Even now, I sometimes wake 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 modest, well-kept housenothing fancy, but the rooms were cosy, the fridge was full on grocery days, and the bills were nearly always paid before their due date. I was in Year 10, and my biggest worries were passing my maths class and saving up enough pocket money for a pair of trainers Id set my heart on.
Things started changing when Dad began coming home late, night after night. Hed walk through the door without a word, toss his keys onto the sideboard, and head straight upstairs, scrolling through his phone. Mum would call out:
Late again? Do you think this house runs itself?
Hed just reply, curt and tired: Leave me alone. Im knackered.
Id listen from my room, headphones on, pretending I hadnt heard a thing.
One evening, I spotted him talking on the phone in the back garden. He laughed quietly, saying things like almost sorted and dont worry, Ill take care of it. When he saw me looking, he hung up straight away. Something in my gut felt wrong, but I kept it to myself.
The day he left was a Friday. I got in from school and spotted his suitcase open on the bed. Mum stood in the doorway to their room, eyes red from crying. I asked,
Wheres he going?
He wouldnt even look at me, just muttered, Ill be gone for a while.
Mum shouted after him, A while with who?! Just tell the truth!
That was when he snapped and said, I’m leaving. Theres someone else. Im done with all this.
I broke down and cried, asking, What about me? My school? Our house?
He just said, Youll manage.
He closed up his suitcase, grabbed his papers from the desk, took his wallet, and walked out without even saying goodbye.
That same evening, Mum tried taking money out from the cash point, but the card got declined. The next day, the bank told her our account had been emptied. Hed withdrawn every penny theyd saved. On top of that, we found out hed left two months worth of bills unpaid. Hed even taken out a loan behind Mums back, listing her as guarantor.
I remember Mum sitting at the kitchen table, going through crumpled receipts with an old calculator, tears streaming down her face as she whispered over and over, Its not enough Its just not enough
I did my best to help tally up payments, but most of it went straight over my head.
A week later, the internet got cut off. Soon after, we nearly lost the electricity too. Mum started looking for work cleaning peoples houses, and I began selling sweets to classmates during breaktime. I was embarrassed, standing there with a bag of chocolates, but I did it because we barely had enough for essentials at home.
There was a day I opened the fridge and all I found was a jug of water and half a tomato. I sat in the kitchen and sobbed. That night, we ate plain rice with nothing else. Mum apologised, telling me she wished she could give me what Id had before.
Much later, I saw my dads photo on Facebook, smiling alongside that other woman in some restaurantraising a toast over glasses of wine. My hands shook as I messaged him:
Dad, I need money for school books.
He answered, I cant support two families.
That was the last conversation we ever had.
He never called again. He never asked if I finished school, if I got ill, or if I needed anything. He was just gone.
Nowadays, I work. I pay my own way and help Mum with what I can. But the wound is still thereit isnt just about the money, its about being left behind, the coldness, the knowledge that he disappeared and carried on like none of it mattered.
And yet, so many nights I wake with the same question lodged in my chest:
How do you move on when your own father takes everything and leaves you to learn survival at an age when you should only be learning how to live?
As the years have passed, Ive realised loss can teach you strength and independence. Even when someone you love lets you down, you can choose to stand up, support those beside you, and build a future on your own terms. Sometimes the hardest lessons make us who we really are.
