Honestly, Daniel, Ive had enough, I said, the words slipping out as if it were just another Tuesday. Emma blinked at herself, surprised by how easy it felt. All those years of bottledup anger, sleepless nights waiting for him until dawn, making excuses for his nonsense it all collapsed into two short sentences.
Daniel turned his head toward me, a flicker of bewilderment crossing his face.
What? Youre serious? Over what?
Over everything. Emma smirked. Over the scent of other womens perfume lingering on his shirts. Over the texts shed stumbled on by accident. Over the way he looked through her like she were a piece of furniture hed long meant to throw out but never got around to. Over the colleague at work. Over the neighbour upstairs. Over the waitress at the bistro where theyd celebrated their anniversary.
Everything, she shrugged. Im just tired.
The divorce dragged on for months, grinding Emma down so badly shed sometimes forget to eat. Court hearings, endless paperwork, interminable sessions it turned into a sticky nightmare she couldnt climb out of. She showed up to the hearings in a dress shed worn before she got pregnant, the fabric pulling at her hips, the zipper never quite reaching the top. She hid it under a plain cardigan the only thing that hadnt puffed up with lint or stretched sleeves.
Daniel sat across from her in a fresh suit. The jacket fit like a glove, the tie a flash of the latest fashion with a wild pattern. Emma stared at that tie, trying to recall the last time shed bought anything for herself. Just the other day shed scraped together enough money for a pair of winter boots for Oliver. They were almost new, about £70, from a shop a few streets over. On the cramped bus to get them, shed been thinking about how Oliver needed new trousers, a jacket, a hat now that summer was stretching out.
Then the solicitor laid out the papers.
According to the bank statements, the lawyer said, voice steady and businesslike, over the past eighteen months the defendant has spent in restaurants and entertainment venues an amount equal to the familys annual budget.
Emma stared at the figures, unable to turn them into a coherent picture. Restaurants. Entertainment spots. A separate line for a florist she knew hed never sent her bouquets. A jeweller earrings, a pendant, a ring. None of it for her.
Meanwhile she was wondering if she could even afford a single banana for Oliver. Not a bunch a single banana was a luxury now. She sliced apples thinly to stretch them over a few days. She boiled porridge in water because milk had gone up in price, and she sipped empty tea, convincing herself it was better for her waistline.
Daniel cleared his throat, adjusted that very tie.
These are my own earnings, he said.
After the hearing Daniel caught up with her in the car park, grabbed her elbow and spun her around.
Think youll win anything? he hissed, venom dripping from his voice. Ill take Oliver. Hear that? Ill take him.
Emma stared silently at the man shed spent five years with, the father of her son, the one whose promotion had forced her into maternity leave, stole her qualifications, stole her sense of self.
Youre hopeless, he continued triumphantly. You cant do anything. Poverty? Ill raise him into a proper man, not a mess. And youll pay child support, not the other way round!
Hapless. Hed used that word before.
Youre hopeless, you dont get the basics.
Youre hopeless, you forgot again.
Youre hopeless, what can I even take from you?
And Emma took it, because she loved him, because she believed in family, because thats how it was supposed to be.
He kept phoning, demanding that Emma hand over their son so he wouldnt corrupt him, so she wouldnt waste child support on whoknowswhat.
One more call and Emma snapped.
Fine, she said. Take him.
Silence on the other end.
What?
I said fine. Ill bring Oliver tomorrow.
And she did.
Oliver stood in Daniels hallway a small boy with a dinosaurshaped backpack and a bag Emma had stuffed with his favourite pajamas, a space book, and a stuffed rabbit with a torn ear. Daniel stared at his son as if hed just materialised out of thin air.
Right then, Emma set the bag down. Raise him.
Mum? Olivers voice trembled.
Emma knelt, pulled him close, burying her nose in his hair, inhaling the scent of baby shampoo and sunshine.
Live with dad for a bit, okay? Think of it as an adventure. Ill miss you and call every day.
She slipped out without looking back, leaned against a wall and let herself slump, palms pressed to her face. God, what was she doing? She was exhausted from Daniels calls, his voice, his nitpicking.
An hour later Daniel rang.
Emma, uh whens Oliver starting nursery? Tomorrow? he stammered.
Nursery? Emma blinked. He goes every weekday from eight in the morning. Didnt you know?
How could I right, Ill sort it out.
He never really sorted it. He dropped Oliver off with Mrs. Harding the elderly neighbour whod been looking after him for a few hours while Daniel pretended to have things to sort out and vanished.
Four days later Emmas former motherinlaw, Margaret Harding, called, a sharp grin flashing before she spoke.
Lost your conscience, have you? Margarets voice crackled with outrage. You hand the child over and go off having fun? Im sixtyodd, my blood pressures through the roof!
I didnt bring the boy to you, Emma replied, calm, almost gentle. I brought him to his father. He promised to raise a proper man, slapped his chest, threatened court.
He works! Hes got no time!
And I? I work too. Every day. I manage on my own.
He
Mrs. Harding, I gave Oliver to Daniel because he asked. Let him raise him as he promised. I cant help you.
Silence, then a few beeps.
Two days later Margaret called again, voice tired, deflated.
Come and collect Oliver. I cant do this any longer.
Emma drove over that evening. Oliver leapt into her arms at the door, clinging to her legs, pressing his face into her stomach.
Mum, mum, mum
He repeated it like a mantra while Emma stroked his head.
Alright, love, adventures over. Lets go home.
Margaret stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a look of annoyance rather than remorse flickering across her face. It wasnt regret, just irritation that the plan had blown up. The daughterinlaw turned out not to be as hopeless as theyd thought.
Daniel disappeared. No calls, no messages, no doorstep threats. His parents never visited either. They turned up once, years later, when Oliver was seven, in Year2, swimming lessons and Lego builds his new world.
One afternoon Oliver opened the front door to strangers.
Whos there? he asked.
Its Oliver! Margaret shouted, waving her arms. Grandma and granddad are here!
Oliver frowned, turned to Emma.
Mum, there are strangers.
The chat was short and awkward. Margaret complained that Oliver didnt recognise her, didnt greet her, didnt run for a hug. Mr. Harding shook his head, muttering about modern parenting.
They left, muttering that the boy was terrible and illmannered, just as clueless as his mother. Emma closed the door and laughed. What did they expect?
Time flew. Oliver turned eleven, looking a lot like Emmas own father stubborn chin, sharp, teasing eyes. He never asked about his dad. Maybe one day he will, and Emma will answer straight, no sugarcoating, no extra bitterness. For now they manage, just the two of them.
Then the past knocked again, this time in the form of Kate, Emmas best friend, crying in the kitchen, mascara smearing her cheeks.
Hes threatening to take Sam, Kate sobbed. Says hell hire a solicitor, gather documents I dont know what to do!
Emma poured her a cup of tea, nudged the sugar bowl.
Kate, love, want some advice?
Yes, any. Im losing it.
Give him the kid yourself.
Kate froze, mug in hand.
What?
Pack a bag, take Sam to his dad. Say Raise him and walk away. Three days maybe less. Problem solved for good.
You serious?
Absolutely. Tested on my own mess.
Kate stared, bewildered but a glimmer of hope flickering.
And then?
Emma took a sip, leaned back. Then you live your life. No more being useful only as a family checkbox on social media.
She thought of Daniel, his parents, all of that now far behind. Emma had learned her lesson with flying colours.
