“You’re just an old woman nowour little boy needs a young mother, not a granny! I’m leaving, and I’m taking our son with me!” hissed her husband.
What happened that evening was something Rita could never have foreseen, not even in her wildest nightmares. Simon, her husband, stood before her with an icy expression, his words slicing through the quiet of their London flat like a thunderclap on a clear day. Clutched tightly in her arms was their little boy, Alfiea small, warm bundle whose breathing had always been her light in the darkest hours. Her heart clenched as she felt his tiny body tense, as though even without words, he understood something terrible was happening.
Alfie wasnt just any child. He was a miracle. The miracle Rita had prayed for during years of longing. At thirty-seven, shed nearly resigned herself to the idea that motherhood was a joy that had slipped through her fingersyears of trying, hope, disappointment, and finally, that longed-for positive test. The doctors had warned her age wasnt on her side, but she refused to give up. And when Simon found out she was pregnant? His eyes lit up like they had on their wedding day. He showered her with love, care, luxury. He said their family would finally be complete, just like in those old black-and-white films. Evening strolls, organic groceries, top specialists, fortnightly scanshe recorded every flutter, every kick. He was happy. At least, thats what shed thought.
The birth was difficult, but Alfie arrived safely. The day they left the hospital, Simon picked them upbut something was off. He was distant, almost cold. No tears, no hugs, just a clipped, “Right, lets go.” Rita blamed exhaustion, stressbut a quiet alarm bell rang in the back of her mind. Still, things soon seemed to settle. He spent hours by Alfies crib, learned how to hold him, helped with night feeds. She convinced herself it was fine. Just a phase.
Nine months passed. Alfie grew, laughed, babbled. Rita slowly introduced solid foods but kept breastfeedingthe pediatrician recommended it, and it felt right for both of them. Then one evening, Simon came home from work and snapped, “Enough. Time to wean him. Hes a boy, not a girlnursing at nearly two? Its not normal!”
Rita flinched. She hadnt heard that harsh tone in years. But that was just the beginning.
Each day, he grew colder. His gaze turned vacant, his words clipped. No gifts, no flowers, not even a “thanks for dinner.” Thenlike a bolt from the bluethe final blow came.
“Youre old,” he said, shrugging off his blazer without looking at her. “Face it. Alfie needs a young, lively mother, not someone who looks like his nan. Im leaving. And Im taking him. Theres another womanshell be his real mum now. You? Youve done your jobcarried him, birthed him. So Ill let you keep the flat. Well divorce quietly, no fuss. I dont want to humiliate you. But I wont stay either.”
Rita stood frozen. Her heart hammered. This couldnt be real. Was he joking? Nohis eyes held no laughter. Just ice. Contempt.
“Simon are you serious?” she whispered, voice trembling. “This isnt funny. Its not April Fools. Do you even hear yourself?”
“Im not joking,” he said coldly. “Ive been with her for months. Shes prettier, smarter, younger. And most importantly? She wants to be a mother. You? You cant even work. When was the last time you left the house without him? When did you last think about yourself?”
The words cut like knives. Yes, shed left her job. Yes, shed devoted herself to the family. But was that a crime? Was that reason enough to betray her?
“I wont let you take him,” she forced out, feeling the ground vanish beneath her.
“Its not up for debate,” he shot back. “If you fight me, Ill toss you out. Where will you go? To your sister, barely scraping by? Your mum, who cant afford bread? I can give Alfie everythingtop schools, clubs, holidays, security. You? You cant even guarantee his next meal.”
He spoke like a man who knew he had power. And he wasnt wrong. Simon worked in the courts. He had connections. He knew how the system workedand he wasnt afraid to use it.
That night, Rita didnt sleep. She sat by Alfies cot, stroked his hair, whispered sweet nothingsterrified that if she closed her eyes, shed wake to an empty flat. Simon didnt leave yet, though. He came and went, less often, but still there. A fragile hope lingered.
Then, one dayknocking at the door. Police.
“Youre under arrest for systematic alcohol abuse, child cruelty, and parental neglect,” one officer stated flatly.
Rita stared in horror. It was a farce. She didnt drink. She adored Alfie. But Simon stood behind them, stone-faced. He didnt look at her. Just nodded.
“My son stays with me,” he said. “Ill keep him safe.”
They took her. Three days in custody. No lawyer. No explanations. No contact. When they finally released her, the flat was empty. Just dust on the shelves and silence thick with betrayal.
Simon visited that evening. He sat across from her, his gaze cold and superior.
“Ive shown you whos in charge,” he said. “Try anythingand Ill lock you up for good.”
“Youre a monster,” Rita whispered, everything inside her freezing. “You think some other woman can love Alfie like I do? She doesnt know his smell, his first cry, the weight of him in her arms when he was born. She cant”
“She already loves him,” he interrupted. “She calls him her son. She cries when he cries. You? Youre just an old woman whos had her time.”
He left, slamming the door. Rita slid down the wall, hugged her knees, and weptuntil the tears dried up. Only emptiness remained. And one thought: *I have to fight. For him. For my son.*
She called her sister. Told her everything. Her sister passed the phone to her brother-in-lawa man in law enforcement.
“Rita Im sorry,” he said. “With his connections, you wont win this alone. But if you want to fightyoull need someone just as powerful. Someone who can corner him.”
Simon filed for divorce. Rita went to court, hopeful the judge would see a mother shouldnt be torn from her child. But the hearing was postponed.
“Simons been in an accident,” his colleague, Natalie, said. “Critical condition. ICU. The cars wrecked. He was alone. Alfies probably with his new woman. No one knows where.”
Rita rushed to the hospital. They wouldnt let her in. She stood outside ICU, shakingwhere was Alfie? Who was feeding him? Who held him when he cried?
Thena knock at her door.
She didnt want to answer. But something told her to open it.
A young woman stood there. In her armsAlfie. His eyes swollen from tears, cheeks hollow.
“Take him,” the woman sneered. “And take your husband too. Hes a cripple now. Doctors say its permanent. I didnt sign up for that. Hes your problem now.”
She left. Rita didnt even watch her go. She clutched Alfie, kissed him, sobbed. He screamed, clung to her like he feared shed vanish again.
“Mummys not leaving,” she whispered. “Never again. Youre mine, mine, mine”
But she knewSimon wouldnt give up. Once he recovered, it would start all over.
She made a choice. A teaching job in a rural village. Fresh air. Peace. An old friend promised help with Alfie. There, hed be safe. There, Simon wouldnt find them.
She visited Simon in hospital. He lay in a wheelchair, pale, broken.
“Rita dont go,” he pleaded. “All these years I made a mistake. I wanted to come back. I regret”
She looked at him and saw not her husband, but a pathetic stranger who only thought of himself. Whod worry about his next glass of water. Whod care for him.
“Were leaving,” she said firmly. “No court will give you Alfie now. You cant even care for yourself. Keep the flat. Do what you want. Maybe youll fight to live. Maybe not. But I wont stay. Ever. You took my son. You broke my heart. That, I wont forgive.”
