I stand motionless by the window, watching the dark night through the glass. My fist clenches a halfempty glass of whisky. Every tick of the clock echoes in the silence, each second stretching cruelly.
She is late.
Far too late.
Then headlights sweep the street.
A black sedan pulls up in front of our terraced house in Reading. My heart tightens. At the wheel sits a tall, confident stranger.
The passenger door opens.
She steps out.
A cold shiver runs through me.
She smileslight, natural, conspiratorial. She leans toward him, whispers something, and he laughs, a quiet, intimate chuckle.
She shuts the door and heads back to the house, oblivious to the storm raging inside me.
My blood boils.
Who is this man? How long has this been going on? Is this the first time?
She opens the front door and walks in, tossing her handbag onto the table as if nothing has happened.
Who was that? I ask, my voice low and sharp.
She freezes, looks at me, startled. Excuse me?
This man in the car. Who is he?
She lets out a deep sigh, irritation plain on her face. Thomas, not again Hes Julies husband. He just gave me a lift, thats all. Are you serious?
I cant hear her anymore. All I hear is a low, raging hum filling my head, a scorching heat in my skull, a torrent of dark thoughts.
My hand rises before I can stop it.
The slap cracks through the room.
She recoils, hand pressed to her face. A thin stream of blood drips from her nose.
The ensuing silence is unbearable.
She stares at me, eyes wide with terror.
A knot forms in my throat.
I have crossed a line.
A line I can never step back from.
She says nothingno scream, no tears.
She simply grabs her coat and leaves.
The next morning a bailiff hands me divorce papers.
I have lost everything even my son.
I put up with your jealousy for years, she says in our final conversation, her voice as cold as ice. But violence? Never.
I beg her forgiveness, swearing it was a mistake, a moment of misdirection that will never happen again.
She wont hear a word of it.
Then comes the final blow: in court she claims I am also violent toward our child.
A lie.
A vicious lie that seals my fate.
I have never raised a hand against him. Never shouted at him.
But who would believe a man who has already struck his wife?
The judge doesnt hesitate.
She gains sole custody.
Me? A few hours a week, limited visits in a neutral setting.
No nights at home. No mornings making him breakfast.
For six months my life shrinks to those thin hours, those rare moments when he runs to me laughing, his little arms around my neck.
Then I must watch him go, over and over.
Until the day he says something that shatters me.
The truth my fiveyearold son reveals.
Hes growing, understanding more each day.
One afternoon, while he rolls his toy cars across the table, he says in an innocent voice:
Daddy, last night Mum wasnt there. There was a lady with me.
My heart freezes.
A lady? Which lady? I ask, trying to stay calm.
I dont know. She comes when Mum goes out at night.
A chill runs through me.
Where does she go?
He shrugs. She doesnt tell me.
My fingers clench.
I need answers.
When I discover the truth, my throat tightens.
She has hired a nanny.
A foreign woman.
While I beg for more time with my own son, she leaves him with a stranger.
I grab my phone and call.
Why is a stranger looking after our boy when Im here? I demand.
Her voice is calm, cold. Because its easier.
Easier?! My anger roars. Im his father! If he cant be with you, he must be with me!
She sighs. Mark, Im not going to drive across the city every time I have an appointment. Stop making everything about you.
My phone trembles in my hand.
What can I do? Sue her? Fight for full custody?
And if I lose again?
One mistake. One slipup.
And everything is taken from me.
But my son?
I will not let him go.
I will fight.
Because he is the only thing I have left.
