I thought about myself.
A few weeks later, I filed for divorce myself.
My husband was convinced I would be terrified. In his mind, a fifty-five-year-old housewife with eleven children could never survive without him.
But he had forgotten one important thing.
I hadn’t always been a housewife.
After child support was arranged, I used part of the money to hire a nanny.
Then I found an English tutor and began relearning everything I had once known.
At first, it was incredibly difficult, but little by little, my knowledge returned.
After all, many years earlier, I had been one of the best students in my class.
Then I joined a gym.
Not because I wanted to impress anyone or regain my youth, but because for the first time in years, I finally had time to take care of my own health.
A few months later, I started looking for work and soon received my first job offer.
But the most interesting part was what happened to my husband.
Under the court’s arrangement, the children had to regularly spend time with their father, so they stayed with him two days a week.
Several of the children at once—including our youngest son.
The man who had spent years believing that I “did nothing” suddenly discovered how many times a baby wakes up during the night, how much food it takes to feed a large family, how much laundry has to be done, and how many questions children can ask at the same time.
One evening, he called me completely exhausted and said:
“I can’t handle this. Come pick them up early today.”
I looked at the time and calmly replied:
“I can’t. I have an English lesson, and then I’m going to the gym. Today is your day with the kids.”
And for the first time in thirty-two years, I ended the conversation when I wanted to.