**Diary Entry 12th May, 1995**
Dad has a happy life with someone else now, while Mum is swallowed by depression. Is it his fault? He came home from work, ate dinner, chuckled along with the studio audience on TVsome old comedy showthen casually said, “Tanya, Im leaving.” And he left. For her.
Its a common story, I suppose. Too common.
Mums backsharp shoulder blades poking through her nightdress, her neck thin as a childs. And Dads gleaming new car. Those were the two sharpest memories of my childhood.
Mums silhouette on the sofa was the clearest sign of her depression, though I didnt realise it then. Back in the nineties, nobody in our little town talked about depression. Even the GP didnt recognise it. They just pumped her full of vitamins and told her to pull herself together”Youve got a daughter, for heavens sake!”
But it was depression. Proper, crushing depressiona great black bear of it, stealing her joy, her appetite, her will to move. She barely spoke, and when she did, her words were hollow.
Nana kept us afloat. Without her, I dont know how wed have managed.
Mum shrank into that sad, silent figure on the sofa one May evening. Dad came home, ate, laughed at the telly, then said those words: “Tanya, Im leaving.” And he was gone. Just like that.
I was seven. I remember the TV still blaring laughter, Mum crying into the wall. How could that be real?
After that, I didnt really talk to Mumjust to the curve of her back.
Two years later, Dad turned up again. Another May evening. Let himself in, peeked at Mum asleep in the lounge, winked at melike we were conspiratorsand beckoned me to the kitchen. Nana was out.
Hope fluttered in my chest. His smile seemed to say sorry, to promise something better. Maybe even Mum getting well again.
“Look, Poppet,” he said, leading me to the window. I pressed my nose to the glass, expectingwhat? A miracle?
There it was. A brand-new, shining Mercedes. He grinned like a boy.
“Do you like it, love?”
“Its brilliant!”
“Its mine! Bought it meself!”
He reminded me of a caveman from a cartoon Id seengrunting out words, careless of anyone elses thoughts. That was Dad. He didnt ask how Mum was. Didnt know Id started violin lessons. Didnt care about my school marks. Didnt wonder if I had feelings at all.
Just his car. His pride.
His excitement faded when he saw I didnt understand. He slipped out like a thief, shutting the door softly. I made a wish: if he looked back, if he saw me in the window, Id forgive him. Try to understand his joy, even with Mum ill and my chest aching.
He didnt look. Just marched to the car, drove off, and never came back.
I grew up. Became a psychiatrist. Nana never saw me pull up in my own new carthough I tell myself shes watching from above. Smiling. Proud of her Poppet.
But first, I got Mum proper help. She learned to live againto look at the world, not just the wallpaper.
I never forgave Dad, though.
Because he never looked back that May evening when he left for good.
