Dad had a happy life with someone else, while Mum sank into depression. Was it his fault?
He came home from work, ate dinner, chuckled along with the studio audience on the tellysome old comedy showthen said, plain as day, “Tanya, I’m leaving.” And he walked out. To her.
Another story of life, and sadly, far from unique.
Mums back: sharp shoulder blades visible through her nightdress, her neck as thin as a childs. And thenDads brand-new, gleaming car. Those were the two sharpest memories of Emmas childhood.
Mums back on the sofa in the front room was the clearest sign of her depression. But Emma only understood that later.
Back then, in the nineties, no one in their little town knew much about depression. Even the doctors at the clinic hadnt a clue. They tried to rouse her with vitamin injections and cheerful lectures*Youve got a daughter, love, pull yourself together!*
But it was depression. A crushing, monstrous thing, a great black bear smothering her, stealing sleep, appetite, even the strength to move. When Mum spoke, her words came out hollow, dullwhispers with no life left in them.
Nanna saved them. Without her, they wouldnt have made it.
Mum had been bright and livelyuntil one May evening, she wasnt. Dad came home, ate his dinner, laughed at the telly, then said, “Tanya, Im leaving.” And he walked out. To her.
Emma was seven. She remembered that night because it felt unrealthe laughter still blaring from the telly (no one bothered to turn it off), Mum curled toward the wall, crying. *How could this happen?*
After that, Emma barely spoke to Mum. Or rather, to Mums hunched, grieving back.
Dad returned two years later. Another May evening. He let himself in with his key, glanced into the front room where his ex-wife slept, then winked at Emma*Come to the kitchen, she wont hear.* Nanna wasnt home.
Hope fluttered in Emmas chest. In his smile, she saw an apology for vanishing, a promise of something bettermaybe even hope for Mums recovery.
“Look, Em,” Dad whispered, leading her to the window. She pressed her nose to the glass, expecting a miracle. *He mustve been gone so long for a reason…*
Outside sat a brand-new, shining Mercedes. Dad beamed brighter than the car itself.
“Do you like it, Em?”
“Its brilliant!”
“Its mine! Bought it meself!”
He reminded her of a caveman from a cartoon shed seen*Neanderthal man*, she remembered. Short, blunt words, no thought for anyone elses feelings. Just like Dad.
He didnt ask how Mum was. Didnt know what Emma had lived through. Had no idea shed started music lessons. Didnt care about her school marks. And he certainly never wondered if she felt anything at all.
Hurt. Confusion. Fear. A tangled knot of emotionstoo big, too messy for a girl whod never been taught how to untangle them, so she shoved it deep down, where it sat like an ache in her chest.
Dad grinned like a schoolboy. “A Mercedes! Brand new! Dreamed of this my whole life!”
Emma didnt understand.
His excitement faded fast. He slipped out like a thief, quietly shutting the door behind him.
She made a silent wish: *If he looks back, if he sees me in the window, Ill forgive him. Ill try to understand.*
He didnt look back. Just strode to the car, got in, and drove away.
Emma grew up. Became a psychiatrist. Nanna never saw her pull up in her own new car years laterthough, she liked to think, maybe she did. Maybe she was watching. Smiling. Proud of her Em.
But first, she got Mum proper help. A good hospital, real treatment. Mum learned to face the world again, not just the faded wallpaper.
Emma never forgave Dad, though.
Because he never looked back that May evening when he left her life for good.
