He begged me to have a child, then fled to his mothers house when our son turned three months old.
My name is Élodie, and Im still reeling from the shock. The man who once dreamed of a baby, who pleaded with me to become a mother, who swore love and supporthe left as soon as real life with an infant began. He didnt go alone; he went back to his mothers home. I was left alone, with our little boy, a bruised back and a heart in tatters.
Pierre and I had married three years ago. At first, our union seemed perfect. 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 bigger place, save a bit. I understood this because I grew up with younger brothers and knew the relentless toil of caring for a baby day and night. Pierre, on the other hand, was an only child, pampered and protected, never having faced real hardship.
When his cousin gave birth, Pierre became fixated. After each visit he would repeat the same refrain:
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 toynighttime awakenings, colic soothing, feeding, rocking. 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 insisting they would help without limit, that everything would be easy. Eventually I gave in.
During the pregnancy Pierre was the ideal husband. He hauled the groceries, did the cleaning, cooked, accompanied me to ultrasounds, pressed his hand to my belly and whispered his love. I believed he would be a good father.
Unfortunately, the fairytale ended the moment we left the maternity ward. Our son criedoften, for long stretches, with or without reason. I tried to spare Pierre the nighttime vigils, but the baby woke every two hours. I paced the tiny apartment, rocked him, sang lullabies, yet in our tworoom flat there was no escape from his wails. The kitchen light stayed on all night, and I watched my husband turn in bed, cover his ears, and grow angry.
Gradually he grew irritable. Arguments began. He started coming home later and later. Then, one evening, just after our son turned three months, he grabbed his suitcase without a word.
Im going to Moms. I need to sleep. I cant do this. Im not asking for a divorce, just Im exhausted. Ill come back when hes older.
I stood in the hallway, baby in my arms, breast milk still warm. 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 for the best. Men arent made to endure infants. Ill come help you. Please dont hold it against him too much.
Then my own mother phoned.
Mom, do you think this is normal? I whispered, tears welling. He was the one who wanted this child, and now he abandons me. What do I do?
Darling, dont make a hasty decision. Yes, he ran away, but not to another womanback to his mother. That means he hasnt completely given up. Give him time. Hell return.
But Im no longer sure I want him back.
He shattered me. He betrayed me at my most vulnerable moment. When my thoughts were only about our son, about the three of us, he gave up. He didnt even stay a few months. Now I wonder can I ever trust him again? Rely on him? He was the one who insisted on this child, and the moment the baby arrived, he fled.
Now everything rests on me: our son, the daily grind, the exhaustion, the fear. And a question that haunts me constantly: if he abandoned me at such a momentwhat will happen next?
He Pleaded with Me to Have a Child, Then Fled to His Mother’s House When Our Son Turned Three Months Old.
