They say they set a husband down and he suggested that my daughter be taken away forever.
Let your daughter stay with her grandmother, Peter said. We need some time to settle into each other, and the child gets in the way. At least for a few days, could you bring her over there?
Peter, weve gone over this a hundred times, I sighed. Im not going to give her up for a few days, or even an hour.
Its not giving her up! he winced. Good heavens, Claire, what are you thinking Im no monster! Think of itboth of us are thirtyfive, finally weve found each other and then I want to travel with you, take you to the theatre, to nice restaurants. Id love to wake up on a weekend at noon and stay in bed until evening! With a child thats impossible.
Impossible? I snapped back. You think you cant be happy with a child?
He said nothing, but the look on his face told me I had hit the mark.
Peter entered my life a few months back. We quite literally collided in the dairy aisle of a supermarket on Baker Street. He brushed past me, blushed, apologised profusely, then, as if to make amends for the moralphysical damage, offered to buy me a coffee. I accepted. His smile was disarming, the kind that makes you lower your guard.
He courted me with a charm that felt like a breath of water in a desert after three bleak years of solitude. He got on famously with my daughter, Molly. He played board games with her, taught her to rollerblade, and even helped with her homework now and then.
Three months after we met, I accepted his proposal. My mother frowned, worrying that I barely knew him, but I was convinced I did. I believed he was kind, caring, loving.
Three weeks ago Peter first suggested temporarily sending Molly to my mothers house. At first he spoke of school holidays, then hinted it would be better if
Think about it, he rammed on, the schools good, the air cleaner, and in general
And in general, shes a burden to you, I halfjoked, chiding him.
He didnt argue. He stared at me, then fell silent. It irked me, but love made me think it would pass. After all, he had no children of his own.
Molly is not just a child to me; shes my treasure. Eight years old, bright, beautifulmy gift from a first marriage. Andrew, my exhusband, remarried and now has twin boys, yet he never forgets Molly. He picks her up on weekends, takes her to the cinema, spoils her. Its all as it should be, one might say.
One winter Molly fell ill with a cold and a fever. Like any sick child, she was fussy. Peters temper flarednot openly, but I saw the way his brow furrowed at the sound of her cough, the eyeroll when I fetched a thermometer.
Maybe your mother could come over? he suggested at breakfast. Shes retired, nothing else to do.
I doubt my mother would understand if I asked her to care for a sick Molly while Im already here, I replied.
Peter muttered something under his breath; I brushed it off as fatigue.
Soon the little things that belong to Mollyher toys, the noisy cartoons, her gigglestarted to grate on him. When she invited friends over
Claire, how long can this go on? he exploded. I work all week and I deserve a decent Sunday rest!
What am I supposed to do with them? I retorted. Lock them in the cupboard? Tie them up and gag them?
Just take them to the park, perhaps, he snorted.
I learned to bend around his mood so he could catch some sleep.
When the school holidays arrived, Peter announced hed bought two seaside holiday vouchers.
What about Molly? I asked.
Shell go to her grannys. Thats settled.
Peter, but were a family, I protested.
He looked at me oddly, then softened: Claire, this is our honeymoon! No child belongs on a honeymoon.
We never went to the coast. I refused to leave without my daughter. Peter took offense and handed back the vouchers, sulking for a week before warming up again.
One evening I asked, Do you want children of your own?
Of course! he brightened. A boy, maybe two!
And Molly? I pressed. Shes yours now, too.
He fell silent, then said cautiously, Claire, you know how it is Whats yours is yours. I tryI buy her toys, take her to clubs
I thought, Hes just doing the bare minimum, as if it were a favor.
A few days later Molly returned from school with a certificatefirst place in a recitation contest. She beamed with pride and waited all evening to show Peter the paper.
He came home irritable, his work had gone awry. When Molly thrust the certificate at him, he brushed it off, Later, dear, later, show me your nonsense.
I saw her eyes dim. She snatched the paper and slipped away to her room.
Peter, what on earth? I demanded. Why speak to her like that?
Claire, cant we drop it? he winced. Im exhausted! Ive no patience for childrens awards.
Its not just a childs award. Its our daughters achievement!
Its not my daughter! he snapped, then stopped himself.
We sat in silence. I stared at the floral wallpapertiny roses Id chosen long before he arrivedand counted them: one, two, three
What does that mean to you? I asked calmly.
Peter covered his face with his hands. Claire, Im sorry. I meant I love you, madly. I thought wed eventually live for ourselves, then have our own childrentogether. Molly could stay with her granny, and wed visit. Or we could even let her father take her forever, legally his child, and raise her as such.
The words slammed into me, darkness blooming in my eyes.
Leave, I whispered.
What?
Leave this house. Now.
Claire, are you losing your mind? Peter stammered. Its our flat!
Its my flat, I said coldly. It came to me from my mother. Youre no longer welcome.
He walked out, calling me ungrateful and foolish, swearing Id regret it.
I never regretted itnot once.
In the years since Ive thought often about my mistake. How could I have been so wrong? I realized Id been seeing what I wanted to see. Id crafted an ideal man in my mind and ignored every red flag, because loneliness had left me craving love, no matter the cost.
