Even now, there are nights when I wake up and wonder how my dad managed to take everything from us.
I was fifteen when it happened. We lived in a small but tidy house in Leeds there were proper beds, the fridge was usually stocked after Mum went shopping, and bills were almost always paid on time. I was in Year 10, and all I worried about was scraping through maths and saving up for a pair of trainers I really wanted.
Everything started to shift when Dad began coming home later and later. Hed walk in without saying hello, toss his keys onto the kitchen table, and disappear straight to his room, phone in hand. Mum would say,
Late again, are you? Do you think this house runs itself?
Hed just mutter, Leave it, Im knackered.
I used to listen from my bedroom, headphones on, pretending nothing was going on.
One evening, I saw him outside, talking on the phone in the garden. He was laughing quietly, saying things like its almost sorted and dont worry, Ill handle it. When he spotted me, he ended the call at once. Something twisted in my stomach, but I kept quiet.
The day he left was a Friday. I got home from school and saw 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 away for a while.
Mum shouted,
A while with who? Just tell the truth!
He snapped and yelled,
Im leaving, Im with another woman. Ive had enough of this life!
I burst into tears and cried,
What about me? My school? Our house?
He just said,
Youll manage.
He shut his suitcase, grabbed the papers from his drawer, took his wallet and walked out without a goodbye.
That night, Mum tried to take money out at the cashpoint, but her card was blocked. The next morning at the bank, they told her the account was empty. Hed withdrawn every pound theyd saved. On top of that, we discovered hed left two months of bills unpaid and had secretly taken out a loan, with Mum listed as the guarantor.
I remember Mum sitting at the table, checking receipts on an old calculator, crying and repeating,
Its not enough its just not enough
I tried to help with the sums but I barely understood half of what was happening.
A week later our internet was cut off, and soon after, the electricity was almost switched off too. Mum started looking for cleaning jobs in peoples houses. I began selling sweets at school. I was embarrassed to stand around during break with a bag of chocolates, but I did it because we barely had the basics at home.
There was a day I opened the fridge and saw nothing but a jug of water and half a tomato. I sat in the kitchen and cried. That night, we ate plain rice, just rice, nothing else. Mum apologised for not being able to give me what she used to.
Much later, I saw a photo on Facebook Dad with that woman at a posh restaurant, raising a glass of wine. My hands shook. I messaged him,
Dad, I need money for school supplies.
He replied,
I cant support two families.
That was our last conversation.
He never called again. He never asked if I finished school, if I was ill, if I needed anything. He simply vanished.
Now, I work, I pay my own way and help Mum with what I can. But the scar is still there. Not just because of the money, but because of the abandonment, the coldness, the way he left us drowning and carried on as if we never existed.
And still, on so many nights, I wake up with the same question stuck in my chest:
How do you get past it, when your own father takes everything and leaves you learning to survive before youve even grown up?
