Hold on, Mum, just a little longer,
Whens Dad coming? Im fed up! Wheres Dad? Daddy! the boy screamed, his voice slicing through the quiet.
The shrill childs cries hammered the nerves of everyone in the living room. Max, ten, stood trembling in the centre, his face flushed from the shouting, his tiny fists clenched.
Your fathers at work, love. Hell be back in about an hour. Calm down, sweetheart. Lets talk, Sarah said as calmly as she could, though inside a tight knot of panic squeezed her throat.
I dont want to talk to you! Youre terrible! I only want Dad! Max stomped, his voice cracking into a whine.
Tears welled up in Sarahs eyes. She stared at her tenyearold son, bewildered at how things had turned so sour. Shed given him her whole lifeworking from home for years, spending every spare minute with him. When Max started school she moved to the office, but she still made time for zoo trips, museum visits, evening walks, bedtime storieseverything for him, everything because of him.
I dont love you! Im sick of you! Im done with you! Maxs scream pierced Sarah like a knife.
She turned away, hand over her mouth, tears threatening to spill. She could not afford to break down in front of him. How had this happened? She was his mother; she loved him more than anything. Why did Max see a void where she stood? Why did he cling to his father, demanding his constant presence?
Max, please stop shouting. Dad will be home soon, she tried again, her voice trembling.
I dont want to wait! I want him now! Youre a horrible mum! he shrieked.
A sudden ring cut through the chaos. Max lunged for the phone, snatching it from Sarahs hand.
Dad! Dad! he shouted into the receiver, not even looking at the screen.
Sarah stepped back. It was indeed James. His familiar baritone crackled through the speaker.
Hey, son! Hows it going? Jamess voice was cheerful, caring.
Dad, I missed you so much! Mums driving me madwhen will you be back? Max pressed the phone to his ear, his face lighting up instantly.
A pause. Sarah held her breath, waiting for his reply.
Ah, love, Im stuck at the office a bit longer. Another couple of hours. Hang on to Mum; Ill be home soon.
Hang on to Mum The words lodged in Sarahs mind like a cold, heavy weight. It felt as if her very existence had become something to be endured.
Okay, Daddy, Ill wait! Max beamed, his joy filling the room.
Sarah turned on her heel and fled to her bedroom. Her legs shook, her throat dried. She closed the door softly and collapsed onto the bed, a torrent of tears flooding her.
What was happening? Why did neither son nor husband value her? Why had she become an obstacle that needed tolerating?
She buried her face in the pillow, trying to weep quietly. Everything seemed so unfair. She had dreamed of this child, planned every moment of love, and now he he didnt love her. What lay ahead? Adolescence would only make his behaviour harder to bear.
Minutes stretched agonisingly. From the next room came the faint sounds of a video gameMax had finally settled without her. Sarah stared at the ceiling, wondering how to live with this pain, how to keep being a mother to someone who rejected her.
Around nine oclock she sent Max to bed. He continued to demand his father, but fatigue finally overrode the tantrum and he drifted off.
Around midnight a key turned in the lock. James slipped into the hallway. Sarah met him, arms folded tight across her chest.
You know how much he waits for you each day. How can you be that late again? Her voice trembled with suppressed anger.
James shrugged off his coat, hanging it without a glance at her.
We had a corporate event, couldnt leave early. Work, you understand? he said.
Is a corporate party more important than a childs emotional state? Sarah whispered, trying not to wake Max.
Dont make a scene. Im earning the money for this family, James replied.
And what am I doing? Just going to work for nothing? she snapped.
James retreated to the bedroom, indifferent to the family turmoil. Sarah stood alone in the corridor, then lay down on the sofa. She tossed and turned all night, thoughts looping: was this really her whole life? Would it always be like this?
At dawn the kitchen rang with laughter. Max and James sat at the table, eating breakfast and chatting merrily. Max told his dad about school; James listened, asked questions.
Morning, Sarah entered, forcing a smile.
Max didnt even look up. James gave a nod, still engrossed with his son. Sarah poured herself a coffee and sat down.
Yesterday we got a really tough maths problem, Max said, addressing only his father. I solved it myself!
Good on you! Did Mum help with the homework? James asked.
Why would I need Mum? I did it myself. Max replied.
Max, show me that problem? Im curious, Sarah tried to interject.
He continued to talk with his father as if she were invisible. James ignored her too. Sarah felt like furniturepresent but unnoticed.
Weeks passed in the same pattern. Max shouted at her, demanded his father, ignored her attempts at connection. James came home late, spent mornings only with Max. Sarah felt increasingly superfluous.
One afternoon Max erupted over a trivial matter. She asked him to tidy his toys; he flung them across the floor, screaming that he wouldnt listen, that he wanted Dad. Something inside Sarah finally snapped.
That evening, as James walked through the front door, she said, Im filing for divorce.
James looked up from his phone, stunned. What?
You heard me. Im filing.
He set his phone down, squinting. Where will you go? Youve got no place of your own. Your parents live in Manchester. The flat is mine. After a divorce you wont have a roof here!
Sarah met his gaze. I know the flat is yours, which is why Ill tell the court the child should stay with you.
Jamess face went pale. What? I cant manage him alone! I have work!
I have work too, she replied. But he needs a mother, right?
He needs a father. He says that every day. Max wants his dad, and thats what hell get.
James opened his mouth, but Sarah was already out of the room. The decision was made.
A month later the case went to court. Sarah stayed temporarily with a friend, Emily, while looking for a new place. Max stopped calling, stopped writing. The court appointed a childwelfare officer, a middleaged woman in a sharp suit, to interview Max separately. At ten, his opinion counted.
In the courtroom the judge read Maxs statement: I want to live with my dad. Its uncomfortable with Mum; I love Dad more. Each word cut Sarah like a knife. She stared at the bench, fighting tears. Her own son publicly rejected her.
The court, considering the childs wishes, the fathers higher income and his own accommodation, orders that the child remains with the father, the judge declared.
Later, James caught Sarah in the corridor. Look, take the kid! I cant watch him, Im always travelling for work. What am I supposed to do?
Sarah turned. I have a job too, and Ill be looking for a flat. So the child stays with you as the court decides. Ill pay child support and visit every few weeks.
But youre his mother! James shouted.
And youre the father he loves. Enjoy it.
She walked away without looking back.
Sarah moved into a tiny studio flattwenty square metres of cramped kitchen and combined bathroom. It was hers, a space where no one shouted at her, no one ignored her, no one forced her to endure humiliation.
The first night she wept for hours. She had lost her husband, her son, her family. Yet no one mocked her any longer. No one made her feel worthless.
Visits from Max were rareonce every couple of weeks. He would storm in, still angry. Because of you the family fell apart! Dads hardly home now! I have a nanny! I hate you! Because of you I barely see Dad! hed yell from the sofa.
After each encounter Sarah would cry, but she kept moving forward. She landed a new wellpaid job, furnished the flat, enrolled in evening classes. Her exmotherinlaw, Margaret, called almost weekly.
How could you leave and hand the child to James? What kind of mother are you? Margarets voice trembled with outrage.
Hes Jamess son too, Sarah replied calmly. Max chose to stay with his dad. Why should I force him?
But children dont understand! Margaret protested.
Max is ten, not five. He got what he wanted.
Years slipped by. Sarah built a new lifesteady work she enjoyed, a cosy home, hobbies, friends. The constant stress faded, the shouting stopped.
Five years later Max, now a teenager, knocked on her door. Mum, he said slowly, I was wrong. I see now how I hurt you and that I was part of the divorce.
Sarah ran her hand through his hair, a gesture from long ago. Its all right. I hope your own children will treat you better.
The warmth she once felt for him lingered, though dimmed. She didnt know if that was good or bad. Perhaps it was sad, but she had refused to let herself be destroyed. She might have been judged a bad mother by society, yet she remained true to herselfand that was what mattered most.
