**Journal Entry 15th March**
Bloody hell, Ive had enough! How much longer can this go on? My wifes always on my case*”Help with the baby, help with this, help with that!”*while all I want is to go out like I used to. I just want some closeness, a bit of passion. I work hardshouldnt I come home to a loving wife, a woman who still feels like *mine*? Instead, Ill stop by a mates place, grab a pint, maybe find some young thing to distract me Christ.
Sitting behind the wheel, I lit another fag, stewing. Today was the last strawme and my wife, were done.
Our storys as old as time. Met, fell head over heels, couldnt keep our hands off each other. We were careless, and a few months later, she was holding up a pregnancy test.
*”Of course well keep it. Well manage,”* Id said, all confidence. The grandparents nodded along, thrilled*”Just give us grandkids!”*
Then came the wedding, the due date, happy tearsa son! And just like that, our carefree life ended. My wife turned into a sleep-deprived, frazzled mess, constantly nagging about the baby, always needing *help*.
Wheres the girl I fell for? Our families vanished the second the hard part beganleft us alone with this fatherhood business.
*”Im not ready for this!”* I shouted at her today, slamming the door as she stood there holding our baby.
The screech of brakesa hunched figure stepped into the road.
*”You got a death wish or what?!”* I jumped out, storming toward him.
The old man straightened, meeting my eyes with a hollow, worn-out stare.
*”Yes,”* he whispered.
That threw me. *”You alright, mate? Need help?”*
*”I dont want to live anymore.”*
*”Come on, dont talk like that. Let me drive you home, yeah? Maybe I can help.”* I guided him into the car, lighting another smoke as we pulled away.
*”Go on, then. Tell me,”* I said.
*”Its a long story.”*
*”Ive got time.”*
He glanced at me, then at the photo dangling from the mirror.
*”Fifty years ago, I met a girl. Fell for her hard. Everything moved fastnext thing I knew, we were married, had a son, an heir. Thought that was happiness.”*
*”But I still wanted the old dayspassion, excitement. My wife was exhausted, the baby never slept, bills piled up. I left her to handle it all, found another woman at work”*
*”Wife found out. Divorce. The other woman didnt stick around. Didnt careI was free to do as I pleased.”*
*”She remarried, got her life back. My son called another man *Dad*. I barely noticed.”*
*”And you?”* I snapped, lighting another cigarette.
*”Me? I wasted it all. No family, no wife, no son. Todays his fiftieth. Went to see himhe wouldnt even let me in.”* The old man wept. *”Said I was no father to him. Told me to *keep walking*.”*
*”Right Where do I drop you?”* My fingers drummed the wheel.
*”Just here. Dont fret over me.”* He shuffled toward a block of flats.
I watched until he was inside, then drove to Tesco, buying the biggest bouquet they had.
*”Im sorry, love. *Im sorry*,”* I said, finding my wife in tears on the floor. I took our son from her arms, carrying him to the nursery, rocking him gently as I hummed *”Hush, Little Baby.”*
He fell asleep fast, his tiny hand curled over my racing heart. I stared down at him*I want to watch him grow. I want to hear him call me *Dad*.*
At the door of their flat, the old woman smiled. *”Out saving *drowning men* again?”*
Her husband chuckled, hanging up his coat. *”Someones got to teach the young ones.”*
*”And howd you decide who needs saving?”*
*”I needed saving once, at his age.”*
*”Come on, *hero*. Dinners ready. And *no* rescues tomorrowits our sons birthday.”*
*”Wouldnt miss it. Fifty years of our boy, our lovehow could I forget?”* He kissed her, leading her to the kitchen.
And thats the story. Believe it or notup to you.
Oliver Whitcombe
