I agreed to meet my ex-husband’s other two ex-wives. I didn’t expect that decision to change my life.

John and I only dated for six months before he popped the question. Just a few months before we started dating, my previous boyfriend of five years, Tayloe, and I had broken up. My relationship with John was a rebound and it should have stayed that way. Instead, at age 21, I walked down the aisle the same year Princess Diana and Prince Charles married, wearing my mother’s satin wedding dress with a long train behind me.

Days later, we packed up a U-Haul and drove from Mississippi to Montana to finish our college education.

During our first Christmas together, John bought a new pair of downhill skis. He presented me with the old pair of his with a big bow tied around it. I apologized and ran to the bathroom to cry. Not only was it painful to re-gift him, but I still missed my old boyfriend and the way we had given each other thoughtful gifts and spent the holidays with his family or mine. That was the first sign that our marriage was not good.

John made a dream come true: he bought us a cabin at the foot of a mountain. He was 30 minutes from the city and since we only had one car, I was often alone at night while he worked at a restaurant. Loneliness took over while he was at work and making friends.

It wasn’t long before I began to suspect that John was being unfaithful to me. My suspicions were confirmed when I called a waitress at the restaurant one night.

“Is Juan there?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied and handed him the receiver.

I was sure that my shortcomings had caused my husband to withdraw from our relationship in favor of the company of other women.

This was not the fairy tale I so wanted to believe in. His affairs ended our two-year marriage. I felt inferior, discouraged and confused. I wanted to die and I tried.

Shortly after our divorce, John started dating Wendy. He and I hadn’t seen each other in months, so I wondered what was going on when he called to ask me out to lunch. After we ordered, John blurted out, “Wendy’s pregnant and we’re getting married.”

Thanks to my therapist, who helped me see that John’s infidelities were not just mine, my self-esteem had recovered. I was able to take this news with grace. John also shared that Wendy had asked him to show me this respect, so that I could hear it from him instead of someone else. I already liked her.

Wendy and I first met when she and John came to my house to grab the canoe he and I had together. He extended his hand to introduce himself, and as our hands touched, I sensed a warm friendship in it. While John loaded the canoe, she and I chatted like friends. After all, she wasn’t the one he had cheated on me with and I didn’t feel any ill will towards her.

During her pregnancy, Wendy and I often ran into each other in our small downtown. We greeted each other and talked a little. In May 1985 her daughter was born. Since Wendy was new to our town when she met John, she didn’t know many people, so she asked me if I could take care of her sometimes. I didn’t see any reason to say no since I liked Wendy and she was already over John.

“I think we surprised your ex-mother-in-law by making you take care of the baby,” Wendy said later, laughing.

Shortly after, I moved out of town and didn’t keep in touch with Wendy. Then, 12 years later, she called me a mutual friend.

“Did you know John and Wendy got divorced?” she asked. I did not. “Well, I ran into Wendy and she asked me to pass along a message to you: ‘Tell Frances it’s not us, it’s him.’”

In 2010, I returned to that small mountain town I loved so much and opened a consignment store. Wendy found out that she was back in town and came into the store to welcome me. We were excited to see each other and instantly felt like we were old friends. She had remarried. Her emotions were running high when she told me about her husband’s recent health problems. I hugged her and said, “Let’s take a coffee date and catch up.”

A month later, we sat down to drink coffee and share stories. I wanted to know how her daughter was doing and she wanted to know about my life. In the end we talked about what had happened between her and John. He had also been unfaithful to her. And apparently we weren’t the only ones.

“John got married and divorced again. He cheated on her too! Wendy said. “I like Suzy,” she added. “We should invite her to join us sometime. “We could share our stories.”

A few months later, on a cold winter afternoon, the three of us sat at a round table in a dimly lit restaurant. The small talk lasted only a few minutes before we shared similar stories from our marriages to the same man. Being the first wife, I started. Then Wendy opened up. Then Suzy.

“I didn’t know he had been married. twice before!” Suzy revealed. “I was in my future mother-in-law’s kitchen and asked her if I should sign up for wedding gifts. She said, ‘Well, this is her third marriage.’ Of course, she knew about Wendy, but Not you, Frances.

As the restaurant began to close, we were still chatting, each of us amazed by the similar themes of betrayal and so many of the same lies that had spread in each of our marriages. Hugging each other as we prepared to leave, we made plans for a meeting that would “continue.”

Never in a million years did I imagine I would be sitting at the same table with two of John’s ex-wives. Sharing our stories validated each of our experiences. It was clear that her betrayals had nothing to do with us. Suzy had commented: “At least he has good taste in women!” We all agreed on that.

It had been 30 years since my brief marriage to John. During those years, he and I met for lunch several times. I always felt comfortable sitting across the table from him. I realized that I had never been in love with him. At age 21, I had been taking the opportunity to save myself, especially after, as a teenager, hearing my father comment about a family friend: “I wonder what’s wrong with Ann that she never married.” Ann seemed perfectly fine, but I didn’t want anything “bad” to happen to me. I thought getting married was the only way to go.

John never apologized for his infidelity, but I didn’t care. He didn’t need the apology from him.

Six months after our first meeting, Wendy, Suzy and I sat at Wendy’s table. Our laughter filled the room when she suggested we call ourselves The Triple X’s (XXX) and open a fine lingerie store called XXX. We made plans to meet again in a few months.

During our third meeting, the topic of our ex-husband did not come up even once. We had other things to talk about: books, music, our work, and what’s happening in our community. Suzy asked, “Should we go dancing next week? There is a good band playing downtown.”

Over time, we were no longer three women connected by the same ex: we were friends. It’s been 10 years since our first meal together. Now we take care of each other and enjoy spending time together. We’ve supported each other through tough times: Wendy’s second divorce, Suzy’s stressful job, my cancer. I lived with Wendy for a summer between residencies. They have both trusted me to take care of her house and her pets. The first time I babysat Wendy, I felt at home when I searched the kitchen cabinet for a plate and found the everyday dishes from my marriage to John. I started writing this essay while dog sitting for Suzy.

When Wendy and John’s daughter got married in 2016, she invited Suzy and me. Each of us had touched her daughter’s life and she wanted us there in the beautiful outdoor setting along with her other fun-loving friends, as well as John, her new partner, our former mother-in-law and ex brother in law. -law.

I was excited and honored to be invited and I wasn’t worried about seeing John, but Suzy was nervous. This would be the first time she would see him and her new partner, who he had divorced Suzy to be with her. Wendy and I assured her we would be there to help her. We told him that our mutual ex-husband would witness our connection and see three good decisions that ended because of his bad decisions.

That sunny fall day, John, who, despite his infidelity, was always a good father, gave away his daughter. After the ceremony, the bride’s grandmother, my former mother-in-law, saw me, grabbed me, and insisted that she find Wendy and Suzy to take their photo.

Thirty-five years later, I was experiencing a redemption I never imagined: My former mother-in-law had taken her son’s side during our divorce, but now she was hugging me and asking me how I was doing. She never verbally apologized for how she treated me all those years ago, but her actions were apology enough.

As Wendy, Suzy and I smiled at the camera, a part of each of us was healed. Our former mother-in-law had acknowledged her son’s role in our failed marriages. If there was anything about us that still felt inferior because of how John had treated us, she disappeared that day.

Since my marriage to John, I have been married twice more and both also ended in divorce. I have finally recovered and no longer feel like I need a man to be complete. Therapy helped me realize that I was never really afraid of being alone, I was afraid that “something was wrong with me” if I didn’t get married. But there isn’t… and there never was.

I love my autonomy and I love my life. Now, at 64 years old, I know that it is my friendships that sustain me and, in fact, they always have. I am grateful for Wendy and Suzy and all that we have experienced together despite the unusual circumstances that brought us together, and I look forward to sharing many more years of fun, adventure, and support with them.

Note: Some names and details have been changed to protect the privacy of people mentioned in this essay.

Frances Scott lives in Montana, where she writes essays and memoirs. She is a professional pet sitter and, when she is not reading, writing or pet sitting, she loves exploring the outdoors, hiking and floating on the river. Her essays can be found at The New York TimesNext Avenue, Insider and its history.

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