When I was 16, my mom decided we were moving back to the Dominican Republic. I spent five wild years there. Every day felt like a party, and I was living it up.
At 17, my cousin moved into the house across the street, and with him came the girl who would become my wife and eventually my ex. She was two years older, into me, and I was into her. We got closer after my cousin’s birthday party. That night, we brought the afterparty to my mom’s place. My mom pulled me aside and said straight up: “She’s the type to have fun with, not to take seriously.” I said I understood,And I kept partying.
Later that night, me and the girl ended up in the bedroom. Let’s just say things got heated. She started tweaking out,and couldn’t even stand properly. I asked if she was good. Her answer? I was apparently packing more than average. I didn’t know I thought something was wrong with me and even told my mom I might need surgery. I was young and clueless.
We kept hooking up for months. She had the looks slim waist, big tits, thick ass. Sue me. I didn’t make anything official until I was about to head back to the States. That’s when I asked her to be my girl, and everything went downhill.
December came. She said she was going out with friends. Next day, she told me she cheated with some dude from the States who always visits DR in December. That stung. But I was dumb and told her I forgave her just to block him. I should’ve blocked her, but then this story wouldn’t exist.
Eventually, I came back to DR. We got back into our old ways. But I caught her texting that same dude again. I tried to end it, but family got involved mainly my mom and we patched things up. I didn’t trust her anymore.
I went out with my boys one night and was about to hook up with a new girl. That same night, my ex told me she was pregnant. I took it as a sign to “man up.” I forgave her past and tried to reset. Our daughter was born, then our son. She changed. Grew cold. Distant. I stayed for the kids, hoping it’d get better. It didn’t.
My mom had me do a DNA test on both kids so we could bring them to the U.S. both were mine. We moved back to the States. Time passed, and one day I got confirmation she was still cheating. A family member sent me pictures from her phone. I felt cold. Numb. Told her we were done.
But again, for the kids, I kept her around. I told her I’d go back to the U.S. to work, and I wanted the kids with me. She said she couldn’t be away from them. I said fine I’ll marry you. So I did.
By 23, I had everything set. We moved to the States and stayed with my grandma for a while. Then came the bombshell: she was pregnant again. Not mine. She had already come to the U.S. pregnant with another man’s baby. I was at work when I found out. I came home she was gone. Thankfully, the kids were still there.
I met with her, laid down the law. “We’re only together for the kids. Once they’re five, you get a job.” But guess what? She didn’t start working until they were eleven. Freeloader.
By then, my love was dead. She was just a live in babysitter, and I was planning my exit. Once we hit five years married, I filed for divorce and cut her off. Stopped paying her expenses. Just focused on my kids.
Now I’m thinking of joining the Army maybe that’s the way out. A new path, better life for the kids.
That’s where the story ends… for now.