I still recall that night as if it were a dark chapter in an old diary, the memory of my jealousy still burning like a coal in the hearth. I stood rooted by the kitchen window, the gloom of the Surrey night pressing against the glass. My clenched fist grasped a halfempty glass of whisky, and the steady tick of the mantel clock echoed in the silence, each second dragging on with cruel patience.
She was late. Far too late.
Then a pair of headlights cut through the blackness, spilling light onto the cobbled drive. A sleek black sedan rolled to a stop in front of our modest terrace. My heart lurched. Behind the wheel sat a tall, confident stranger.
The passenger door swung open.
And Gwen stepped out.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
She smiled a light, natural smile that seemed conspiratorial. She leaned toward the man, whispered something, and he chuckled, a low, intimate laugh.
She closed the door and walked back to the house, unaware of the storm gathering inside me.
My blood boiled. Who was that man? How long had this been going on? Was it the first time?
She entered, tossing her handbag onto the table as if nothing mattered.
Who was that? I asked, my voice low and sharp.
She halted, eyes wide in surprise. Excuse me?
That man in the car. Who is he?
She let out a weary sigh, exasperated. Thomas, not again Hes Julies husband. He just gave me a lift, thats all. Are you serious?
I could no longer hear her words. All that remained was a low, seething rage that filled my head, a hot torrent of dark thoughts.
My hand rose before I could stop it.
The slap cracked through the room.
She recoiled, hand pressed to her face, a thin line of blood trickling from her nose.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
She stared at me, frozen, her eyes wide with terror.
A knot tightened in my throat. I had crossed a line I could never undo.
A line from which there was no return.
She made no sound, no cry. She simply slipped on her coat and left the house.
The next morning a bailiff delivered the papers for my divorce.
I lost everything even my son.
I endured your jealousy for years, she said during our final conversation, her voice as cold as ice. But I will never tolerate violence.
I begged her forgiveness, swearing it was a momentary lapse, a fleeting mistake that would never happen again.
She would hear none of it.
The final blow came in court, where she claimed I had also been violent toward our child.
A falsehood. A vicious lie that sealed my fate.
I had never raised a hand on my boy, never raised my voice at him. But who would believe a man who had struck his wife?
The judge hesitated not a second.
She was granted sole custody.
Me? A few fleeting hours each week, a limited contact arrangement in a neutral setting.
No nights at home. No mornings to prepare his breakfast.
For half a year my life shrank to those thin slices of time, those rare moments when he would dash to me laughing, his tiny arms looping around my neck, only for me to watch him run back, again and again.
Then one afternoon, as he was wheeling his little toy cars across the dining table, he spoke in an innocent voice:
Dad, last night Mum wasnt here. There was a lady with me.
My heart froze.
A lady? What lady? I asked, trying to keep my composure.
I dont know. She comes when Mum goes out in the evenings.
A chill ran through me.
Where does she go?
He shrugged. She doesnt tell me.
My fingers clenched. I needed answers.
When the truth emerged, a knot tightened in my throat. Gwen had hired a nanny a foreign woman.
While I begged for more time with my own son, she was leaving him in the care of a stranger.
I snatched my phone and called her.
Why is a stranger looking after our boy when Im here? I demanded.
Her voice was calm, icy. Because its easier.
Easier?! My anger roared. Im his father! If he cant be with you, he must be with me!
She sighed. Thomas, Im not going to cross the whole county every time I have an appointment. Stop making everything about you.
My hand trembled around the receiver.
What could I do? Sue her? Fight for custody?
What if I lost everything again?
One mistake. One moment of folly. And everything had been taken from me.
But my son? I would not let him slip away. I would fight, for he is the only thing left to me.
