I Was Eight When Mum Left Home: She Took a Taxi from the Corner and Never Came Back. My Brother Was Five. From That Day On, Everything in Our House Changed. Dad Started Doing Things He’d Never Done Before—Getting Up Early to Make Breakfast, Learning to Do the Laundry, Ironing Our School Uniforms, Clumsily Brushing Our Hair Before School. I Watched Him Get the Measure of Rice Wrong, Burn Dinners, Forget to Separate Whites and Colours. Yet He Never Let Us Go Without. He’d Come Home Tired from Work, Check Our Homework, Sign Our Books, Make Tomorrow’s Packed Lunches. Mum Never Visited Us Again. Dad Never Brought Another Woman Home, Never Introduced Anyone as His Partner. We Knew He Went Out and Sometimes Stayed Late, But His Personal Life Stayed Outside Our Walls. At Home, It Was Just Me and My Brother. I Never Heard Him Say He Fell in Love Again. His Routine Was Work, Come Home, Cook, Clean, Sleep, Repeat. On Weekends, He’d Take Us to the Park, Wander by the Thames, Visit Shopping Centres—Even Just to Window-Shop. He Learned to Make Plaits, Sew on Buttons, Prepare School Lunches. If We Needed Costumes for School Events, He Made Them from Card and Old Fabric. He Never Complained. He Never Said, “That’s Not My Job.” A Year Ago, My Dad Went to Be With God. It Was Sudden—No Time for Long Goodbyes. While Sorting His Things, I Found Old Notebooks Where He’d Recorded Our Expenses, Important Dates, Notes Like “Pay the Fee,” “Buy Shoes,” “Take the Girl to the Doctor.” I Never Found Love Letters, Photos with Another Woman, or Clues to a Romantic Life. Only the Evidence of a Man Who Lived for His Children. Since He’s Gone, One Question Won’t Let Me Go: Was He Happy? My Mum Left to Find Her Own Happiness. My Dad Stayed, and It Seems He Set Aside His Own. He Never Started Another Family, Never Had a Home With a Partner, Never Became a Priority for Anyone But Us. Now I Realize I Had an Incredible Father. But I Also Understand He Was a Man Who Stayed Alone So We Didn’t Have to Be. And That’s Heavy. Because Now That He’s Gone, I Wonder If He Ever Got the Love He Deserved.

I was eight years old when my mum left home. She walked to the corner, got into a black cab, and never came back. My brother was just five.

From that day, everything at home changed. My dad started doing things hed never done before: hed wake up early to make our breakfast, learnt how to do the laundry, iron our school uniforms, and awkwardly brush our hair before school. I watched him get the portions wrong, burn the meals, forget to separate the whites from the coloured clothes. Still, he never let us go without anything. Hed come home tired from work, sit down to check our homework, sign our reading records, and make our packed lunches for the next day.

Mum never came to visit us again. My dad never brought another woman into our home. He never introduced anyone as his partner. We knew hed go out sometimes, come home late at times, but his personal life always stayed outside our front door. At home, it was just me and my brother. I never heard him say hed fallen in love again. His routine was work, come home, cook, clean, go to bed, and repeat.

On weekends, hed take us out to the park, down by the Thames, or to the shopping centreeven if it was just to look at the window displays. He taught himself how to plait our hair, sew on buttons, make our lunches. If we needed costumes for school plays, hed craft them out of cardboard and old fabric. He never complained. Not once did he say, Thats not my job.

A year ago, my dad passed away. It happened quickly; there was no time for long goodbyes. As we sorted through his things, I found old notebooks where hed tracked household spending, written down important dates, and jotted reminders like pay school fee, buy new shoes, or take girl to the GP. There were no love letters, no photos with another woman, no traces of a romantic life. Just a record of a man who lived for his children.

Ever since, one question wont leave me: was he ever truly happy? My mum left to chase her own happiness. Dad stayed and, it seemed, gave up his own. He never created another family. He never had a home with a partner. For years, he was only somebodys priority for me and my brother.

Now, I realise how extraordinary my father was. At the same time, I know he was a man who stayed alone so his children wouldnt have to be. That weighs on me. Because now that hes gone, I dont know if he ever got the love he truly deserved.