Even now, there are nights I wake up and wonder when my father managed to take it all away from us.
I was fifteen when it happened. We lived in a small but tidy house in Leeds the furniture was decent, the fridge stocked after the weekly shop, and the bills were, more often than not, paid on time. I was in Year 10, and my biggest worries were passing maths and saving up for a pair of trainers I desperately wanted.
It all started to shift when Dad began coming home later and later. Hed walk in without a word, toss his keys onto the table, and head straight to his room with his mobile still in hand. Mum would call out to him:
Late again? Do you think this house runs itself?
And hed reply, curtly:
Just leave me alone, Im knackered.
I used to hear this from my room, headphones on, pretending nothing was wrong.
One evening, I caught him outside in the garden, chatting away on the phone. He laughed quietly, saying things like its almost sorted and dont worry, Ive got it covered. As soon as he noticed me, he hung up. Something twisted in my gut, but I didnt say a word.
He left on a Friday. I came home from school to see the suitcase open on the bed. Mum was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, eyes red and swollen. I asked,
Wheres he going?
He didnt look at me, just said,
Ill be gone for a while.
Mum shouted back:
A while with who? Tell the truth!
Then he snapped,
Im leaving with another woman. Im sick of this life!
I started to cry.
But what about me? What about school, about the house?
He only replied,
Youll be fine.
He zipped up his suitcase, grabbed some papers from the drawer, took his wallet, and walked out without saying goodbye.
That same night, Mum tried to withdraw money from the cash point, but her card was blocked. The next day at the bank, she was told the account was empty. Hed cleared out all the money theyd saved together. On top of that, we found out hed left two months of bills unpaid and had taken out a loan without saying anything, with Mum as guarantor.
I remember watching Mum sit at the kitchen table, going through the paperwork with an old calculator, crying and repeating:
Its not enough its just not enough
I tried my best to help her with the bills, but I hardly understood half of it myself.
A week later, our internet was cut off, and soon after, the electricity was nearly gone, too. Mum started cleaning houses for work. I began selling sweets at school, embarrassed to stand during break with a bag of chocolates, but I did it because we didnt even have enough for basics at home.
I still remember the day I opened the fridge to find only a jug of water and half a tomato inside. I sat in the kitchen and cried alone. That night, we ate plain rice. Mum kept apologising for not being able to feed me like she used to.
Much later, I saw a photo of Dad on Facebook with that woman in some restaurant raising a glass of wine, grinning. My hands shook as I messaged him:
Dad, I need money for school supplies.
He replied,
I cant support two families.
That was the last time we spoke.
After that, nothing. He never called to see if I finished school, if I was unwell, if I needed anything. He just vanished.
These days, I work, pay my own way, and help my mum. But that wound is still raw. Not just because of the money, but because of the abandonment, the coldness, the way he left us drowning and moved on with his life as though wed never existed.
And still, on many nights, I wake up with the same relentless question heavy in my chest:
How does anyone survive after their own father takes everything and leaves them to learn how to scrape by while theyre still a kid?
