I stood rooted by the window, watching the black night stretch across the glass while my clenched fist held a halfempty glass of whisky. The clocks ticktock filled the silence, each second dragging like a thick rope.
She was late.
Far too late.
Then headlights sliced the gloom. A sleek black sedan halted before the thatched cottage we called home. My heart tightened. In the drivers seat sat a tall, selfassured stranger.
The passenger door swung open, and she stepped out.
A cold shiver ran through me. She smiledlight, natural, conspiratorialleaned toward him, whispered something, and he let out a low, intimate laugh. She closed the door and drifted back toward the house, oblivious to the storm roaring inside me.
My blood boiled.
Who was that man? How long had this been going on? Was this the first time?
She entered, tossing her handbag onto the table as if nothing had happened.
Who was that? I asked, my voice low and sharp.
She froze, eyes wide with surprise. Excuse me?
That man in the carwho is he?
She sighed heavily, irritation plain on her face. Thomas, not again Hes the husband of Julie. He gave me a lift, thats all. Are you serious?
I could not hear her words. All I sensed was a dull, seething rage, a heat smoldering in my skull, a flood of dark thoughts.
My hand rose on its own. The slap cracked through the room.
She recoiled, hand pressed to her face, a thin line of blood spilling from her nose.
The silence that followed was unbearable. She stared at me, frozen, her eyes wide with terror.
A knot formed in my throat. I had crossed a lineone I could never step back from.
She said nothing, did not scream or weep. She simply slipped on her coat and left.
The next morning a bailiff handed me the divorce papers. I had lost everything even my son.
I endured your jealousy for years, she said in our final conversation, her voice as cold as ice, but never violence.
I begged her forgiveness, swore it was a mistake, a fleeting lapse that would never happen again. She would hear none of it.
Then, in court, she claimed I was also violent with our child.
A lie.
A vicious lie that sealed my fate. I had never raised a hand against him, never shouted at him. But who would believe a man who had already struck his wife?
The judge did not hesitate. She was granted sole custody.
Me? A few hours a week, a restricted visit in a neutral setting. No nights at home, no mornings making breakfast.
For six months my life shrank to those thin hours, the fleeting moments when he ran to me laughing, his small arms looping around my neck, only to be pulled away again and again.
One afternoon, while he was pushing tiny toy cars across the table, he looked up and said in his innocent voice,
Dad, last night Mum wasnt here. There was a lady with me.
My heart stopped.
A lady? Which lady? I asked, trying to stay calm.
I dont know. She comes when Mum goes out at night.
A chill ran down my spine.
Where does she go?
He shrugged. She doesnt tell me.
My fingers clenched. I had to know.
When the truth emerged, my throat tightened. She had hired a nanny. A foreign woman. While I begged for more time with my own son, she left him in the care of a stranger.
I grabbed my phone and called.
Why is a stranger looking after our boy when Im right here?
Her voice was flat, cold. Because its simpler.
Simpler?! My anger roared. Im his father! If he cant be with you, he must be with me!
She sighed. Thomas, I wont cross the whole county every time I have an appointment. Stop making everything about you.
My phone trembled.
What could I do? Sue her? Fight for custody?
And if I lost again?
One mistake, one moment of misstep, and everything was stripped away.
But my son I would not let him slip away. I would fight, because he is the only thing I have left.
