She Wasted Our Love, I Lost My Love

The day we graduated from university, we decided to get married. However, her family was firmly against it.

Especially her younger sister—she looked down on me from the very beginning. She made snide, passive-aggressive comments and sometimes openly mocked me, calling me a "gold-digger," saying I was just a nobody chasing after her sister’s money.

Only Freya and I knew the truth.

What we had started as a real friendship—pure and simple. It wasn’t until much later that it turned into love. By the time I found out she came from a wealthy family, my feelings for her had already been genuine.

Still, that time in my life was tough.

I felt lost, like I didn’t belong. To show that I mattered, Freya went against her family’s wishes. She secretly took her household registration papers and came with me to the registry office. We signed the marriage certificate on our own.

When her parents found out, they were furious. Their disapproval didn’t ease until Freya showed them her pregnancy test results. Only then did they begrudgingly accept our marriage.

But acceptance didn’t mean respect.

Her family continued to treat me with contempt. No matter how warm or polite I tried to be, all I got in return was sarcasm and cold shoulders. Their mockery stripped me of any dignity I had left.

In the early years, Freya would often comfort me. She’d tell me to be patient, that they’d come around. But as time passed—especially after our child was born—things began to change.

She grew distant, colder. It felt like the more I tried to hold on, the faster she pulled away. Worse, she started developing some vague, uncomfortable closeness with her assistant—one that she never clearly defined but never denied, either.

I tried to bring us back together. I became more attentive, more loving, trying to remind her of what we once had.

But instead of bringing us closer, it just pushed her further away.

She started criticizing everything about me—my job, my habits, my worth. She’d even compare me to her assistant, pointing out everything he did better.

And then… my mother passed away in the hospital.

In that moment, I finally understood that whatever innocent love Freya and I once shared had long since faded. The bond we once had was gone.

Our relationship had turned toxic. There was no point in pretending anymore.

That night, like most nights, I stayed up past 11 p.m. I had gotten used to it.

I didn’t go back to our bedroom. I slept in a separate room now. Because every time I walked into that bedroom, every time I saw that bed, all I could think about… was the day I came home and found her there—with him.

The next morning, almost as if on cue, we opened our doors at the exact same time.

She looked at me, startled. "Why didn’t you come back to the bedroom last night?"

I met her eyes calmly. "Do you really think there’s a point anymore?"

Freya’s face darkened. "You’re so petty sometimes. You never try to understand me."

I nodded slowly. "You’re right. I didn’t understand you... When my mother was in the hospital, asking to see you and her grandson one last time."

"When your assistant was lying in our bed. I’ve been trying—really trying—to figure out how to forgive you. But I just can’t."

I walked away.

When I reached the front door, I paused. "Should I find a lawyer to draft the divorce papers, or do you want to handle that?"

Freya didn’t move. She just stood there, staring at me like a stranger. "Whatever. Do what you want."

That weekend, I went to a law office and had a divorce agreement drafted.

When it was done, I headed back to what was still technically our home. I held my key to the door, but hesitated. Maybe… maybe I didn’t want to walk back into that place ever again.

I pulled the key back out.

Instead, I went to my home—my real one. The one I grew up in. Ever since Mom passed, I was the only one left here.

I opened an old drawer and found a photo from a few years ago. It was one of the three of us—me, my mom and my son. In the picture, Mom was smiling so gently, joy radiating from her face. But my son… he looked grumpy, clearly not happy to be taking that photo.

When he was born, my mother was so hapy. That child was her everything.

However, Freya’s family—they were overbearing from day one. Not long after our son was born, they told my mom straight to her face: That my son won’t have a future if he grows up in your house. He’s going to take their family name—Weiss.