I've fallen in love with my ex-boyfriend again, but he's married and has children...

（Private album 1/16）

My ex-boyfriend was married and had a child, but we still couldn't resist and had sex. He confessed he named his son after me and insisted that had his wife not been pregnant, they never would have married. Such words could soften anyone's heart, and so we drifted into an ambiguous affair, They even slept together. Then, unexpectedly, his wife confronted me...

（Private album 2/16）

His wife became pregnant.
I parted ways with my ex three years ago, owing to my own demanding nature. Once, over something trivial, I broke it off and ignored his calls; perhaps it was the culmination of my caprices, as neither of us yielded, and we simply drifted apart. Over a year ago, we reconnected when his wife was expecting their child. Since I work in a hospital, he sought my assistance. We maintained a casual connection afterward, and he admitted that only the pregnancy had led to their marriage. Recently, our communication intensified—yes, I found myself drawn to him once more.

（Private album 3/16）

Our liaison deepened.
Fatherhood and time had matured him, and he revealed that his son bore a name inspired by mine. I can't deny being moved, yet I resolved not to sink into the role of the other woman. Our exchanges remained lukewarm but increasingly suggestive, straying beyond friendship. When I fell ill, he comforted me; I lightly requested a gift, and he gave me a pig stuffed toy to place on my bed—something to embrace at night or vent frustrations upon.

（Private album 3/16）

We crossed the line.
That toy ended up on my nightstand. Our conversations grew more frequent, laced with intimacy and subtle explorations. I imagined that keeping things platonic would contain the flirtation within safe bounds, but I was mistaken. Two nights ago, he took me out drinking with friends. We lingered late, and he insisted on escorting me to a hotel, citing concern for my safety. That night, we surrendered to passion.

（Private album 4/16）

His wife reached out.
Guilt consumed me afterward. He apologized repeatedly, sending a grand bouquet of roses with a card that bore a simple "Sorry." I softened, deluding myself into thinking it meant nothing. Then, a friend request appeared on my phone, accompanied by a chilling note bearing his wife's name. Knowing evasion was futile, I accepted. Yet instead of the expected hysteria, her tone was weary and composed. "Let us meet," she proposed, "just the two of us."

（Private album 5/16）

I faced her alone.
I agreed. In a secluded café corner, she greeted me. Contrary to my fears, she displayed no aggression—only pallid skin, dark hollows beneath her eyes, and profound exhaustion. She gently pushed a photo of their child toward me. Nervously, I studied the infant—the one he claimed carried my name. Surely she knew? To my surprise, she avoided the topic, murmuring softly, "Just look at my child."

（Private album 6/16）

She implored me to spare her family.
"He's still so young," she whispered, "he needs a father, a stable home." She confessed having sensed it all—traces of texts he couldn't erase, his distant moments. She hadn't raged but watched in silence until it became unbearable. Without condemning me or even him excessively, she circled back to her baby and their fragile life. "I know you shared something once," she said, "but we are married now. Please, keep your distance. Don't tear my family apart, will you?"

（Private album 7/16）

I fled.
Her gaze laid bare a raw vulnerability and fierce resolve to defend her family. In that instant, every justification I had concocted crumbled. Before me stood not just a wounded woman but a helpless infant. My fleeting emotions and dalliances seemed grotesque against this stark reality. Hastily nodding, I vowed to sever all ties, then bolted from the café like a fugitive.

（Private album 8/16）

My ex unleashed his wrath.
I assumed it was over. I erased his contacts, striving to reclaim normalcy. But he discovered our meeting and confronted me in fury. He reproached me for seeing his wife alone, claiming it worsened the turmoil at home. His voice brimmed with agitation, the panic of exposure. Soon after, his wife messaged again—this time, stifled rage bleeding through: "What did you say to him? Now he wants a divorce! Must you drive me to despair?"

（Private album 9/16）

I shattered.
Trapped between them, I stood defenseless. My ex swung between remorse—apologizing for hurting us both—and grievances about his stifling marriage, clinging to me as his sole solace. His wife bombarded me with alternating pleas and invectives, blaming me entirely for their strife. She descended into curses, labeling me a homewrecker. My ex clung tighter, pouring out his anguish and nostalgic yearnings. Utterly undone, I collapsed internally.

（Private album 10/16）

Regret washed over me.
On one side, a man I once adored; on the other, a woman clutching her child in desperation. Never had I seen myself so clearly as the villain tearing a family asunder. Shame scorched me. Seizing the pig toy he'd gifted, I hurled it against the wall. Fearing scandal and the loss of my hospital career, I regretted every choice. I blocked every avenue of contact, pleading silently that they would vanish from my life.

（Private album 11/16）

（Private album 12/16）

（Private album 13/16）

（Private album 14/16）

（Private album 15/16）