Dad left because he found out about Mum’s affair with her coworker. The house erupted into this awful shouting match.
*”What did you expect? I’m always alone, day after day! You’re at work morning till night. I’m a woman—I need attention!”*
*”Oh yeah? How’d you like it if I put your precious *Mark* away for good, eh? Slip him something, lock him up—how’s that sound?”* Dad’s voice was ice-cold fury. He was a detective with the Met.
*”You wouldn’t dare! You wouldn’t! You’re the one who ruined everything!”*
Mum crumpled onto the sofa sobbing. Dad had already stuffed his few belongings into a duffel bag and was heading for the door. I stood there, blocking the hallway into the living room, half-ready to throw myself at his feet—like that would stop him. How had it come to this? We’d always been so close, the perfect little family. Mum and Dad never fought, always cracking the same jokes, laughing together. Yeah, Dad worked long hours, came home dead on his feet, just wanting sleep. But when we *were* all together, it was good. How could Mum wreck it like this? And how could Dad just… not forgive her?
*”James… don’t go,”* Mum choked out, hands dropping from her face. *”Please. I’m sorry! Vic, stop standing there gawking!”*
I didn’t move. Blocked the doorway. Twelve years old, stupid enough to think I could stop them from wrecking what I thought was our happily ever after.
*”Vic. Move,”* Dad said, sharp as a copper interrogating a suspect. Not Dad’s voice. His *work* voice.
*”Don’t go.”*
*”Move. Now.”* Same clipped tone.
*”Dad… what about me?”*
He shoved me aside like I was a chair in his way and walked out. I think he left that fast because if he didn’t, he’d do something irreversible—not just hit Mum in the heat of it, but worse. He had his service weapon. His eyes were pure rage. Looking back, walking out was the right call. But back then? He just became the bloke who pushed me aside. And Mum—she was the one who’d set this nightmare in motion.
Mark, predictably, turned out to be a right git and dumped Mum right after Dad left. She was stuck—husband gone, lover vanished, son blaming her for everything. Not easy, and then there was me…
I started staying out late, fell in with a rough crowd. Petty theft at first, then we got bolder. Got caught trying to rob some rich boy—not all of us, just me and Danny. His security grabbed us. Dad, who by then was a DCI, got a call—last name *Sparrow* isn’t common, and my middle name’s *Jameson*, not *Williamson*. Someone who knew him tipped him off.
*”Get out here,”* Dad barked when he showed up at the station.
*”Piss off,”* I hissed.
He yanked me out of the holding cell.
*”What about Danny?”* I fought like mad.
Dad dragged me into an interview room and punched me—twice, hard. Blood and tears streaked my face. I hated him more by the second.
*”How old are you?”*
*”What?”*
*”Fifteen? Sixteen?”*
I almost laughed.
*”Congrats, you don’t even know your own son’s age!”*
*”Because you’re not *mine*!”* he roared. *”I married your mum when she was already pregnant. Thought she’d be a good wife. But she was always just a—”* He spat out something foul.
*”Who *is* my dad then?”* I mumbled.
He handed me a tissue and a bottle of water. I wiped my face. James sat opposite me and sighed.
*”Sorry I hit you. You really let me down. Think I don’t have enough problems?”*
*”Then go deal with *your* problems,”* I muttered.
*”Vic… legally, you’re mine. I pay child support on time. But if this carries on, I’ll wash my hands of you. Let ‘em lock you up—not my problem in the end, is it?”*
*”What about now?”*
*”What?”*
*”Will they lock me up *now*?”*
He shook his head.
*”What about Danny?”*
*”Danny’s got his own dad. Well-off family. They’ll sort it. You worry about *your* life. What’s with you lot—prison’s some kind of holiday camp? Trust me, it’s hell. Juvenile wing? Hell *squared*.”*
I didn’t want prison. I was just… miserable, couldn’t stand looking at Mum. So I distracted myself. Told James as much.
*”Right. Choice is yours. Live properly—school, future. Or keep skating downhill, where people end up dead or banged up. Don’t like the sound of prison? Change. Now *piss off*.”*
I walked out. At the door, his voice stopped me.
*”And don’t blame your mum. Takes two to wreck a marriage. What I said earlier—heat of the moment. Forget it.”*
*”James… Dad, you *love* each other. Can’t you fix this?”* I asked, already knowing the answer.
*”Forget that too, son.”*
The lads didn’t want to let me go after that. Had to fight a few times, walked around with bruises. But I got out. Danny got off with community service and went back to his old ways. I made my choice.
Forgave Mum. Really tried. Wanted to ask who my real dad was—never did. Too busy digging myself out of the academic hole I’d landed in. Caught up on grades, even applied to a few police colleges.
*”You’re *mad*!”* Mum ranted. *”That’s not a life! Look at your father! It’s *not* a life!”*
I thought about Dad a lot. Never saw him, though. No hard feelings, just… how it was. Graduated as a lieutenant, showed up unannounced at his station. Didn’t want anything—just to prove I’d straightened out.
Dad was still DCI. Never climbed higher. Guess he was happy. I knocked on his office door.
*”Lieutenant Sparrow reporting, sir.”*
*”Vic?”* He looked stunned.
Mum had kept her word—never told him.
*”Bloody hell, son. At ease. Sit, talk.”*
He made tea. Offered whisky—I declined. We talked for an hour. Dad took a few work calls. His temples were greyer, face lined. This stranger who was also my dad watched me, eyes glistening. Wiped it away. What got to him?
I told him about my career, plans. Talked football, politics. Time to leave.
*”Right. Better head off.”* I stood.
*”Hang on. Where you going? Don’t. Come work with us, eh?”*
I hesitated. Did I want to be under his command? Yeah. Probably spent ten years missing him. Ten *years*. I sat back down.
*”Not leaving?”* He looked at me.
*”Not yet. Plenty of time for that.”*
