“You don’t get to decide where my son lives,” snapped his ex-wife as she stepped over the threshold.
“Daddy, when is Mummy coming?” asked Jamie, pushing aside his maths workbook.
Thomas looked up from his newspaper and studied his son. The boy was only eight, but his eyes already carried a heaviness no child should bear.
“I dont know, mate. She said shed visit this weekend, and its only Wednesday.”
“But is she *really* coming? Last time she promised, then called and said she had important things to do.”
Thomas sighed. How do you explain to a child that his mother had moved onanother city, another manand that he had become little more than an obligation? A monthly visit, a toy bought in haste, a quick trip to McDonalds, then gone again.
“Shell come, Jamie. She promised.”
“Okay.” The boy picked up his workbook again. “Can I watch telly later?”
“Finish your homework first.”
Thomas tried to read, but the words blurred. Three years since the divorce, and his life still felt stuckwork, home, Jamie, an endless cycle. His mates urged him to date, start fresh, but how? When every spare moment belonged to a boy who still waited for his mum?
By the time Jamie closed his books, dusk had settled.
“Dad, whats for dinner tomorrow?”
“Fish fingers. Your favourite.”
“Yeah!” The boy grinned. “And salad?”
“And salad. Cucumber.”
They moved to the kitchen, Thomas pulling ingredients from the fridge while Jamie perched on a stool, swinging his legs as he chattered about school.
“Tommy Baker fell in PE today and scraped his knee. There was *blood*! Miss Wilson took him to the nurse.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?”
“Nah, just a plaster. Dad why do Tommys parents come to parents’ evening together, but you go alone?”
Thomas froze, the knife halfway through the cucumber.
“Well Mummy and I have different jobs. Different schedules.”
“Oh.” Jamie nodded, not entirely convinced.
After dinner, the boy obediently brushed his teeth while Thomas tidied up, brewing himself a cuppa. The flat was quiet, the telly murmuring softly in the background.
The next day at the office, his colleague Mark brought it up again.
“Tom, mate, *move on*. What kind of mother barely sees her own kid? Once a monthwhats that? Jamies *your* son in every way that matters.”
“You dont get it. Theres no time for anything else. School runs, homework, bedtime stories. Weekends are laundry, shopping, cleaning.”
“So find a woman wholl help! A decent one. Jamie wouldnt mind a stepmum.”
“And if he hates her? If Sarah waltzes back in and kicks off?”
“She *wont*,” Mark scoffed. “If she wanted to, shed have done it by now.”
Thomas stayed silent. Deep down, he knew his friend was rightbut admitting it hurt.
That evening, as Jamie worked on his homework, the doorbell rang. Thomas checked the peepholeand froze.
Sarah.
He opened the door.
“Hi,” she said. “Can I come in?”
“Course. Jamie! Mummys here!”
The boy barrelled out of his room, flinging himself at her. Sarah hugged him stiffly, as if shed forgotten how.
“Youve got so *big*!”
“Mum, are you staying long? Did you bring me a present?”
“Of course. But first, I need to talk to Dad.”
Jamie nodded and scampered off. Sarah drifted to the sofa, while Thomas remained standing.
“Tea?”
“Please.”
He boiled the kettle, brought two mugs. Sarah looked polishednew haircut, designer blouse, manicured nails. Life in Manchester had treated her well.
“Howve you been?”
“Good. The jobs great, pays decent. You?”
“Fine. Jamies doing well.”
She hesitated, then straightened.
“Tom I came to tell you. David and I are getting married.”
“Congratulations.”
“And I want Jamie to live with me.”
The mug trembled in Thomass hand.
“What?”
“I want him *home*. Im settled nowgood job, stable life. Davids fine with it. But you? Always at work, leaving him alone”
“Sarah, are you *mad*? This is his home! His school, his friends! And since when do *you*”
“Since when do I *what*? I was young, scared! But now Im ready.”
“Have you even *asked* Jamie what *he* wants?”
“Hes a *child*. He doesnt know whats best. I can give him *more*.”
Thomas stood, pacing.
“Three years, Sarah. *Three years* you barely saw him. Now suddenly youre Mum of the Year?”
“I have *rights*! Im his *mother*!”
“Mother? Mothers stay up when their kids are ill. Help with homework, take them to the dentist. What have *you* done?”
“I was *building* a life!”
“Yeah? Who was building *his*? Who”
“*Quiet*!” she hissed. “Hell hear.”
Thomas lowered his voice, but the fury remained.
“Why now? Why *suddenly*?”
Sarah turned away.
“David wants kids. I cant have more. The doctors said. So we thought Jamie could”
“Oh, *perfect*. Need a ready-made child, do you?”
“Dont, Tom. Ive *missed* him.”
“Missed him? You forgot his *birthday* last year!”
“I was *busy*”
“*Enough*.”
Footsteps padded down the hall. Jamie peered in.
“Mum, can we go out? The cinema?”
Sarahs smile was tight.
“Of course, love. Just let me finish talking to Dad.”
When he left, she exhaled.
“Tom, Ive made my decision. Ill go to court if I have to. Ive got the money, the stability. What do *you* have? A rented flat, a *job*”
“I have *love*. Do you?”
“Of course!”
“Then wheres it been *hiding*?”
She stood, grabbing her handbag.
“Think it over. If you say yes, well keep it civil. If not the courtsll decide.”
“You dont get to decide where *my* son lives.”
“*Ours*!” she snapped. “I have *rights*!”
“Rights are *earned*.”
At the door, she turned.
“Jamie! Come say goodbye!”
The boy hugged her.
“Mum, will I see you tomorrow?”
“Yes, love. *Promise*.”
When she left, Jamie looked up at Thomas.
“Dad were you fighting?”
“Just grown-up stuff.”
“Mum looked upset.”
Thomas knelt, pulling him close.
“Jamie tell me honestly. Do you want to live with Mum?”
The boy frowned.
“Where does she live?”
“Manchester. Far away.”
“But what about school? And Tommy? And Nana?”
“Youd have a new school. New friends.”
Jamie shook his head.
“No. I want *you*. Ill visit Mum.”
“Alright, son. Alright.”
That night, Thomas lay awake. Sarah would return tomorrowwhat then? Fight her in court? Could he even afford a solicitor?
At breakfast, Jamie whispered:
“Dad if Mum takes me, will you be sad?”
Thomas cupped his face.
“Nobodys taking you. Were *family*, understand?”
“Yeah. But Mum?”
“Shes family too. Just further away.”
“Like Auntie Claire?”
“Yeah. Like that.”
At school, Thomas lingered, speaking with Mrs. Hopkins.
“Jamies a bright boy,” she said. “Well-liked. Though sometimes he seems sad.”
“The divorce.”
“I see. Ever thought of remarrying? A proper family might help.”
Thomas nodded vaguely.
That evening, Sarah arrived promptly. Jamie ran to her, but she held him at arms length.
“Go to your room, love. Grown-ups need to talk.”
“But Mum”
“Go on, Jamie,” Thomas said.
Alone, Sarah cut to the chase.
“Well?”
“My answers no.”
“Tom, *think*! I can give him *more*!”
“Can you give him *love*?”
“Why do you keep”
“Because you didnt *show* it! For *three years*!”
She flinched. Then, quietly:
“Fine. Court it is. Davids backing meweve got the money.”
“And Jamies opinion? Still irrelevant?”
“This isnt about *him*! Its about whats *best*!”
“Right. *Jamie*! Come here!”
The boy sat between them, wary.
“Jamie,” Thomas said gently, “Mum wants you to live with her. What do *you* think?”
The boy looked at Sarah.
“Is it far?”
“Quite far,” she admitted. “But its nicebig house, your own room.”
“Ive got a room here.”
“Its *better* there.”
“Will Dad come?”
“No. Dad stays here.”
Jamie shook his head.
“I dont want to. Dad takes me to school, helps with my homework, reads to me.”
“*I* will!”
“Can you make pancakes? Play chess? Fix my bike?”
Sarah faltered.
“Ill *learn*”
“No. I want *Dad*.”
She whirled on Thomas.
“You *poisoned* him against me!”
“Mum, Dad *never* said that!” Jamie protested. “He says youre just *busy*.”
Sarah sat heavily, covering her face. When she looked up, her eyes were red.
“I thought hed *want* me.”
“Do *you* want him?” Thomas asked softly. “Or does *David* want a ready-made son?”
A long silence. Then:
“I dont know,” she whispered. “I *want* to but what if I fail? What if he hates me?”
“Mum, I *do* love you,” Jamie said. “I just want to stay *here*.”
She pulled him close, crying. Finally, she stood.
“Alright. Stay with Dad. But can I visit more?”
“Whenever you want,” Thomas said.
“And call?”
“Whenever.”
She kissed Jamie, then left. At the window, the boy watched her taxi disappear.
“Dad will she *really* come more?”
“I think so. She loves you.”
“Then why did she want to take me *away*?”
“Grown-ups get confused, Jamie. They think they know best but sometimes they dont.”
“Oh. Dad can we get pizza tonight? Instead of fish fingers?”
“Deal.”
A week later, Sarah called. She spoke to Jamie for half an hour, asking about school, friends, weekend plans. Promised to visit in a fortnight.
A month after that, Thomas met a woman in the parkAnna, divorced, with a daughter Jamies age. They talked while the kids played.
“How longve you been on your own?” she asked.
“Three years. You?”
“Two. Its hard, isnt it?”
“Sometimes. Worth it, though.”
Jamie and her daughter, Lily, got on instantlyswings, sandpit, giggles.
“Dad,” Jamie whispered as they walked home, “Annas nice. Sos Lily.”
“Yeah. They are.”
“Can we see them again?”
“Sure.”
And Thomas thoughtmaybe Mark was right. Life *did* go on. And he *did* deserve happiness.
As long as Jamie was happy.
And judging by his smile he was.
