He begged me to have a child, then fled to his mothers house when our son was three months old.
My name is Élodie, and I still cant recover from that blow. My husbandthe man who had dreamed of a baby, who pleaded with me to become a mother, who swore love and supportwalked out the moment real life with an infant began. He didnt leave alone; he went back to his mom. I was left on my ownwith our little boy, a shattered back and a heart in tatters.
Pierre and I married three years ago. At first our union seemed flawless. We were young, in love, full of hopes. Yet I knew one thing: we shouldnt rush into having children. We needed to find our footing, get a larger place, save a bit. I understood this because I grew up with younger brothers and knew the grind of caring for a baby day and night. Pierre, on the other hand, was an only child, pampered, protected, never having faced real hardship.
When his cousin had a baby, Pierre became fixated. After every visit he repeated the same line:
Come on, Élodie. Its time! Why wait? Young parents manage better. If you keep preparing, we wont get there until were forty
I tried to tell him a child isnt a toythat you have to get up at night, soothe colic, feed, rock. He just shrugged:
It sounds like youre waiting for a disaster, not a baby!
Our parents only made things worse. My mother and motherinlaw kept assuring us they would help endlessly, that everything would be easy. Eventually I gave in.
During the pregnancy Pierre was a model husband. He carried the groceries, cleaned, cooked, accompanied me to ultrasounds, placed his hand on my belly and whispered his love. I believed he would be a good father.
Unfortunately, the fairytale ended as soon as we left the maternity ward. Our son criedoften, for long stretches, with or without reason. I tried to spare Pierre the night watches, but the baby woke every two hours. I paced the apartment, rocked him, sang lullabies, yet in our tiny tworoom flat there was no escape from his wail. The kitchen light stayed on all night, and I saw my husband turn over in bed, cover his ears, grow angry.
Gradually he grew irritable. Arguments began. He came home later and later. Then, the night our son turned three months old, he grabbed his suitcase without a word:
Im going to Moms. I need sleep. I cant do this. Im not asking for a divorce, just Im exhausted. Ill return when hes older.
I stood in the hallway, baby in my arms, milk still warm in my chest. He simply left.
The next day his mother called, calm as if nothing had happened:
Sweet Élodie, I dont agree with Pierre, but this is better. Men arent made to handle infants. Ill come help you. Please dont blame him too much.
Then my own mother phoned:
Mom, do you think this is normal? I whispered, tears brimming. He was the one who wanted this child, and now he abandons me. What should I do?
Honey, dont make a hasty choice. Yes, he ran away, but not to another womanback to his mother. That means he hasnt completely given up. Give him time. Hell come back.
But Im no longer sure I want him to return.
He shattered me. He betrayed me when I was most vulnerable. When all I could think of was our son, the three of us, he gave up. He didnt even last a few months. Now I wonder can I still trust him? Rely on him? He was the one who insisted on the baby, and the moment it arrived he fled.
Now everything rests on meour son, daily life, exhaustion, fearand a question that haunts me constantly: if he abandoned me at such a moment, what will happen next?
