Bestie Got the Hikes, I Got the Divorce.

Six months ago, my wife joined a hiking group and quickly became obsessed with traveling everywhere.

Not long after our baby girl Anna was born, I gently asked her several times to spend more time caring for the family.

But she refused, saying she had postpartum depression.

She claimed that only traveling could truly relax her and prevent her condition from worsening.

I had no choice but to let her continue.

Until two days ago, when I saw her stepping out of her best friend’s car, glowing with health and full of color.

Right then and there, in front of my father-in-law and mother-in-law, I told her I wanted a divorce.

She froze, stunned for a long time before responding:

“Daniel Carter, do you even know what you’re saying?”

“Of course I do,” I replied coldly. “But it’s clear your heart hasn’t been in this family for a long time.”

Emily Walker looked aggrieved, her eyes misty with unshed tears.

My mother-in-law immediately questioned me:

“Daniel, you know Emily has depression. Are you trying to push her into a corner by doing this?”

I sneered inwardly, not bothering to explain.

Once again, I reminded Emily that no matter what, this marriage had to end.

When she first gave birth, everything still seemed normal.

But two months later, she suddenly said she felt anxious all the time, withdrawn, and often too low to even speak.

Sometimes she confessed she had impulses of taking the baby with her to die.

I researched online and found out this was postpartum depression.

If untreated, it would only get worse.

Since I had to work, I asked her parents to come help.

I even went to her company to resign on her behalf.

I told her to buy whatever she wanted, to just focus on resting at home.

Whenever I had free time, I stayed by her side, trying to make her laugh.

But instead of improving, her condition only seemed to worsen.

Her best friend suggested a new approach:

“Maybe traveling more, changing her environment, might help.”

So I immediately proposed traveling with her.

But she refused, saying I needed to work hard to support the family, that I couldn’t just take time off.

“If that’s the case, let Sophia Lewis accompany me instead,” she said.

At first, I didn’t think much of it.

I simply reminded Sophia to take good care of Emily.

I told them, “If you need money, just ask. What matters most is that you enjoy yourselves.”

And so, half a year passed like this.

Her trips increased from once every three months to once every two weeks.

Even when Anna cried in hunger, she would ignore her, leaving me to prepare formula milk.

Each time she came back, she looked rejuvenated, glowing, full of energy.

She thought I didn’t notice—but I understood everything.

Emily sobbed softly, asking pitifully:

“Daniel, did I do something wrong?

I admit I haven’t taken care of Anna lately… but I can’t help it. Every time I see her, I just want to cry.”

My mother-in-law tried to mediate:

“Daniel, we can help take care of the baby. Don’t be so rash.”

I shook my head. I was long past disappointment with Emily.

“I don’t want to drag this on. Tomorrow we’re going to the county clerk’s office to file for divorce.”

“If you don’t want to raise Anna, fine. I’ll raise her myself.”

In half a year, Emily had nursed Anna fewer times than I could count on one hand.

She kept claiming she had insufficient milk supply, or that her postpartum depression made it impossible.

I tried to understand, even offering comfort again and again.

But my tolerance had only made her bolder.

“Is this something a normal person would say?”

My father-in-law glared at me furiously, coffee mug still in his hand.

“Emily’s been with you for five years, married you, gave birth to your child, and worked hard to care for this family. And now you want a divorce?”

“Did I hear that right, or have you lost your mind?”