“Come home right now!” Michael’s voice crackled through the phone with barely contained fury. “Do you even care about your daughter? I’m at my wit’s end with her!”
Helen raised her champagne flute, clinking it against Olivias with a smile. The café buzzed with laughter, music, and the easy chatter of friends. For the first time in months, she didnt feel like just “Mum” to little Emilyshe felt like herself again.
“To your happiness!” she began, but a shrill ringtone sliced through the celebration.
“Helen, where the hell are you?” Michaels irritated bark made her wince. “Emilys been crying for over an hour!”
“I told you Id be late. Its Olivias birthdaywe agreed”
“Its been *three* hours, not two!”
Helen excused herself from the table, lowering her voice. “Give her some water. Maybe shes thirsty.”
“I *tried*! Shes ill, Helenshe needs *you*!”
“Michael, *breathe*. Check her nappy. If its chafing, shell fuss. Ill be home soon.”
“No! Leave *now*!” His voice climbed. “Do you even care about your own child?”
“Fine. Ill head back early.”
The line went dead.
When she returned, Olivia arched a brow. “Trouble?”
“Emilys crying, and Michaels having a meltdown,” Helen sighed.
“Thats *normal*,” scoffed Tanya, waving a hand. “My Tom nearly fainted the first time he held our baby.”
“Mine still calls me for every whimper,” joked Marina.
“Maybe I should go,” Helen fretted.
“Absolutely not,” Olivia cut in. “This is your first night out in *ages*. Let him figure it out.”
Helen tried to rejoin the conversationuntil the café door slammed open. Michael stomped in with Emily wailing in his arms.
“Heres *Mother of the Year*!” he bellowed. “Childs dying, and shes off partying!”
Silence fell. Patrons stared. Helens face burned.
“Why would you do this?” she whispered.
“What I *shouldve* done sooner!” He jostled Emily dramatically. “Bringing your dying daughter to your *party*!”
“Enough of this circus,” Olivia snapped.
“Not your business!” Michael shot back. “Shes here because of *you*!”
“Sir, calm down,” interjected an elderly diner.
“Back off!” Michael snarled. “My wife abandoned our sick child!”
Helen took Emily, who quieted instantly in her arms.
“Liv, Im sorry. I have to go.”
“Of course you do,” Michael sneered. “Finally remembered youre a mother!”
“Dont apologise,” Olivia said firmly. “Youve done nothing wrong.”
“Real men dont act like this,” Tanya muttered.
Before Michael could retort, the manager appeared. “Sir, youre disturbing our guests. Please leave.”
***
At home, Helen peeled off Emilys onesieand found an angry red mark from the tag.
“Heres your crisis. It *itched*.”
“How was I supposed to know?” Michael flopped onto the sofa.
“By *checking*!”
“Im not built for nappies and tantrums. Thats *your* job.”
Helen whirled around. “*Excuse* me?”
“You heard me,” he said coldly. “I earn the money. Kids are *your* problem.”
“You humiliated me in publicover a *tag*!”
“Now youll learn: a mothers place is at home, not gallivanting with friends.”
“Youre *serious*?” Helen gaped. “I work remotely, manage three projects, cook, clean, *and* raise Emily. When do *I* get a life?”
“*This* is life?” He scoffed. “Staying homes a holiday. Try a real jobten-hour days in an office.”
“Try sleepless nights with a screaming baby!”
“Pfft. Feed them, change themeasy.”
“Then why couldnt you spot a *tag*?” she fired back.
He hurled his keys onto the counter. “Im staying at Daves. Need a break from your nagging.”
“Run, then.” Helens smile was bitter. “You always do.”
***
The door slammed. Emily dozed peacefully in Helens arms. In half an hour, shed packed essentialsdiaper bag, pram, blanketand stood on her mother-in-laws doorstep.
“Helen?” Margaret blinked. “Whats happened?”
“Im leaving Michael. Can we stay a few days?”
“Come in. Tell me what that idiots done now.”
Helen sank onto the sofa, rocking Emily. “He caused a scene at the café, screamed that Id abandoned her, that she was *dying* Over a *tag*. He didnt even *look*.”
“Pathetic,” Margaret sighed. “What now?”
“He said kids are a womans job.”
“I see.” Margarets voice turned icy. “So Emilys *not* his daughter?”
“Thats the worst part! He thinks parentings a *holiday*.”
“Foolish of me,” Margaret murmured. “I hoped hed grow up. Instead, he got worse.”
***
Next morning, Michael arrived scowling.
“Mum, where is she? Tell her to come home *now*!”
“Shes not running,” Margaret said calmly. “Explain that café tantrum.”
“Tantrum? I was *protecting* my child!”
“From a *tag*?” Margarets eyebrow arched. “Helen told me everything.”
“Dont believe hershe exaggerates!” He paced. “Kick her out! She belongs at *home*!”
“Sit.” Margarets tone brooked no argument. “Were discussing your behaviour.”
“Whats to discuss? Wives should be at home!”
“Listen closely: Helen stays in *that* flat because its *Emilys* home. *You*? Youve disappointed me.”
“Mum, I *provide*!”
“And she works, raises Emily, *and* keeps house. Whats *your* excuse?”
“I bring in the money!”
“So did Iafter your father died. Yet I raised you *and* worked. You cant even check a nappy.”
“Ive got a stressful job!”
“Shes exhausted too. Difference is, she doesnt scream at you in public.”
Michael clenched his jaw. “Fine! Ill find a *proper* wife. She can rot with that kid!”
“Try it,” Margaret said coolly. “But remember: Ill ensure you pay *every penny* of child support.”
“Whose side are you *on*?”
“The side of decency. Youre acting like a spoiled teennot a father.”
***
A month later, the divorce was final. Michael swaggered with triumph*freedom* at last! He even brought home a new fling: blonde, giggly Stacy from accounting.
“Wow, your flats *gorgeous*!” she gushed.
“Just wait,” he bragged. “New furniture, fresh paintpure luxury! No more deadweight.”
“Your ex?” Stacy ventured.
“Oh, shes at Mums with the kid. Let her rot.”
“You pay child support?”
He waved a hand. “Mums loaded. Theyll manage.”
They were mid-coffee when the door swung open. Margaret stood there, Helen and Emily behind her.
“Mum, whys *she* here?” Michael spluttered.
“Returning the rightful owner,” Margaret said crisply. “This flats been in Emilys name for six months. Stacy? Youre free to go.”
“*What?!*” Michael roared.
“Shouldve done this sooner. Pack your things. Youre living with me.”
“Mike, whats going *on*?” Stacy stammered.
“Nothing,” Margaret said. “He forgot the flat belongs to Emily. I anticipated this.”
“You *cant*!” Michael choked out.
“I can. Helen, settle in.”
Stacy grabbed her purse and fled, door slamming behind her.
***
Two years passed. Michaels friends drifted away, tired of his whining. Margaret spoke to him in clipped tones, refusing to let him move in with his latest girlfriend.
He dialled Helens number.
“Hel? Maybe we could talk? Try again?”
“Michael, theres nothing *to* try. Im home.”
“But were *family*! Emily needs her dad!”
“You *are* her dad. Nothing stops you seeing her.”
“At
