I am at work when James, my husband, heads out to collect the children, and when I walk to his flat he simply does not open the door. I am currently living with my parents in a terraced house in Leeds, while the kids stay with James. He does this not because he loves them but as a way of punishing me.
We met through a mutual friend and hit it off instantly, so we never postponed the wedding. A year later we marry, and I am already expecting our first baby. My parents, Martha and Arthur, help us find a place to live and put a deposit on a modest onebed flat in Sheffield. It is tiny, but it is ours.
The moment our son Oliver is born, the problems start. James is unprepared for a fussy baby who keeps him up at night, for toys strewn across the floor, for nappies hanging in the hallway, and for the fact that I have to tend to Oliver constantly. He complains about the mess and about my endless caregiving.
A year later I receive another happy announcement: I am pregnant again, and we welcome a daughter, Grace. Our relationship with James deteriorates further. Living in that cramped onebed flat becomes unbearable; he is often irritable, and we argue constantly. He blames everything on memy parents for not providing a proper home, the weight I have put on after two births, my supposed inadequacy as a mother, and the noise the children make. I can see the family slowly falling apart.
I decide to place Oliver and Grace in a nursery and start looking for a job, since I have been a fulltime homemaker until now. James comes home drunk more often, and his demands on me and the children increase. I resolve that I will leave him and, if I earn my own money, move the kids into a rented flat of my own.
I find a job in retail and, along the way, meet a kind man named Thomas. We begin seeing each other, which provides a muchneeded outlet. At home, however, nothing good awaitsjust endless cleaning, washing, cooking, ironing, and a drunken James.
One day I can take it no longer and make a decision. I take Oliver and Grace and go. I stay a few days with my parents, then rent a modest flat in Manchester. While I am at work, James shows up at the nursery, scoops the children up, and I walk to his flat to confront him. He simply stands there and does not open the door, even though he is inside.
Now James issues an ultimatum: I must return home, or he will file for divorce, keep the children with him, and force me to pay child support. I am terrified because he has connections and the court might rule in his favour. The worst part is that he shows no real interest in the kids; he uses them only to manipulate me. Deep down I know that if I refuse his terms the children will eventually tire of him and come back to me, but I have no idea how long I am supposed to wait.
