17March
Ive been trying to coax Alex to stay with little Oliver for just a couple of hours, but he snaps at me from the sofa. I cant, he says, standing up sharply. Im meeting the lads. Ive got to get out soon. My head is pounding, the pain in my back wont let up. After the birth, everything feels like its falling apart.
Alex, can you repeat that? he asks, irritation flashing across his face. I cant. Move it to another day. Ive already made plans.
Hes already buttoning his jacket, patting down his pockets. I cant move it. Appointments are booked three weeks in advance. He shrugs as if its nothing. Youll just have to wait another three weeks. Nothing serious will happen to you.
The front door slams. A soft whimper drifts from the nurseryOliver has woken again. I sigh, pull out my phone, and dial the GP surgery, the tinny hold music replacing the usual beeps. Finally, a human voice.
Hello, I need to cancel todays appointment
I slump back onto the couch. Postnatal health has become a lottery. My back seizes up so I cant straighten, my head feels like a hammer is pounding inside. The doctors wave their hands, say I need tests, but tests take time. And someone has to mind the baby.
Alex doesnt care. The last two years he seems to have been swapped for someone else.
During the pregnancy I actually carried Emilywell, carried heron my shoulders. I lugged heavy bags, cooked, even gave her foot massages before bed. I told her she was the most beautiful woman, that I was endlessly happy. She believed every word, thinking shed hit the jackpot with me.
Then Oliver arrived, and everything shattered.
The endless cries, the countless nappy changes, sleepless nights stripped away any façade Id been wearing. I found myself yelling at Emily when she couldnt tidy the flat fast enough, shouting at Oliver when he wailed in the night, throwing things, slamming doors, disappearing to the pub and stumbling back after midnight.
Look at yourself! Id roar, pointing a finger at her. Do you even recognise the woman in the mirror? Wheres my beautiful wife? Youve turned into a…
Emily stared back, dark circles under her eyes, hair in disarray, a stained old jumper from baby food. Extra pounds clung stubbornly despite eating barely twice a day. How could I find a moment for myself when Oliver was feverish, teething, or clutching his belly in pain?
You only think about the baby, hes the centre of your universe, Alex would say, tightening his boots. Do you even need me?
She stayed silent, not knowing what to answer. Yes, Emily thought about Oliver. How could she not? He was her child.
I was exhausted, reaching the point where I just wanted to lie down and never get up. Four walls, a screaming infant, a husband who saw himself as the victim of this family.
There was no job on the horizon either. The advertising agency where I had worked closed its doors after the owner fled with debts, the office locked up, staff let go. I was on maternity leave, so it didnt hit me directly, but Oliver would be turning three soon and I knew Id need to find something. A threeyear gap on a résumé and a toddler werent exactly attractive to recruiters.
Yet I kept dreaming. I pictured taking Oliver to nursery, stepping out of the flat, hopping on the tube to an office, chatting with real people instead of a baby who only cared about cartoons. I wanted a life beyond the house and my son, to remember who I had been before.
Olivers third birthday I organized myself. He darted around the flat in a new onesie, rosycheeked and beaming. Alex was nowhere to be seen.
Emily, wheres Alex? asked his mother, Susan, glancing around as if expecting him to appear from behind the curtains. I dont know, I forced a smile. Hes probably running late.
How can he be late? Its his sons birthday! his father, Peter, frowned. I shrugged. Id called Alex ten times, texted, but heard nothing.
The guests exchanged uneasy looks, saying nothing. My mother, Margaret, squeezed my hand under the tablea quiet support that changed nothing.
The party was strained. Oliver was happy; the adults pretended everything was fine.
I sliced the cake, poured tea, smiled at the guests while something inside crumbled, breaking into pieces that could never be patched together.
When the guests left late, Oliver fell asleep instantly, not even waiting to be changed. I tucked him into his cot, straightened his blanket, and went back to the living room. Chaos reigned: dirty dishes, crumpled packaging, deflated balloons.
I started clearing the mess mechanically, without thought. Plates to the sink, wiping the table.
The sound of keys in the lock made me freeze. It was midnight. I peeked into the hallway.
Alex stood in the doorway, swaying, eyes bloodshot, shirt rumpled, cheap perfume hanging heavy in the air, a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek.
He stared at me, then spoke hoarsely. Emily, its not what you think. I had a few drams, got carried away one night I swear it wont happen again.
I exhaled slowly, feeling a coldness seep into my bones. Where have you been? I whispered.
Just out with the lads. We went into a bar, there were girls, and I cut him off. On our sons birthday, you were with some girl, werent you?
Emily, please, I didnt mean it! It just happened! he pleaded.
Just happened? My voice trembled. Youre a traitor, a liar. I trusted you completely. We have a family, a child! I never imagined youd stoop to infidelity.
Youre the one at fault! Look at yourself! There are plenty of pretty girls out there, and I come home to you! Of course I get distracted! Im a young man, I need love!
I turned and walked to the nursery. Alex called after me, but I didnt look back. I shut the door, slipped into Olivers room, lay down on the narrow bed beside him, and stared into the darkness.
In the morning I packed my thingsmy own and Olivers. Alex tried to stop me, grabbing my arm, shouting about forgiveness and second chances, but I wouldnt hear it. I ordered a cab, loaded the suitcases, and drove to my mothers house.
The first weeks were rough. Oliver didnt understand why we were now at Grandmas, he cried, called for his dad. I held him, kissed his forehead, whispered that everything would be alright, even though I didnt believe it myself.
Gradually things settled. Margaret helped with Oliver while I hunted for work. After a month I landed a jobnothing glamorous, but a steady salary and a decent boss. I filed for divorce. Alex didnt contest; he only asked to see his son. I agreed; Oliver loved his father.
A few months later I moved into a modest onebed flatmy own space, my own home with Oliver. Alex started dropping by, first rarely, then more often. He helped fix a leaking tap, assemble a flatpack wardrobe, take Oliver to the park. I allowed it, not for me but for the boy. Oliver laughed, clung to his dad, and I couldnt take that away.
Six months after the split Alex remarried. I spotted him in a shopping centre with his new wifeSophie, tall, welldressed, hair in sleek waves, makeup perfect, a short dress that screamed modellike.
He still visited, even more than before, and always praised Sophie: Shes such a proper housewife, the house is always spotless, dinners always ready. She looks gorgeous every day.
I nodded, my anger simmering beneath the surface. Even after the divorce, Alex managed to sting me.
Then a thought struck me: a small, petty revenge, but fitting. I began calling Alex constantly, any excuse.
Hey Alex, Oliver wants to go for a walk, can you swing by?
Alex, the kitchen taps leaking, could you help?
Oliver misses you, when will you be here?
Each time he showed up, it turned out all he wanted was to be with his son. Wed chat, hed sip tea, laugh over Olivers stories from nursery. Our conversations stretched for an hour or two. Id ask about his new wife, and hed dodge, his voice tightening.
Soon Sophies irritated voice crackled over the phone: Alex, are you chatting with her again? Stop it! Alex brushed it off, but I could hear the tension.
Months passed. One evening Alex turned up unannounced. I opened the door to his haggard face.
Were divorced, he said, stepping inside.
Who? I snapped, closing the door and leaning against it.
My wife left. She couldnt take it any longer.
What couldnt she take? I asked.
Us. Our relationship.
I smirked, cold and cynical.
What relationship, Alex?
You know we spend so much time together. I thought maybe we could?
What? Get back together? I crossed my arms. Im already seeing someone. Im happy.
His face twisted.
What? Youre with who?
It doesnt matter who. It matters that its not you.
You thought Id wait for you? I laughed bitterly. Seriously?
Youll still have to pay child support, wont you? he shouted, his voice cracking. Youve been leading me on! I helped you, I was there for you!
I never promised anything, I replied calmly. You came to me on your own, like a stray dog. I dont need you. I cant even afford to keep a cat on your alimony, let alone a man.
He stammered, You you
What? I stepped to the door and flung it wide. Go, Alex. Dont come back without warning.
Youre not a woman! he lunged for his coat, shouting, Youre a petty, vengeful snake!
Maybe, I shrugged. But you made me that way.
The door slammed. I leaned against it, eyes closed. No joy, no reliefjust an empty void.
I knew Id acted badly. Alex had once stripped away my dignity, my faith, my love. I simply returned the same coin.
I went to Olivers room. He slept, arms stretched out. I sat beside him, ran my hand over his head.
This chapter is closed, forever. Yes, Ill still see Alex because Oliver loves his father, and I wont block that. But now I can look at him as a victor, remembering how I got my revenge.
