I still recall the night when jealousy seized me, as if a cold wind had slipped through the shutters of my mind. I stood motionless by the window, the darkness outside swallowing the street, a halfempty glass of whisky clenched in my fist. The tick of the grandfather clock sounded louder than any wind, each second stretching like a rubber band about to snap.
She was latefar later than she ever was.
Then the streetlights flickered on, casting a pale glow on the cobbles of Ashford. A sleek black sedan pulled up in front of our cottage, and my heart dropped. At the wheel sat a tall, selfassured stranger, a man I had never seen before.
The passenger door swung open and she stepped out.
A shiver ran down my spine.
She smiledlight, natural, conspiratorial. She leaned toward him, whispered something, and he let out a soft, almost intimate laugh. Then 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 this the first time?
She entered, tossing her handbag onto the table as if nothing unusual had occurred.
Who was that? I asked, my voice low and sharp.
She halted, eyes widening in surprise. Excuse me?
That man in the carwho is he?
She let out a weary sigh, irritation plain on her face. Thomas, not again Hes the husband of Ethel. He merely gave me a lift, thats all. Are you serious?
But her words fell through a fog of rage that filled my head, a scorching heat and a flood of dark thoughts.
My hand rose of its own accord. The slap cracked through the room.
She recoiled, hand pressed to her face, a thin line of blood spilling from her nose. The silence that followed felt unbearable. She stared at me, eyes wide with fear, a knot forming in my throat. I had crossed a line I could never return from.
There was no scream, no tearsnothing. She simply gathered her coat and left.
The next morning a bailiff handed me the divorce papers. I lost everythingmy home, my livelihood, even my son.
I endured your jealousy for years, she said in our final conversation, her voice as cold as ice, but I will never accept the violence.
I begged for forgiveness, swearing it was a moment of madness, a mistake that would never happen again. She would not hear me.
In court she claimed I was also violent toward our child. A lie, a cruel lie that sealed my fate. I had never raised a hand against him, never shouted at him. Yet who would believe a man who had struck his wife?
The judge did not hesitate. She was granted sole custody. I was left with a few hours a week, visits in a neutral setting. No nights at home, no mornings preparing his breakfast.
For six months my life shrank to those scarce moments when the boy would run to me, laughing, his tiny arms wrapping around my neck, only to be taken away again and again.
Then one afternoon, as he pushed his little wooden cars across the kitchen table, he said in an innocent voice, Daddy, last night Mum wasnt here. There was a lady with me.
My heart stopped.
A lady? Which lady? I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
I dont know. She comes when Mum goes out at night.
A chill ran through me. Where does she go?
He shrugged. She doesnt tell me.
My fingers tightened. I had to know.
When the truth emerged, my throat tightened with dread. She had hired a nannya foreign womanto look after our son while I begged for more time with him.
I snatched my phone and called her.
Why is a stranger looking after our boy when Im here? I demanded.
Her voice was calm, cold. 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 each time I have a commitment. Stop making everything about you.
My hand trembled on the receiver. 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 sonhe is the only thing I have left. I will fight, for he is the one thing I will never let slip away.
