I was standing by the window, holding a glass of whisky so tightly my knuckles had turned white. The clock on the wall was ticking away, each second dragging on more painfully than the last.
It was late. Far too late for her to be out.
Thats when I noticed the headlights.
A black BMW pulled up and stopped in front of our flat. I felt my chest tightening. Behind the wheel was a man tall, confident, someone Id never seen before.
Then the passenger door opened.
And out stepped my wife.
My stomach knotted. She was smiling a real, warm smile I couldnt remember seeing on her face in ages. She leaned into the car, said something to the bloke, and he laughed. That laugh stung.
She shut the door after a moment and headed towards our block, while the car drove off.
I could feel my blood boiling in my veins.
How long had this been going on? How many nights had I been oblivious while she got out of someone elses car?
The front door opened and she walked in, all casual, throwing her handbag onto the kitchen table.
Who was that? My voice was low and rough, coming out more threatening than I intended.
She stopped dead in her tracks, looking genuinely surprised. What?
The man in the car. Who was he?
She let out this frustrated sigh. Oh for heavens sake, Oliver. That was Sarahs husband. He gave me a lift home. What is wrong with you?
But I wasnt listening.
I couldnt hear anything over my own heartbeat thrumming in my ears, all those poisonous thoughts swirling round my mind.
And then, I lost it.
My hand flew before I could even think.
The sound of my palm striking her cheek shattered the silence.
She took a step back, hand flying to her face. A thin line of blood appeared at the corner of her nose.
A heavy silence fell between us.
She looked up at me, eyes wide and in them, I saw something for the first time. Fear.
My heart clenched.
Id crossed the line.
A line there was no coming back from.
She didnt scream. Didnt cry. Didnt say a word. She just grabbed her coat off the chair and left.
The next morning, there were divorce papers waiting in my inbox.
I lost everything even my son.
Ive put up with your jealousy for years, she told me during our final conversation, her voice cold, empty. But Ill never accept violence.
I begged her to forgive me. Told her it was a mistake, I wasnt that man, it would never happen again.
But it was too late.
Then came the final blow in court, she accused me of being aggressive towards our boy.
A dirty, cruel lie.
Never did I raise my voice at him, never once laid a finger on him in anger.
But who was going to believe me? A man whod hit his wife?
The judge didnt even blink.
She got full custody.
Me? Just a few hours a week. One afternoon at some supervised contact centre.
No taking him home. No putting him to bed with a bedtime story. No making him breakfast in the morning.
For six months, I lived only for those hours.
Those precious minutes when hed come running, laughing, jumping into my arms, telling me about his day.
And every time, I had to watch him go. Watch him walk away, while I was left on my own.
Then, one day, he said something that changed everything.
It came out quietly, while he was playing with his toy cars.
Daddy, last night Mum wasnt home. A lady came to look after me.
I froze.
A lady? What lady? I tried to keep my voice steady.
I dont know. She always comes when Mummy goes out in the evenings.
My heart skipped a beat.
Do you know where Mummy goes?
He shrugged. She doesnt tell me.
My hands were trembling.
I started digging. I had to know what was really happening.
And when I found out, it made my vision go cloudy.
Shed hired a babysitter.
While I was desperate for every second I could have with my son, she was leaving him in the care of a stranger.
I grabbed my phone and rang her.
Why is a stranger looking after our child when Im right here?
Her voice was calm and distant. Because its easier.
Easier?! My jaw clenched. Im his father. If youre not home, he should be with me!
She sighed. Oliver, Im not going to bring him round to yours every time I go out. Its not about you.
I squeezed the phone so hard I thought it might crack.
What could I do? Take her to court? Fight for custody? But what if I lost again?
One slip-up.
One moment of weakness.
And Id lost everything.
But my son?
I wont lose him.
Ill fight.
Because hes the only thing Ive got left.
