Dad had a happy life with someone else, while Mum sank into depression. Was it his fault?
He came home from work one evening, ate his dinner, chuckled along with the studio audience on the tellysome old comedy showthen calmly said, “Tanya, I’m leaving.” And just like that, he walked out. To her.
A common enough story, sadly.
Mums back: sharp shoulder blades visible through her nightdress, her neck as thin as a childs. And thenDads brand-new, gleaming car. Those were the two starkest memories of Emilys childhood.
Mum lying motionless on the sofa became the defining image of her depression. But Emily only understood that later.
Back then, in the nineties, no one in their small town knew much about depression. Even the doctors at the clinic were clueless. They tried to rouse Mum with vitamin injections and cheerful lectures”Youve got a daughter, love, pull yourself together!”
But it was depression. Major depressive disorder, a great black bear crushing her beneath its weight, stealing everythingjoy, hunger, sleep, even the strength to move. Mum could barely speak, and when she did, her words were hollow, lifeless.
If not for Gran, they wouldnt have made it.
Mum had been lively once, full of laughter. Then, one May evening, she became just a fragile shape on the sofa. Dad came home, ate dinner, laughed at the telly, then said those same flat words”Tanya, I’m leaving”and walked out.
Emily was seven. She remembered the unreality of it: the canned laughter still playing, Mum crying silently into the wall. How could this happen? Was life really like this?
After that, Emily hardly spoke to Mumor rather, to the sad curve of her back.
Two years later, Dad returned. Another May evening. He let himself in, glanced at Mum asleep in the lounge, then winked conspiratorially at Emily”Come to the kitchen, love.” Gran was out.
Hope fluttered in Emilys chest. In his smile, she saw an apology, a promise of something better. Maybe even Mum getting well again.
“Look, Em,” Dad whispered, leading her to the window. She pressed her nose against the glass, expecting magic. Hed been gone so longsurely, hed brought something wonderful?
Outside sat a shiny new Mercedes. Dad beamed brighter than the car.
“Do you like it, Em?”
“Its amazing!”
“Mine. Bought it meself.”
He reminded her of a caveman from a cartoon shed seenblunt, careless with words, thinking only of himself. Just like Dad.
He didnt ask about Mum. Didnt know Emily had started piano lessons. Didnt care about her school marks. Never once wondered if she had feelings at all.
Resentment. Confusion. Fear. A tangled mess inside her chest, too complicated for a child to unravel. So she shoved it deep down, where it ached like a bruise.
Dad grinned like a boy. “A Mercedes, Em! Brand new! Dreamed of this me whole life!”
Emily didnt understand.
His excitement faded. He sidled out like a thief, quietly shutting the door behind him.
She made a wish: *If he looks back, just once, Ill forgive him.*
He didnt. Just climbed into the car and drove away. For good.
Years later, Emily became a psychiatrist. Shame Gran never saw her drive up in her own new carthough maybe she did, smiling down from heaven. Proud of her Emily.
Before that, she got Mum proper help. Slowly, Mum came back to life, lifting her eyes from the worn-out carpet to the world beyond.
But Emily never forgave Dad.
Because he never looked back. Not once.
