For years, my life seemed like something people could only admire. I had what many would call a perfect family: I was married to a successful, disciplined man who didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, and was passionate about fitness. We have a daughter in college, attending one of the best universities. Together, we saved every extra dollar to buy her an apartment, wanting her to begin her adult life with a place of her own.

Everything seemed to be falling perfectly into place. Our relationship was steady; we had been through so much together. Now, finally, it was time to enjoy life for ourselves. But then, something went wrong.

My husband began secretly talking to a woman twenty years younger than him. He felt an instant spark, something he thought he’d lost long ago. She looked up to him, praised his accomplishments, and was genuinely curious about his future plans. For him, it felt like a breath of fresh air, a reminder of the excitement he used to feel in life. How could he not be tempted?

At first, he tried to resist, feeling it was wrong, given our 20-year marriage. He had long since lost romantic feelings for me, but a sense of duty to me remained strong.

Yet, the attention from this younger woman was intoxicating. He tried to control his feelings, taking “small sips” of this new fascination. But the more they spoke, the more he became infatuated. He tried ignoring her, staying out of touch for weeks, but would eventually text a simple “Hey.” And she was always happy to hear from him, carrying on late-night conversations.

“Maybe it’ll pass soon?” they both thought. But it didn’t.

Neither of them planned on meeting up. But one day, by sheer coincidence, they ran into each other at a nearby park during lunch. They recognized each other instantly, and before long, they were walking side by side, as if they’d been friends for years.

“Is this fate or just luck?” she asked, laughing lightly.

Six months went by like this, and he couldn’t hold it in any longer. One evening, he came to me in the kitchen and told me everything.

He explained that he wanted to move into the apartment we had saved for all these years. Our daughter wouldn’t need it just yet—she was still in school. And who knows, maybe she’d marry someone with the means to get her a place of her own, so perhaps she wouldn’t even need it at all.

The apartment. The one we had poured so much time, money, and energy into. The one that had been our shared dream, representing our hard work, sacrifices, and the best years of our lives.

Was he within his rights to do this? If the apartment is in his name, maybe he is. No matter how you look at it, it’s a complicated situation.

He provided for me my entire life. I never wanted for anything. He was attentive, and everyone admired our family. He was always willing to go the extra mile for our daughter. It seemed like we had an ideal life.

Should he now be condemned? Doesn’t he deserve happiness, considering life is short?

But then there’s my side. Naturally, I feel hurt. My husband is moving into the apartment we saved for together, with his young girlfriend. What am I supposed to do with 20 years of marriage now? Why did we go through all that effort? Who will appreciate me now? Friends suggest I let go and find someone else so I won’t be alone. But why should I? To face betrayal again?

What do you think about this situation?