**Diary Entry**
My husbands younger sister came to visit, and without hesitation, he gave her the air-conditioned bedroom, forcing my sick son and me to sleep in the living room.
That sweltering afternoon, she arrived unannounced, suitcase in hand. He greeted her with a beaming smile, as if she were royalty. If youre staying, youll take the cool room, he said, turning to me. You and the boy can manage in the lounge for a few days. A bit of heat wont hurt.
I stood frozen, staring at our sonstill weak from his illness, his forehead burning. He cant breathe properly without the cool air. How can you?
He cut me off sharply. Do as youre told. Its only a few nights. Dont make a fuss.
By evening, Id laid out a thin mattress in the living room, the old fan whirring uselessly, pushing around hot air. My sons hair clung damply to his forehead as I held him, fanning him with my hand, swallowing tears. From the bedroom, laughter driftedcarefree, as if his fever and laboured breaths meant nothing.
On the third night, his temperature spiked violently, his small body seizing in my arms. Terrified, I bolted for the air-conditioned room, but my husband blocked the doorway. What are you doing? Dont disturb my sisters sleep!
Ice flooded my veins. In that moment, I knewhe didnt deserve to be my husband, or his father.
At dawn, while his sister slept soundly in the cool, I packed our things and left. The door clicked shut behind me, his voice calling after us. This time, I didnt look back.
We stayed with my mother. For a week, my phone buzzed relentlesslyapologies, pleas: *Im sorry, come back. I didnt think it would upset you.* But I didnt answer.
When my son finally recovered, I learned from neighbours that his sister had suffered heatstroke and been rushed to hospital. The air conditioner had an electrical faultmiraculously, she survived. My husband, frantic with guilt, blamed himself for spoiling her, for leaving us to swelter.
Three days later, he appeared at Mums doorstep. The proud man Id known stood broken, eyes red-raw. I was wrong I dont deserve you or our boy. But pleaselet me make it right. Without you, the house is colder than ever.
My heart ached, but the anger had dulled to numbness. An apology wont undo it, I said. What if something worse had happened? I cant stay with someone whose priorities will always be elsewhere.
He knelt right there on the path, ignoring the neighbours stares. But I took our son inside and shut the doorthis time, locking my heart away too.
Some mistakes cant be undone, no matter the remorse.
In the weeks that followed, he returned dailyfruit baskets, milk, toys for our son piled by the gate. I never stepped out. Mum watched me quietly before saying, If your minds made up, Ill stand by you. Just be sure you wont regret it.
I hugged our boy, his warmth against my chest. He was my strength now. I wouldnt raise him where love came second to indifference.
One evening, as golden light spilled over the street, his voice floated through the door: *Ill wait a month, a yearforever if I must.*
I didnt reply. Peering through the curtain, I watched his silhouette fade. Wed both lost everythingwhat once mattered, and the chance to rebuild what trust had shattered.
Time passed. The wound scarred. I returned to work, took our son to school, relearned how to smile. But at night, I still saw itour boy trembling in my arms, his father barring the door.
That memory stays: sometimes leaving isnt the end of love. Its choosing to love yourself, and your child, more.
So I close this chapternot with forgiveness, but a new beginning. One where my sons laughter will never again be drowned out by someones cold disregard.
