You deserve someone who takes care of herself,” she wrote.
When I confronted him, he said, “You stopped trying.” I said, “Then go live with Tanya.” And he did.
At first, I was shattered. But without his criticism, my home felt lighter. My daughter noticed: “Mom, you smile more now.”
Meanwhile, Derek’s perfect life crumbled. Tanya treated him like a wallet. He started calling me—about the kids, about my cooking, about how “Tanya’s kind of a lot.”
Then karma struck. He got Botox to win her back. It went wrong. Half his face was paralyzed. He couldn’t move one side of his mouth or raise an eyebrow.
He showed up at my door, defeated. “You look amazing,” he said.
I smiled. “I’ve always looked this way. You just stopped seeing me.”
Now, I walk past mirrors and see every wrinkle with pride. They tell my story. And when people ask if I miss Derek, I say:
“He mocked my face for aging. Now his can’t even move.”
