Mark, can you hear yourself? So I have to wait until Im forty to fix the mistakes of your youth? And why should I pay for the fact that you found the shed more interesting than your own son? Emily asked, genuine bewilderment in her voice.
Emily, give it a rest! Mark pressed. I was foolish. I didnt appreciate, didnt realise what I was losing. And now its all gone. James doesnt even see me as a father.
And whats wrong with that? Emily smiled bitterly. He spent seventeen years not with his dad but with the neighbour next door. Did you really think a child could be turned off and on like a telly when you felt like playing dad?
Marks face darkened and he frowned. The familiar irritation flared in his eyesthe one Emily always saw whenever his paternal duties came up.
Emily, thats enough! Its all in the past. Give me another chance, he stubbornly demanded.
So you can have a go and dump everything on me, leaving another child to grow up fatherless? Emily crossed her arms over her chest. Thanks, Ive had enough of that. No, Mark, its not even up for discussion.
The mans expression twisted into a mask of hurt and anger. He had no reply, so he huffed and buried his face in his phone.
The clash was overfor now. The problem, however, lingered. Their argument left a heavy aftertaste in Emilys mind. It wasnt just the absurd demands of her husband; she felt for her son, James.
Emily was twentythree when James was born. She still remembered standing outside the maternity ward, exhausted and elated, cradling a tiny bundle wrapped in a white blanket. Mark hovered over them like a buzzard, never moving a step away. He beamed with joy, constantly adjusting the blanket, kissing Emily on the forehead, and, reverently, lifting the baby into his arms.
Look at me! With the same little dimple on the chin, he exclaimed, eyes sparkling. Im a father now, Emily. Im just beginning to understand. Ill do everything with him! Walks, changing diapers, teaching him to kick a football Ill be the best dad in the world, youll see!
Emily returned his gaze with equal excitement. She believed every word. She thought they would have a perfect family, full of love, care, and shared joys.
But, as often happens, reality turned out to be far more ordinary and harsh.
Late at night, Emily, dark circles under her eyes, paced the bedroom, rocking a wailing infant for the third time that evening. Mark, disgruntled, lay in the bed, pulling the duvet over his head.
Just put him down already! he hissed quietly. I have work tomorrow, I have to get up early!
In those moments Emily slipped into the other room, tears of helplessness blurring her vision. The baby screamed even louder, wanting to stay in the bedroom, but she had no choice. She shut the door and rocked James for hours, just to give Mark a chance to sleep.
On a weekend, exhausted after a week without sleep, she timidly asked:
Mark, could you look after him for at least two hours? Im on my feet, I need to sleep
Emily, later? I cant now, Ive got plans. The lads promised to bring a car for us to fix.
But I cant
Come on, love, youre strong. Youll manage. Ill be back and help.
The door closed, leaving Emily alone with her strength and the draining duty of motherhood. The promised later never arrived.
Time passed. James grew. Emily tried to forge any bond between father and son. She approached Mark, lounging in an armchair watching the football, and handed him the rosycheeked boy tugging at his sleeves.
Take him, spend a bit of time with him, she pleaded, not for a break but to knit the family together.
Mark took the child reluctantly, as if someone had handed him a suspicious parcel. He held James on outstretched arms, not pulling him close, and stared past him at the TV. A minute or two later he set the boy down carelessly on the floor and returned to the match.
Now James was five, building a block castle on the livingroom carpet. Mark walked past the sofa, never looking at his son. James didnt look up either; he had become used to his fathers absence.
Mark couldnt be called a total failure as a husband. He brought home the money, helped Emily with cooking and cleaning, but he missed his sons childhood. Should we be surprised that grownup James never truly saw him as a dad?
James, hows school going? Mark asked one afternoon.
Uh its fine, the boy stammered.
Your grades, all good? Mark persisted. Let me know if you need any help. I dont want my son ending up a sweeper.
No, Dad, thanks. All good, James replied, hurrying to his room.
We could go fishing at the weekend if you like! Mark called after him.
James gave no answer. Only Emily knew that his school disco was that night, that he had asked a classmate he liked to dance, and that shed turned him down. He also knew James had no interest in fishing at all.
It was clear the train had left the station. James was no longer the little boy craving his fathers attention. The childhood Mark hoped to reclaim was irrevocably over. When he realised this, he wanted a clean slate a second child. Emily, who remembered every sleepless night, was adamantly opposed.
Soon the familys troubles reached the relatives.
Darling, I know everything, Mark told me everything. Listen to your mother, have another baby. Hes changed, grown up! Dont deprive him of a second chance. Itll be wonderful to raise another little one!
The motherinlaw added her own spin.
Emily, if you dont have another, you could lose him. He dreams of being a dad. If you dont, someone else will. Its good for you too. Think of the future. Your first son will soon leave the nest. The second will keep your marriage together and give you support in old age.
Emily felt doubly insulted hearing this from other women. It was as if her body and life had become a bargaining chip. Everyone saw her only as a mother and a wife, not as a tired woman who had walked that road once before and remembered how it ended.
In desperation she hatched a planhalf absurd, half a clear demonstration. She found an old box in the loft full of Jamess baby things and, among them, a dusty but still working Tamagotchi. A tiny electronic pet that needed feeding, entertaining, healing, and cleaning.
When Mark came home from work, Emily handed him the plastic egg with a tiny grey screen.
Whats this? he asked, puzzled, examining the gift.
Consider it your probation period. Try at least a tenth of what fatherhood demands. You have to feed this thing hourly and look after it. Its like a baby, but you just press buttons. If you mess up, it cries. If after a year your Tamagotchi is still alive, Ill believe youre ready for a real child.
Mark looked at Emily questioningly, then burst out laughing, assuming it was a joke. But her stonecold expression turned his amusement into irritation.
Youre serious? Youre comparing a living child to a toy?
Start with this. If you cant handle a toy, how could you manage a real baby?
Mark shrugged it off, pocketing the device. For three days he dutifully woke up at night to feed the virtual pet. On the fifth day he began to panic but didnt abandon his mission. After a week he complained that the lack of sleep was hurting his work.
On the eighth day, returning home, he flung the Tamagotchi onto the table. The screen displayed a bold red cross he had failed.
Forgot to feed it. Work was hectic, Mark muttered, avoiding Emilys eyes.
Arguments and disputes continued, but they quieted down. The tension remained, yet Mark no longer pressed his wishes so fiercely.
Three years later everything settled. James, now a university student, brought home his girlfriend, and they soon announced they were expecting.
Mark transformed again, his enthusiasm boundless. He talked about a second chance, this time as a grandfather. He bought a pram with savedup money, splurged on oversized overalls and tiny building sets. He swore he would be the best granddad ever, ready to help, sit, and stroll.
Emily watched all this with healthy scepticism.
When the grandson arrived, the story repeated itself. The first weeks Mark truly pitched in, rocking the baby, taking photos. But soon the initial euphoria faded. By his own insistence the young couple moved into a rented flat, and his help reduced to occasional, carefully planned weekend visits when the baby was fed, changed, and in good spirits. The moment the infant cried, Mark would find an urgent excuse: a work call, a meeting, a trip to his mothers country house.
Emily stepped in, looking at the whole pictureher son, his exhausted partner, and Marks halfhearted involvementand realised she had made the right choice. James grew into a caring, responsible man who never left his wife alone. Mark he remained the man who loved the idea of fatherhood more than its reality.
The lesson that lingered was simple: love without commitment is a hollow promise; true parenthood, or any relationship, demands more than grand gesturesit requires constant, everyday presence.
