Even now, I sometimes wake in the dead of night and ask myself when my dad managed to take absolutely everything from us. I was fifteen when it happened. We lived in a small but cosy house – furniture in its place, the fridge stocked well on shopping days, and the bills almost always paid on time. I was in Year 10, and my only worries were getting through Maths and saving up for a pair of trainers I really wanted. Everything began to change when my dad started coming home later and later. He’d walk in without saying hello, toss his keys on the table, and head straight to his room with his phone in hand. Mum would say, “Late again? Do you reckon this house keeps itself?” He’d just reply in a flat voice, “Just leave me alone, I’m tired.” I listened to all of it from my room, headphones on, pretending nothing was happening. One evening I saw him in the garden talking on the phone. He laughed under his breath and said things like “it’s nearly sorted” and “don’t worry, I’ll handle it.” As soon as he saw me, he hung up quickly. I felt a weird ache inside, but said nothing. The day he left was a Friday. I came home from school and saw his suitcase open on the bed. Mum stood in the doorway of their room, her eyes red. I asked, “Where’s he going?” He didn’t even look at me and said, “I’ll be gone for a while.” Mum shouted at him, “A while with who? Just tell the truth!” Then he snapped, “I’m leaving with another woman. I’m sick of this life!” I broke down crying, “What about me? My school? The house?” He just replied, “You’ll figure it out.” He shut his suitcase, grabbed the documents from his drawer, picked up his wallet and walked out without saying goodbye. That same evening, mum tried to get money from the cashpoint but her card was blocked. The next day she went to the bank and they told her the account was empty. He’d withdrawn all the money they’d saved together. On top of that, we learnt he’d left two months of bills unpaid and taken out a loan behind mum’s back, naming her as guarantor. I remember mum sitting at the table, sifting through scraps of paper with an old calculator, crying and muttering, “It’s not enough… it’s just not enough…” I tried to help sort out the bills but didn’t understand even half of what was happening. A week later they cut off our internet, and soon nearly disconnected the electricity, too. Mum started cleaning people’s houses for work. I began selling sweets at school. I was embarrassed standing in the corridor with a bag of chocolates at break time, but I did it because at home we barely had the basics. There was one day I opened the fridge and there was only a jug of water and half a tomato inside. I sat in the kitchen and cried on my own. That same night we had plain rice – nothing else. Mum kept apologising for not being able to provide as she used to. Much later, I saw a photo on Facebook of dad with that woman at a restaurant – raising a glass of wine together. My hands were shaking. 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. Never asked if I’d finished school, if I was ill, if I needed anything. He simply vanished. Now I work, pay for everything on my own, and help my mum. But that wound is still open. Not just because of money – because of the abandonment, the coldness, the way he left us sinking and moved on with his life as if nothing ever happened. And even now, so many nights I wake up with the same question lodged in my chest: How does a person survive when their own father takes everything, leaving them to learn to fend for themselves while they’re still just a child?

Even now, there are nights when I wake suddenly and find myself wondering how my father managed to take everything from us.

I was fifteen when it happened. We lived in a modest but tidy house just outside Manchesterfurnished warmly, with a well-stocked fridge after the weekly shop, and bills that were almost always paid on time. I was in Year 10, and my biggest worry back then was scraping together enough pocket money for a pair of trainers I desperately wanted or passing my maths class.

But then, things gradually began to shift. My father started coming home later and later. He wouldn’t greet us anymore, just tossed his keys onto the kitchen table and disappeared into his study, phone in hand. Mum would say to him,
Late again, are you? Do you think this house will keep itself running?
Hed just mutter in reply,
Leave me be, Im shattered.

I pretended not to notice, headphones pressed over my ears as I listened from my bedroom.

One night I saw him outside, pacing the back garden and talking on his mobile. He was laughing softly, saying things like Its nearly sorted and Dont worry, Ill handle it. When he spotted me, he hung up immediately. Something felt off in my stomach, but I kept it to myself.

He left us on a Friday. I came home from school and saw his suitcase open on the bed. Mum was standing by the doorway with red-rimmed eyes.
Wheres he going? I asked.
He wouldnt even look at me, just said,
Ill be away for a while.
Mum cried out,
With who? Be honest!
He snapped then,
Im leaving with another woman. Ive had enough of this life!
I burst into tears.
And what about me? My school? Our house?
He only replied,
Youll manage.

He zipped his bag, grabbed some papers from the drawer, took his wallet, and walked out. He didnt even say goodbye.

That evening, Mum tried to withdraw cash from the ATM, but her card wouldnt work. The next day, the bank told her the account was empty. Hed taken every penny of their joint savings. We also discovered hed left two months of bills unpaid and taken out a loan, signing Mum as guarantor without her knowledge.

I still remember Mum at the kitchen table, sorting through receipts with her old calculator, crying softly and repeating,
Its not enough nothings enough

I tried helping with the bills, but half the time I couldnt even understand what was going on.

Within a week, our internet was cut, and not long after, they nearly switched off our electricity. Mum started cleaning other peoples homes; I began selling sweets at school. I was embarrassed to stand during break with my bag of chocolates, but I did it because we could barely afford the essentials now.

There was a 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, all we had for dinner was plain white rice. Mum kept apologising for not being able to provide as she once had.

Much later, on Facebook, I saw a photo of Dad with that woman, smiling in a restaurant, glasses of wine raised in a toast. My hands shook as I messaged him,
Dad, I need money for school supplies.
He replied,
I cant support two families.
That was the last conversation we ever had.

After that, he never called again. He didnt ask about my GCSEs, if I was ill, or if I needed anything. He simply vanished from our lives.

Now I work, pay my own way, and look after Mum. But the scar remainsnot merely because of the money, but because of the abandonment, the coldness, the way he left us drowning and carried on as if our lives hadnt mattered.

And, even now, some nights I wake up with the same question pressing on my chest:
How do you move forward when your own father takes everything and leaves you to learn survival while youre still just a child?

In the end, Ive learned that true strength means building your own stability, even when someone you love lets you down. The world may sometimes take more than it gives, but its the love and loyalty you choose every day that make life worth living.