**My Husband Went on Holiday Alone, Leaving Me and Our Baby at the Airport He Couldnt Regret It More**
I clutched little Emily tightly against my chest, her wails piercing the crowded terminal. My arms burned from holding her so long, and a dull throb pulsed behind my temples. Where on earth was Oliver?
I rocked her gently, whispering, “Hush now, love. Daddyll be back in a tick.”
But he wasnt. My phone buzzeda fresh message. A grinning selfie of Oliver, already settled into his plane seat, stared back at me.
*”Couldnt waitneeded this break. Works been mad. Catch the next flight.”*
My stomach dropped. Hed *left* us? Just like that?
“You absolute *prat*,” I hissed under my breath, fingers trembling around the phone.
Emilys cries sharpened, as if she felt my fury. I pressed her closer, my mind spinning.
“Right. Were going home,” I murmured, more for my sake than hers.
The cab ride blurred past. Olivers message looped in my head, each replay stoking the fire in my chest.
Back home, I tucked Emily into her cot and snatched up my phone. My thumb hovered over Olivers numberno. Not yet. I needed a plan.
Pacing the lounge, I chewed my lipthen it hit me. *Perfect.*
With a grim smirk, I rang his hotel.
“Good afternoon, The Grand Brighton. How may I assist?” a chipper voice answered.
“Id like to make some adjustments to my husbands stay. Oliver W?”
The receptionist gasped as I explained. “Oh, *goodness*. Of course, Mrs. W. What would you like us to do?”
I listed it all: 3 AM wake-up calls. Endless room service knocks. Every last tour bookedeven the dreadful ghost walk.
“Consider it done,” she said brightly.
I hung up, guilt pricklingbut it wasnt enough.
Storming upstairs, I yanked open Olivers wardrobe. His prized football jerseys, that absurdly expensive watch, his vinyl collectionall went into boxes.
“If he wants a solo holiday, he can have a solo *life*,” I muttered, heaving them into the boot.
At the storage unit, I nearly laugheda new mum, stashing her husbands things like some cheesy telly drama.
Back home, I rang a locksmith. “How quickly can you swap the locks?”
As I waited, Olivers photos flooded inhim on the pier, at some posh restaurant, looking more haggard with each snap.
*Good.* Let him squirm.
The locksmith worked swiftly. Doubt niggledwas this too far? Then I remembered Olivers smug airport grin.
*No. Not nearly far enough.*
***
The week crawled by. Emily kept me busy; Olivers frantic texts piled up.
*”Lydia, whys the hotel waking me at bloody dawn?”*
*”Love, why am I signed up for *seagull feeding*?”*
I ignored every one. Let him rot.
Finally, his return day came. I collected him at Gatwick, Emily gurgling in her seat.
“Hi,” Oliver mumbled, sliding in. “Missed you both.”
I kept my voice flat. “Good holiday?”
He rubbed his face. “It was *something*. Listen, Im”
“Home first,” I cut in.
The drive was ice. When we pulled up, he frowned.
“Did you change the door?”
I unbuckled Emily. “Try your key, why dont you?”
Oliver jiggled the lock, panic dawning. “Its notLydia, *whats going on*?”
I adjusted Emily on my hip. “Funny, that. Keys stop working when you abandon your family.”
His face paled. “*Christ*. It was a mistakeI panicked! Where am I meant to *go*?”
“Not my problem,” I said, turning the new key. “You work so hardsort it out.”
As I stepped inside, he grabbed the door. “*Wait!* Pleasejust *talk* to me!”
I hesitated, then yanked it open. “Five minutes.”
We sat on the front steps, Emily between us.
Oliver dragged a hand through his hair. “I *screwed* up. Work, the babyI just *lost it*. But thats no excuse. Im *gutted*, Lyds.”
I searched his face. “Do you have *any* idea how it felt? Just *dumped* there?”
He winced. “Ive hated myself every second.”
Emily reached for him. I passed her over; his throat bobbed as he cuddled her.
“Sorry, poppet,” he whispered. “Daddys a *plonker*.”
My anger wavered. “How do I know you wont bolt again?”
He met my eyes. “Therapy. Whatever it takes. Ill *never* hurt you like this again.”
I exhaled. “Youre on the sofa. Counselling starts Monday.”
Oliver sagged in relief. “Thank you.”
As we stood, I added, “Ohcheck your bank. Those tours werent cheap.”
He groanedbut smirked. “Fair play.”
***
Months of therapy chipped at our walls. It wasnt easy, but slowly, we rebuilt.
One night, tucking Emily in, Oliver caught my hand. “Ta for giving me another shot. I dont deserve you.”
I squeezed back. “Just dont make me regret it.”
He pulled me close. “Next holidays all three of us. Promise.”
I laughed. “Lets start with the park, eh?”
Watching Emily sleep, I realisedsometimes, the worst stumbles lead to the steadiest steps forward. *If youre both willing to try.*
