**Diary Entry 15th October**
*Youre nothing to him.* Those were the words that stabbed me as I stood in the hallway, clutching a bouquet of dahlias Id bought from a street vendor near the Tube station. Five years. Five years with Emily, and now she sat there with our son, Oliver, clinging to her shoulder like I was a stranger.
*How am I nothing?* My voice cracked. *I raised him since he was one.*
*Raised him?* Emily adjusted Ollies shirt, her tone sharp. *You played with him on weekends. Who stayed up when he was teething? Who took him to doctors appointments? Who worked two jobs just to afford nappies?*
I wanted to arguethat Id been there, that university was work toobut the words died in my throat. Ollie peeked at me from behind Emilys shoulder, studying me like some unfamiliar bloke.
*Mark and I are serious now,* she continued. *Were moving in together. Its awkward for him when you visit.*
*And what about Ollie?* I set the flowers on the side table. *Hes used to me.*
*Hell get used to Mark. Mark wants to adopt him, give him his surname. Do you know the opportunities Ollie will have? Marks an MP.*
I sank onto the stool Id built years ago, hands shaking. *So thats it? I dont get to see him?*
*Why confuse him?* She bounced Ollie on her knee. *Mark says its cleaner to cut ties. So Ollie knows who his real father is.*
*But Im not abandoning him! I send money, I buy him gifts*
*Fifty quid a month?* She scoffed. *Mark earns that in an hour.*
Then Ollie wriggled free and toddled over, holding out a pudgy hand. *Give.*
*Give what, mate?*
*Sweet,* he said, eyes wide. *Give sweet.*
I fished a mint humbug from my pocket. He unwrapped it with solemn focus, popped it in his mouth, then climbed onto my lap.
*Dont encourage him,* Emily snapped. *Oliver, come here.*
*No,* he mumbled, arms tight around my neck.
She yanked him away, but he squirmed back to me. *Stop upsetting him!* she hissed.
*Im not the one upsetting him.* I kept my voice low. *Ollie, wanna see the toy car I got you?*
*Red one?*
*Red one,* I confirmed, pulling a miniature lorry from my bag. He scrambled down, zooming it across the floor, chattering to himself.
*Emily, think about this,* I stood. *He remembers me. You see how happy he is. Why take his dad away?*
*Youre not his father!* she flared. *A father provides. What are you? A twenty-four-year-old grad student working security for peanuts!*
*Ive got my degree*
*And wheres that got you?* She marched to the kitchen. *Marks renting us a three-bed flat in Kensington. Olliell go to a proper school.*
The kitchen smelled of roast dinner and fresh bread. I remembered us cooking here, her teaching me to fry sausages, Ollie tugging at our ankles.
*We said wed raise him together,* I whispered. *Remember when we found out you were pregnant?*
*I was eighteen and stupid,* she spat. *Now I know what matters.*
She slammed the fridge shut. *Mark takes him to the countryside, the theatre. Buys him decent clothes, not market junk.*
*Im not rich,* I admitted. *But I love him.*
*Love isnt enough,* she poured milk into a mug. *He needs stability.*
Ollie barrelled in, car in hand. *Uncle Mark says hes got loads of cars at home. And a bike!*
*See?* Emily gloated. *Hes adjusting.*
I crouched beside him. *Remember when we went to Hyde Park, Ollie? Ate ice cream?*
*Uh-huh. Uncle Mark says ice creams bad.*
*Right, thats enough.* She scooped him up. *Marks due any minute. Time to go.*
*Let me say goodbye.*
She relented. *Oliver, say bye to Uncle James.*
*Not Uncle,* Ollie said suddenly. *Daddy.*
The room went dead silent. Emily paled. *No, darling. Uncle James isnt Daddy. Daddys Uncle Mark.*
*Wheres my real daddy?* Ollie asked.
My head spun. I knelt, eye-level with him. *Im your daddy, Ollie. Always will be.*
*Stop it!* Emily grabbed him. *Youre making this worse!*
The intercom buzzed. She froze. *Thats Mark. Go out the back.*
*Were on the third floor!*
*Then hide in the loo!* She frantically smoothed her hair. *Ollie, dont say Uncle James was here!*
*Why not?*
*Because Uncle Mark will be sad.*
I watched her panic. She was terrified of him.
*Go!* she hissed.
I didnt move. Ollie sucked his sweet, oblivious.
*Ollie,* I called softly.
He looked up. *Yeah?*
*I love you.*
*Love you too,* he said, solemn as a judge.
The intercom buzzed again. *Mum, whos that?* Ollie asked.
*Uncle Mark,* she muttered, then to me: *Please!*
I grabbed my jacket. At the door, I turned. Ollie stood there, car clutched tight, eyes huge.
*Daddy, you coming tomorrow?*
Emily froze, intercom in hand.
*Not tomorrow,* I rasped.
*When?*
*Dont know, mate.*
He lunged, wrapped around my legs. *Ill wait.*
I lifted him, breathed in his scentbaby shampoo and biscuits. *Ill wait too,* I whispered.
Emily snatched him back. *Enough. Marks coming up.*
On the landing, old Mr. Thompson puffed his pipe. *Got the boot, lad?*
*Something like that.*
*Shame about the boy,* he sighed. *Saw him yesterday with some bloke in a suit. Kept asking, Whens Daddy coming? Bloke said, Daddys not coming back.*
I stopped. *He said that?*
*Whyd I lie?* He exhaled smoke. *Kid misses you. But her? New blokes all she cares about. Womenalways after the money.*
Rain drizzled as I trudged to the Tube. At home, Mum pounced. *Hows Ollie?*
*Emily wont let me see him. Says her new mans adopting him.*
*Good Lord!* She threw her hands up. *Take her to court! Fight for visitation!*
*Mum, we werent married. Im just on the birth certificate.*
*Then youve got rights!* She thrust Ollies birth certificate at memy name bold under *Father.*
*Maybe shes right,* I mumbled. *Maybe Im nobody to him.*
*Dont be daft! You saw how he clung to you!*
That night, Ollies voice echoed: *Ill wait.*
Next morning, I saw a solicitor. *Youve got rights,* she said. *But if she marries, the adoption needs your consent.*
*So I can refuse?*
*You can. But think carefully. If this man can provide*
*Moneys not everything.*
She removed her glasses. *Young man, in thirty years of family law, Ive seen fathers who were obstacles and stepdads who became the real deal. Its not about wealth. Its about wholl step up.*
*I will.*
*Then fight.*
I wandered London, pausing at a toy shop. Imagined Ollie darting between aisles, begging, *Daddy, buy this!*
That evening, I called Emily. *We agreed no calls,* she said coldly.
*Meet me. Lets talk.*
*About what? Its done.*
*The solicitor said Mark cant adopt Ollie without my consent.*
Silence. Then: *What do you want?*
*Time with my son. Not every dayjust sometimes.*
*James, Marks jealous. If he finds out*
*Youre scared of him.*
*I love him! I want a proper family!*
*What did Ollie say when he realised I wasnt coming back?*
*Hell forget.*
*Yesterday he said hed wait for me.*
*
