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 that blow. My husbandthe man who dreamed of a baby, who pleaded with me to become a mother, who swore everlasting love and supportwalked out the moment real life with an infant began. He didnt leave alone, either; he went back to his mom. I was left alone, with our little boy, a bruised back and a heart in tatters.
Pierre and I tied the knot three years ago. At first our marriage seemed flawless. Young, in love, brimming with hopes. Yet I knew one thing: we shouldnt rush into children. We needed to find our footing, buy 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 childpampered, shielded, never having faced any real hardship.
When his cousin had a baby, Pierre became fixated. After every visit he would repeat 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 my motherinlaw kept promising endless help, insisting everything would be easy. Eventually I gave in.
During the pregnancy Pierre was a model husband. He hauled the groceries, cleaned, cooked, accompanied me to ultrasounds, and would stroke my belly, whispering his love. I believed hed 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 night watches, but the baby woke every two hours. I paced the cramped tworoom flat, rocked him, sang lullabies, yet the wail echoed through every corner. The kitchen light stayed on all night, and I saw my husband turning over, covering his ears, getting angry.
Gradually his temperament soured. Arguments started. He came home later and later. One evening, just after our son turned three months, he grabbed his suitcase without saying a word:
Im going to Moms. I need 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, 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 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?
Honey, dont make a rash 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 his return.
He shattered me. He betrayed me at my most vulnerable moment, when my thoughts were only of our son, of the three of usthen 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 having this child, and as soon as 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 nonstop: if he abandoned me at such a momentwhat will happen next?
