I cant simply walk away from my first child.
Paul, Olivers nursery needs to be paid for, hand me some money, I said.
Sarah stopped in the doorway. He lounged on the settee, eyes glued to his mobile, not even glancing at me. He merely shook his head.
No money, dear.
How can that be?
I frowned, stepped forward, and instinctively rested my hands on my hips.
You just got your wages yesterday.
At last Paul tore his gaze from the screen. His face was as hard as a stone, without a flicker of guilt or remorse.
I paid Ivy the twomonth alimony she was owed, he said.
The words hit me like a hot wave of outrage.
Thats all? Nothing left at all?
His voice trembled a little, betraying him.
Just a few pennies. I still have to get to work, buy a lunch. Theres no spare cash.
He dove back into his phone, signalling the end of the talk. I could not hold back any longer.
You never have any money for Oliver! Never, Paul! Do you hear me? The nursery, the clothes, the food it always falls on me. All you ever think about is your Ivy!
Ethel, dont go there, Paul muttered, not lifting his head. Alimony is the law. Im obliged to pay. We share a household budget, so whats the difference who pays what?
I spun, snatched my coat from the rack, tears welling but hidden, and the door slammed shut behind me with a clatter.
The cold wind whipped my hair as I hurried down the street, paying no heed to the world around me. I clenched my teeth and dialled Mary.
Mary, are you home? Can I come over?
Of course. Whats happened?
Ill tell you later.
I hung up and hailed a cab.
Half an hour later I was sitting at Marys kitchen table, the kettle steaming.
Again the money? she asked.
I nodded, taking a sip of tea that burned my lips, but I ignored it.
Weve been living together five years, Mary. Five years! We have a son together. Yet every time it comes to money for Oliver Im left humiliated.
I set my cup down and ran my fingers over my face, the fatigue crashing over me at once.
He pays the alimony for his son from his first marriage on time thats the law, the court. And Oliver? Oliver can wait. The nursery isnt paid? Mother will sort it. The shoes are ripped? Mother will buy new ones. Paul just shrugs: no money, my salary isnt endless.
I fell silent, staring out the window at the drizzle turning the world grey. Mary clasped her mug and leaned forward.
Did you both talk about this seriously? she asked.
Dozens of times, I said with a bitter grin. Every time the same story. I bring up Oliver, the money, how Im alone in this. He answers: I cant, my pay is for us all, I cant abandon my first child. And thats the end of it. No more discussion.
Mary drummed her fingers on the table, her brows knitting. She gave me that look that meant she was weighing something.
You arent married, are you?
Right, I shrugged. We never saw the point in getting married. Then Oliver was born, and there was no time for paperwork. I was on maternity leave, he was working. We had no spare moments. And why bother? We were already a unit.
And who is listed as Olivers father on the birth certificate?
Paul, of course.
What are you getting at, Mary?
She smiled, a strange, predatoryyettriumphant smile.
Ethel, you should claim alimony!
I froze, the cup never reaching my lips.
What? Claim alimony? We live together.
Mary lifted her index finger.
But not as a married couple. Legally youre just cohabitants. That gives you the right to apply for alimony. The law is on your side.
Is it fair? Is it right? she prompted, leaning closer. Hes been treating you like this for years. Maybe a threat of alimony will finally make him change his ways with his own son.
I was silent. The thought seemed both mad and sensible. Part of me wanted to rush and do exactly as she suggested; another part told me it was a betrayal.
I dont know. I need to think.
That evening I collected Oliver from nursery. He chattered about painting a rocket, and I nodded while my mind drifted back to Marys words, a splinter lodged in my thoughts.
At home Paul was still on the settee. Oliver ran to him shouting Dad!, but Paul absentmindedly ruffled his hair and went back to his phone. I tightened my jaw and moved to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
I wasnt ready to follow Marys advice; it felt too drastic. After all, we were a familyhow could I do that?
Ten days later everything changed.
Oliver showed me his sneakers; the sole on one shoe had torn clean off.
Mum, I need new ones, he said apologetically. I didnt mean it, they just fell apart.
I sat beside him.
Its alright, love. Well get a nice pair tomorrow.
I went to Paul, who was fiddling with a computer game.
Paul, Oliver needs shoes. Give me some money.
No money, Ethel.
He didnt even turn. Something inside me snapped. I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.
Paul! No money again? How many times must I hear that?
Dont shout.
He shrugged free of my grip.
I told you, theres no money. What do you want from me?
The anger I had bottled up erupted.
I want you to be a father! I want my son not to walk around in holes because youre always short of cash! If you wont change, Ill file for alimony. Understand?
Paul leapt from his chair, his face twisted with fury. He stepped toward me, looming.
What are you talking about? Alimony? Youre as mercenary as Ivy! All I ever hear is my money, my money! Im just a walking wallet!
I didnt back down, though my heart hammered.
Dont you dare compare me to her! I believed in you for five years, waited, hoped youd change! And you only get worse!
He barked, Then go away! No one is holding you!
I stared into his empty, cold eyes, a void where love and hope had vanished.
Fine. Im leaving. Ill still claim alimony, you can be sure of that.
I headed to the bedroom to pack. Oliver stood in the doorway, eyes wide.
Mum, where are we going?
To Grandmas, sweetheart.
I sat with him, hugging him tight.
Well stay with Grandma.
An hour later we were at my mothers house. She opened the door, saw my tearstreaked face and Oliver with his small suitcase, and embraced us without a word.
Come in, she said.
The next day I met a solicitor. It was the end of five years, the end of a hope that never truly existed. When I signed the final papers, a weight lifted from my shoulders.
Paul tried to win me backcalls, messages, visits. He promised he would change, that we could sort it out without courts. But I was unmoved.
Too late, Paul. Its too late.
The hearing was swift. The judge ordered alimony of roughly ten thousand pounds a monthabout a quarter of Pauls earnings. He sat pale, fists clenched, a tremor in his jaw. I felt no pity.
Now I lived with my mother and Oliver. Life settled into a quiet rhythm. The payments arrived each month, punctual and reliable, far more than what Oliver had ever received while we lived together.
I bought Oliver new shoesbright, shiny, exactly the kind hed dreamed of. He ran around the flat laughing, and I watched him, certain I had chosen rightly.
Paul and I were no longer a pair, but I was content. No longer did I have to beg for every penny, endure humiliation, or endure his empty promises. He now paid, by law, and that was fair.
That night, after tucking Oliver into bed, I sat at the kitchen table with a mug of tea. Somewhere, Paul fumed, blaming me for his woes. I didnt care.
I was free. I had protected my son. And that was enough.
