**Diary Entry**
This morning, I found myself on the same edge of the bed where Id collapsed last night. My eyes burned, my mouth was dry, my head throbbed. My phone kept buzzing, but I couldnt bring myself to answer. I knew who it wasMum, my sister, maybe a friend. What could I have said to them? How could I put into words that the man Id built my life with had packed up and walked out in a single night?
I crept into the kitchen. My son was still asleep. I boiled water for tea, but my hands shook so much I spilled it over the edge of the mug. I watched the liquid spread across the table, too drained to wipe it up. The silence around me wasnt peacefulit was the kind that follows devastation.
*Two months until the hearing.* His words echoed in my mind like a verdict, as if my future had already been decided without me.
I didnt go to work that day. I texted my boss: *Personal reasons. Back tomorrow.* There was nothing else I could say.
When my son woke up, he looked at me with those big brown eyesso like his fathersand asked only one question:
Mum, wheres Dad?
The pain hit me like a blade. I crouched down, ruffled his hair, and told him the first lie Id ever made up for him:
He had to go away. Well talk to him soon.
I couldnt bear to tell him the truth. I had to protect him, even if just for a few more days.
That evening, the message came: *Ive arrived. Dont contact me. Well speak through solicitors.*
No questions about his son, no concern. Just cold words. I deleted it, but the letters burned behind my eyelids.
The days blurred into onedull, sluggish. Mornings at work, afternoons home, helping my son with his homework, forcing smiles as if everything was fine. But at night, once he was asleep, I crumpled to the floor and wept without a sound.
Friends found out slowly. Some told me to forget him; others urged me to fight for what was mine. Mums voice was the strongest:
Sweetheart, dont let a man who threw your heart away break you. Youre stronger than this. You have your son. Hes your greatest treasure.
I nodded, but inside, I was still in ruins.
The first real clash came in the solicitors office. He walked in confidently, his suit crisp, smelling of cologne, the new woman beside himdark-haired, smiling smugly, dripping in gold and jewels.
My stomach twisted, but I straightened my back. For my son, I couldnt let them see me falter.
Well sell the flat and split the proceeds, his solicitor said bluntly, as if referring to bricks, not the home where our child had taken his first steps.
No. My son needs stability. Were staying. Take another asset, but the flat stays.
He met my gaze coldly.
You dont decide. The court will.
Rage surged in me, but I swallowed it and said firmly,
The court will hear our sons voice too.
For a moment, he wavered. He knew our boy loved himbut he also knew hed been absent.
The hearing dragged on for months. I was exhausted, but I learned to stand my ground. I worked, cared for my son, and rebuilt my life. One day, he brought home a school assignment. On the page, hed written: *The strongest person in my life is my mum.*
I sobbednot from pain this time, but gratitude.
In court, the judge turned to my son:
Who would you like to live with?
The boy looked at me, then at his father, and answered slowly but clearly:
With Mum. She never left me.
It was as if a mountain had lifted from my shoulders. My ex-husbands face twitched; his smile collapsed.
Weeks later, the verdict was read: the flat went to us. He got other assets. Full custody remained with me.
Stepping out of the courthouse, I felt free for the first time in months. Rain fell, but every drop felt healing.
My son took my hand and said simply,
Mum, lets go home.
*Home.* Not a divided flat, not a place where Id shed tears, but *ours*just the two of us.
Then I understood: life hadnt ended. It was only just beginning.
Maybe Ill never again be the slim, cheerful, pretty woman he wanted. But Ill be something far stronger: a mother. A woman who rebuilt from rubble and learned to shape her future with her own hands.
And no matter how hard he tried to make me believe his poisonous wordsthat *no one wants a woman over thirty-five*I knew he was wrong. Life opens again, somewhere else, in a different light.
For the first time in so long, I smiledtruly smiledand whispered to myself:
*This wasnt the end. This was the start.*
