I still remember that night as if it were a dark chapter in an old diary. I stood motionless by the window of our cottage in a small Yorkshire village, the night pressing against the glass. My hand clenched a halfempty glass of whisky, the ticking of the mantel clock echoing in the stillness, each second stretching like a cruel rope.
She was late. Far too late.
Then the street was lit by the sudden glare of headlights. A sleek black sedan pulled up in front of the house, and my heart lurched. At the wheel sat a tall, confident stranger.
The passenger door swung open and she stepped out.
A cold shiver ran through me. She smileda light, natural smile, one that seemed to belong only to her. She leaned toward the man, whispered something, and he laugheda soft, intimate chuckle.
She closed the door and walked back to the house, unaware of the storm gathering inside me.
My blood boiled. Who was this man? How long had this been going on? Was it the first time?
She entered, tossed her handbag onto the table as if nothing had happened, and I asked, my voice low and sharp, Who was that?
She stopped dead, looked at me, surprised. Excuse me?
This man in the carwho is he?
She sighed heavily, irritation plain on her face. Thomas, not again Hes Julies husband. He simply gave her a lift, thats all. Are you serious?
I could hear nothing beyond the roar of my own rage, a heat searing my skull, a torrent of dark thoughts. My hand rose before I could stop it. The slap cracked through the room. She recoiled, a thin line of blood escaping from her nose.
The silence that followed was unbearable. She stared at me, eyes wide with terror. A knot formed in my throat. I had crossed a line I could never step back from.
She made no sound, no cry. She simply grabbed her coat and left.
The next morning a bailiff handed me the divorce papers. I had lost everythingincluding my son. I endured your jealousy for years, she said in our final conversation, her voice as cold as ice, but I will never tolerate violence.
I begged her forgiveness, swearing it was a moments lapse, that it would never happen again. She would hear none of it.
Then, before the judge, she claimed I was also violent toward our child.
A lie. A vicious lie that sealed my fate.
I had never raised a hand to him, never shouted at him. Yet who would believe a man who had already struck his wife?
The judge did not hesitate. She was granted sole custody. I was left with a few hours a week, a restricted visiting right in a neutral setting.
No nights at home. No mornings where I could make his breakfast. For six months my life shrank to those scant hours, those fleeting moments when he would race to me, laughing, his little arms looping around my neck, only for me to watch him leave again and again.
Then, one day, my fiveyearold son said something that shattered my composure.
He was growing, understanding more each day. One afternoon, while he was rolling his toy cars across the kitchen table, he looked up with an innocent voice and said, Daddy, last night Mum wasnt there. There was a lady with me.
My heart stopped. A lady? What lady? I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
I dont know. She comes when Mum goes out in the evenings.
A chill ran down my spine. Where does she go?
He shrugged. She doesnt tell me.
My fingers clenched. I had to know.
When the truth emerged, my throat tightened. She had hired a nannya foreign woman. While I begged for more time with my own child, she entrusted him to a stranger.
I snatched my phone and called her. Why is a stranger looking after our son when Im here? I demanded.
Her voice was calm, cold. Because its easier.
Easier?! My anger roared. I am his father! If he cant be with you, he must be with me!
She sighed. Thomas, I wont be driving across town every time I have an appointment. Stop making everything about you.
My phone trembled in my hand. What could I do? Sue her? Fight for custody?
And if I lost again? One mistake, one fleeting lapse, 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 that belongs to me.
