Even now, I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and wonder when my father managed to take everything from us. I was fifteen when it happened. We lived in a small but well-kept house—with furniture, a fridge that was always full on shopping days, and bills that were almost always paid on time. I was in Year 10, and my only worries were to scrape through maths and save up for the trainers I desperately wanted. Everything started changing when my dad began coming home later and later. He’d walk in without saying hello, throw his keys on the table, and go straight to his room with his phone in hand. Mum would say, “Late again? Do you think this house runs itself?” And he’d reply curtly, “Leave me alone, I’m tired.” I listened to it all from my room, headphones on, pretending nothing was happening. One night, I saw him in the garden talking on the phone. He was laughing quietly, saying things like, “It’s almost ready,” and, “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it.” When he saw me, he hung up straight away. I felt a strange knot in my stomach but didn’t say anything. The day he left was a Friday. I came home from school and saw his suitcase open on the bed. Mum was standing at the bedroom door, eyes red. I asked, “Where’s he going?” He didn’t even look at me. “I’ll be away for a while.” Mum shouted, “A while with who? Tell the truth!” That’s when he snapped, “I’m leaving for another woman. I’m sick of this life!” I burst into tears. “What about me? What about school? What about the house?” All he said was, “You’ll manage.” He closed his suitcase, grabbed documents from the drawer, took his wallet, and left without even saying goodbye. That same night, Mum tried to withdraw money from the cashpoint, but her card was blocked. The next day at the bank, she was told the account was empty. He’d taken every penny they’d saved. We also learned he’d left two months’ bills outstanding and that he’d taken out a loan without telling us, listing Mum as guarantor. I remember Mum sitting at the table, checking bills with an old calculator, crying and repeating, “It’s not enough… it’s not enough…” I tried to help work out the bills, but I didn’t understand half of it. A week later, they cut off our internet, and soon after, almost cut off our electricity. Mum started looking for work—cleaning houses. I started selling sweets at school. I was ashamed to stand in the hall with a bag of chocolates, but I did it because we barely had enough for bare essentials at home. One day I opened the fridge and there was only a jug of water and half a tomato. I sat in the kitchen and cried alone. That night we ate plain rice, with nothing else. Mum kept apologising for not being able to give me what she used to. Much later I saw a photo on Facebook of Dad with that woman, in a restaurant—raising a toast with wine. My hands shook. I messaged him: “Dad, I need money for school supplies.” He replied, “I can’t support two families.” That was our last conversation. After that, he never called again. He never asked if I finished school, if I was ill, if I needed anything. He just vanished. Today, I work, pay for everything myself, and help Mum. But the wound still aches—not just for the money, but for the abandonment, the coldness, the way he left us drowning and carried on like it didn’t mean a thing. And still, on so many nights, I wake up with the same question lodged in my chest: How do you get through it, when your own father takes everything and leaves you to learn how to survive while you’re still a child?

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 4 minViews 1

Even now, there are nights when I wake in the dark and wonder how my father managed to take everything away from us.

I was fifteen when it happened. We lived in a tidy little housenothing fancy, but the furniture was solid, the fridge was always stocked after a shop, and the bills were nearly always paid on time. I was in Year 10, more concerned about passing maths and saving up for a pair of trainers I desperately wanted than anything else.

It all began to unravel when my dad started coming home later and later. Hed walk in without a word, drop his keys on the sideboard, and go straight to his room with his mobile in hand. Mum would say, Late again? Do you think this house runs itself? And hed reply curtly, Leave it, Im knackered. Id hear it all from my room, headphones on, pretending nothing was happening.

One night I saw him outside on the phone, chuckling quietly, saying things like, Nearly sorted, and Dont worry, Ill handle it. The moment he noticed me, he hung up. Something felt off, but I kept it to myself.

He left on a Friday. I got home from school to see his suitcase open on the bed. Mum was standing at the bedroom door, eyes red. I asked, Wheres he going? He didnt even look at me; just said, Ill be gone for a while. Mum nearly shouted, A while with who? Just tell the truth! He snapped back, Im leaving with someone else. Im sick of this life! I burst into tears, asking, What about me? What about my school? What about the house? He only answered, Youll manage. He closed his suitcase, grabbed the documents from his drawer, took his wallet, and left without so much as a goodbye.

That same evening, Mum tried to get cash at the ATM, but her card was blocked. Next day, the bank said the account was empty. Hed emptied all their savings. Turned out, hed left two months bills unpaid, and even taken out a loan with Mum as guarantor, all without a word to her.

I remember seeing Mum poring over the bills at the kitchen table, old calculator in hand, tears streaming down, repeating, Its never enough never enough I helped her try to sort the piles of paperwork, but really I didnt understand half of what was going on.

A week later, our internet was cut off. Soon after, we were close to losing our electricity as well. Mum started cleaning other peoples houses for money, and I began selling sweets at school. I felt embarrassed, standing at break time with a bag of chocolate bars, but I did it because we barely had anything at home.

Ill never forget the day I opened the fridge and found only a jug of water and half a tomato. I sat alone in the kitchen and cried. That night we had plain rice for dinnernothing else. Mum apologised, saying she wished she could give me what I used to have.

Much later, a photo of Dad popped up on Facebookhim and that woman in a restaurant, raising a toast with wine. My hands shook as I wrote to him, Dad, I need some money for school supplies. All he said was, I cant support two families. That was the last time we spoke.

He never called again. Never asked if I finished school, if I was ill, or if I needed anything. He just vanished.

Now I work, pay my own way, and help Mum out as best I can. But that wound stays open. Not just because of money, but because of the abandonment, the coldness, the way he left us drowning and moved on as if wed never existed.

And still, so many nights, the same question lingers in my chest: How do you survive when your own father takes everything and leaves you to figure out how to make it in the world on your own, while youre still just a child?