Even now, I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and wonder how my dad managed to take everything from us. I was 15 when it happened. We lived in a small but tidy house—furniture in every room, food in the fridge after our weekly shop, and the bills were almost always paid on time. I was in Year 10 and my biggest worry was passing maths and saving up for a pair of trainers I desperately wanted. Everything began to change when my dad started coming home later and later. He’d walk in without a word, fling his keys onto the table and go straight to his room, glued to his phone. My mum would say, “Late again? Do you think this house runs itself?” He’d answer curtly, “Leave me be, I’m tired.” I’d listen from my own room, headphones in, pretending nothing was wrong. One evening, I saw him talking on the phone in the garden. He was quietly laughing, saying things like “it’s nearly sorted” and “don’t worry, I’ll handle it.” When he spotted me, he hung up right away. I felt uneasy but said nothing. The day he left was a Friday. I came home from school to find his suitcase open on the bed. Mum stood at the bedroom door, eyes red. I asked, “Where’s he going?” He didn’t even look at me, just said, “I’ll be gone for a while.” Mum shouted, “A while with who? Tell the truth!” That’s when he snapped, “I’m leaving with another woman. I’m done with this life!” I burst into tears and cried, “What about me? And my school? And our home?” He just replied, “You’ll manage.” He shoved his documents in his bag, grabbed his wallet and walked out without saying goodbye. That same evening, Mum tried taking out cash from the ATM, but her card was blocked. Next day, at the bank, she learned the account had been emptied—he’d taken every penny they’d saved together. We also found out he’d left two months of bills unpaid and taken out a loan Mum had unknowingly co-signed. I remember Mum sitting at the table, running through receipts on an old calculator, crying and repeating, “There’s just not enough… it’s never enough…” I tried to help her sort the bills but barely understood half of what was happening. A week later, our Internet was cut off, and soon after, our electricity was nearly disconnected. Mum started working as a cleaner in people’s houses. I began selling sweets at school. I was embarrassed standing at break with a bag of chocolates, but I did it because we didn’t have enough for even the basics at home. One day, I opened the fridge and found only a jug of water and half a tomato. I sat in the kitchen and cried alone. That night, we ate plain rice. Mum kept apologising for not being able to give me what she used to. Much later, I saw a photo on Facebook: my dad and the other woman at a restaurant, raising glasses of wine. My hands shook. I messaged him: “Dad, I need money for school supplies.” He replied: “I can’t support two families.” That was the last time we spoke. He never called again. Never asked if I finished my GCSEs, if I was ill, if I needed anything. He just vanished. Now I work, pay my own way and help Mum whenever I can. But this wound still aches. It’s not just about the money—it’s the abandonment, the coldness, the way he left us drowning and kept on living as if nothing happened at all. And yet, many nights I still wake up with the same question gnawing at my chest: How do you survive when your own father takes everything, leaving you to learn how to fend for yourself while you’re still just a kid?

You know, even now, Ill wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, just lying there, wondering how my dad managed to take absolutely everything from us.

I was about fifteen when it all happened. We lived in this small but tidy houseI mean, wed got it pretty much set up, with furniture, the fridge was stocked after our weekly shop, and the bills were basically always paid on time. I was in year eleven, stressing mostly about passing maths, and trying to save enough for these Nikes I really wanted.

Things started to change when Dad began coming home late, like, more and more often. Hed walk in without even saying hello, chuck his keys on the table, and go straight to his room with his phone glued to his hand. Mum would say stuff like, Late again, are you? Dyou think this house runs itself? And hed just snap back, all clipped and tired-sounding: Just leave me alone. Im knackered.

Id listen from my bedroom, headphones on, pretending nothing was happening. But one night, I saw him outside in the garden talking on his mobile. He was laughing quietly, dropping hints like its nearly sorted and dont worry, Ill handle it. When he saw me, he hung up straight away. I got this funny feeling in my stomach, but I kept my mouth shut.

The day he left was a Friday. I got back from school and there was his suitcase, wide open on the bed. Mum was standing in the bedroom doorway, eyes all red. I asked her, Wheres he going? He didnt even look at me, just said, Ill be gone for a while. Mum shouted at him, A while with who? Just tell the truth! And then he finally cracked and said, Im leaving with another woman. Ive had enough of all this.

I burst into tears and begged, What about me? What about my school? What about the house? But he just shrugged, Youll manage. He packed up his documents from the drawer, grabbed his wallet, and walked outdidnt even say goodbye.

That same night, Mum tried to take out some cash at the ATM, but her card was blocked. Next day, she went to the bank and they told her the account was completely empty. Hed cleared out every penny theyd saved together. On top of that, we found out hed left two months bills unpaid and taken out a loan, putting Mum down as guarantornever said a word about it.

Ill never forget Mum sitting there at the kitchen table, checking receipts on this old calculator, crying, saying over and over, Its not enough Theres just not enough

I tried to help her figure out the bills, but honestly, I didnt get half of what was going on. A week later, they cut off our internet, and the electricity was almost gone after that. Mum started cleaning houses for work, and I started selling sweets at school. I was mortified, standing at break with a bag of chocolate bars, but I did it because we didnt even have enough for essentials at home.

There was a day when I opened the fridge and there was just a jug of water and half a tomato inside. I sat at the kitchen table and cried my eyes out. That night, we had plain rice for dinnernothing else. Mum kept apologising because she couldnt give me what she used to.

Much later, I saw a photo on FacebookDad in some pub with that woman, smiling for the camera, raising a glass of red wine. My hands shook. I messaged him: Dad, I need some money for school stuff. He replied, I cant support two families. And that was the last time we spoke.

After that, he never called, never asked if Id finished school, never checked if I was ill or needed anything. Just vanished.

Now I work, pay for everything myself, and help Mum out. But the pains still there. Not just because of money, but for the way he abandoned us, the coldness, how he left us in the lurch and carried on like nothing happened.

And even now, so many nights, I wake up with that same question stuck in my chest: How do you get through it, when your own dad takes everything and leaves you to figure out survival while youre still just a kid?