Hold on, Mum a little longer
Wheres Dad? Im fed up with you! Wheres Dad! Daddy! the boy keened, his voice slicing through the quiet like a knife.
The shrill cry struck a raw nerve in my ears; every syllable throbbed at the temples. Max stood in the middle of the sittingroom, his cheeks flushed from the shouting, tiny fists clenched tight.
Your fathers at work, he should be back in about an hour. Come on, love, calm down. Lets talk, Olivia said as evenly as she could, though inside she felt a knot tightening in her throat.
I dont want to talk to you! Youre useless! I only want Dad! Max stamped his foot, his voice cracking into a highpitched wail.
Tears welled up in Olivias eyes. She stared at her tenyearold son, bewildered at how things had gone so wrong. Shed given him every year of her life, had worked from home for ages, spent every spare minute by his side. When Max started school she switched to a fulltime job, yet they still made time for trips to the zoo, museum visits, evenings reading together everything was for him, everything for him.
I dont love you! Im sick of you! Im tired of you! Max shouted, the words slashing straight through Olivias heart.
She turned away, covering her mouth with a hand. The tears were about to spill, but she couldnt let herself break in front of her son. How had it come to this? She was his mother; she loved him more than anything. Why did Max see a hollow space where she stood? Why did he keep demanding his fathers presence?
Max, please stop yelling. Your dad will be home soon, she tried again, though her voice trembled betrayingly.
I dont want to wait! I want him now! Youre a bad mum! You
A sudden ring cut through the shouting. Max lunged for the phone, snatching it from Olivias hand.
Dad! Dad! he bellowed into the receiver, not even looking at the screen.
Olivia stepped back. Yes, it was Andrews familiar baritone that drifted from the speaker.
Hey, lad! Hows it going? his voice was bright, caring.
Dad, Ive missed you so much! Mums driving me mad, when will you be back? Max pressed the handset to his ear, his face lighting up instantly.
A pause. Olivia held her breath, waiting for his reply.
Sorry, love, Im stuck at the office. Might be a couple more hours. Hang on to Mum, Ill be there soon.
Hang on to Mum The phrase lodged in Olivias mind like a cruel reminder, as if she were an obstacle he had to endure. It felt as though her very presence had become a weight he must bear.
Alright, Dad, Ill wait! Max beamed, his joy palpable.
Olivia turned and fled to her bedroom. Her legs trembled, her throat felt parched. She closed the door gently and collapsed onto the bed. Tears gushed in an unending stream.
What was happening? Why did neither her son nor her husband value her? Why had she become something he had to tolerate?
She pressed her face into the pillow, trying to sob quietly. Everything seemed so unfair. Shed dreamed of this child, mapped out a life of love, and now he rejected her. What lay ahead? Adolescence would only make his behaviour more unbearable.
Minutes stretched agonisingly. From the next room she could hear the television Max had settled down without her. Olivia stared at the ceiling, wondering how to move forward with the ache. How could a mother survive when her own child spurned her?
Around nine oclock she sent Max off to bed. Hed been demanding his father, but fatigue finally overtook him and he fell asleep.
At about midnight the frontdoor lock clicked. Andrew entered the hallway. Olivia met him, arms crossed over her chest.
You know how often he asks for you. How can you be this late? her voice shook with restrained anger.
Andrew shrugged off his coat, hung it on the peg, and gave her no look.
We had a corporate dinner, I couldnt leave early. Work, you understand?
Is the corporate dinner more important than your childs emotional wellbeing? Olivia whispered, careful not to wake Max.
Dont make a scene. Im earning the money for the family.
And what am I doing? Just going to work?
Andrew slipped into the bedroom, as if the familys problems meant nothing to him. Olivia stood alone in the corridor. She tried to sleep on the sofa, but tossed and turned all night, thoughts looping: is this really my life? Will it always be like this?
Morning found the kitchen filled with laughter. Max and Andrew sat at the table, chatting about school. Olivia entered, forced a smile.
Morning, she said, pouring herself a mug of tea.
Max didnt even turn. Andrew gave a nod, eyes still on his son. Olivia took a seat.
Yesterday we had a tough maths problem, Max announced to his dad. I solved it myself!
Good on you! Did Mum help you at all? Andrew asked.
Why would I need Mum? I did it on my own.
Olivia tried to join the conversation.
Max, could you show me that problem? Im curious.
He kept talking to his father as if she werent there. Andrew didnt even glance her way. Olivia felt invisible, like a piece of furniture in her own house.
The weeks slipped by in the same pattern. Max shouted at her, demanded his father, ignored any attempt she made to reach out. Andrew arrived home late, spent mornings only with Max. Olivia increasingly felt redundant.
One afternoon Max erupted over a trivial matter. She asked him to tidy his toys; he flung them across the floor, snarling that he wouldnt listen to her because he wanted Dads attention. Something inside Olivia finally snapped.
That evening, when Andrew walked through the front door, she said, Im filing for divorce.
He looked up from his phone, startled. What?
You heard me. Im divorcing you.
Andrew set his phone down, squinting at her.
Where will you go? You have no place of your own. Your parents are in York. The flat is mine. After a divorce you wont have a roof over your head here!
Olivia met his gaze. I know the flat is yours, which is why Ill tell the court the child should stay with you.
His face paled. What? I cant look after him alone! I have a job!
I have a job too.
But hes still a child; he needs his mother!
He needs his father. He says so every day. Max will get what he wants.
Andrew opened his mouth, but Olivia was already out of the room. The decision was made.
A month later the hearing began. Olivia was staying at a friends flat in Camden while she hunted for a new place. Max hadnt called or texted. A socialservices officer, a middleaged woman in a crisp suit, spoke to Max alone. At ten he was considered old enough for his wishes to count.
In the courtroom the childs testimony was read aloud.
Max says he wants to live with his father. He feels uncomfortable with his mother and prefers Dad. He says he loves his dad more.
Each word stabbed at Olivias chest. She stared at the woodwork, fighting tears. Her own son publicly rejected her.
The court, taking into account the childs preference, the fathers higher income and his own residence, orders that the child remain with the father, the judge declared.
Their familys fate was sealed.
Andrew caught up with Olivia in the hallway.
Listen, take the child! I cant watch over him. Im always travelling for work. What am I to do?
Olivia turned.
I work too, and now I need to find a place. So yes, the child stays with you as the court decided. Ill pay maintenance and visit every few weeks.
But youre his mother!
And youre the father he loves. Enjoy it.
She walked away without looking back.
Olivia moved into a tiny studio about twenty square feet, a cramped kitchen and a combined bathroom. It was hers, her own space where no one shouted at her, no one ignored her, no one forced her to endure humiliation.
The first night she sobbed for hours. Shed lost a husband, a son, a family. Yet she was no longer being belittled or made to feel useless.
Visits from Max were infrequent a few times a month. Hed come over, still lashing out.
Youve ruined our family! he roared from the sofa. Dads rarely home now! Ive got a nanny! I hate you! Because of you I barely see Dad!
After each encounter Olivia wept, but kept moving. She secured a betterpaying job, furnished her flat, enrolled in evening classes. Her former motherinlaw, Valerie, called almost weekly.
How could you leave and hand the child to Andrew? Valeries voice trembled with outrage. What kind of mother are you?
Its his son too, Olivia replied calmly. Max chose to stay with his dad. Why should I force him to live with me against his wishes?
But children dont understand!
Hes ten, not five. He got what he wanted.
Years passed. Olivia built a new life a job she liked, a modest but cosy home, hobbies, friends. The constant stress faded, the shouting ceased.
Five years whisked by. Max grew up, changed.
Mum, he said one day, I was wrong. I see now how I hurt you, and I was part of the reason we split.
Olivia stroked his hair, a familiar gesture from long ago.
Its all right. I hope your own children never treat you the way we were treated
The love she once felt for him lingered, but it was different now tinged with resignation. She didnt know if that was good or bad. Probably not good. Still, she hadnt let herself be destroyed. Perhaps society would call her a bad mother, but she had remained true to herself, and that mattered above all.
