12May2025 Diary
It was an ordinary Saturday afternoon in our little terraced house in Manchester, and I was sitting on the floor with Harry, our sixyearold, playing a game of Snakes and Ladders. The doorbell rang out of the blue. I got up, opened the front door, and there she stood a face I thought Id long since put behind me.
Emily and I had been married for seven years then. Our son Harry was the light of our lives, and we talked endlessly about having a little girl someday. I still dreamed of hearing a girls laugh around the house.
Time went by, and Emily began to keep her distance. I sensed something was amiss. Eventually we started sleeping in separate beds. She blamed it on exhaustion and a lack of mood. It hurt, but I told myself I could wait it out.
A few friends finally knocked some sense into me. One of them mentioned seeing Emily being dropped off at work by a man who greeted her with a gentlemans smile and opened the door for her. The notion sat like a stone in my gut. I didnt want to believe it; I clung to the hope that love could survive, especially for Harrys sake.
That evening I sat Emily down and asked her directly if she had been unfaithful. She stared at me, unable to answer, packed a bag, and left. Harry stayed with me.
I felt an odd mixture of relief and bewilderment. It was strange to see a mother so indifferent to her own child. Was she really such a bad mother? Did she not love Harry at all?
The first weeks were a mess. I didnt know how to handle a child without his mother. I rang up my sister, asked the neighbours for advice, and scoured parenting forums on the internet. Harry missed Emily at first, but gradually his yearning faded.
Four years later things settled. I stopped skimping on anything Harry needed. We took trips up to the Lake District, down to Cornwall, and even a weekend in London. Life, for the most part, felt better.
Then, another ordinary Saturday, we were at it again me, Harry, the board game, the occasional laugh. The doorbell rang. I opened the door and there she was again, looking exactly as she did four years ago, perhaps even a little fresher. It was Emily my former wife.
Harry didnt even glance at her. She stood there, bewildered, not knowing what to do. She lunged forward, hugged him, kissed his cheek, apologised profusely, and declared her love for him, but Harry turned his back.
I decided to invite everyone in for tea, hoping to defuse the tension. For the first ten minutes the room was dead quiet; the awkwardness was palpable. Then Emily began to speak.
It turned out she wanted to take Harry with her. I gave the boy a chance to choose. I could see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. I suggested he could spend a few days with his mother and see how it felt.
Throughout all this my mind kept circling back to the thought of being alone. If Harry liked his mothers plan, would I be left on my own?
The next morning Harry returned, his small face set with resolve. He told me his mother wasnt alone, but he wanted to stay with me. Hell keep in touch with her, he said, but he isnt ready to move.
So here I sit, pencil in hand, trying to make sense of the twists life throws at a single dad in the north of England. Its a strange mix of grief, relief, and hope, and Im learning, day by day, how to navigate it all.
