He begged me for a child, then fled to his mothers house when our son was three months old.
My name is Emily, and I still havent recovered from the shock. My husbandthe man who dreamed of having a child, who pleaded with me to become a mother, who swore love and devotionleft us the moment real life with a newborn began. And he didnt go alone, no. He ran straight back to his mum. Meanwhile, I was left behindwith our little boy, an aching back, and a shattered heart.
James and I married three years ago. At first, our marriage seemed perfect. We were young, in love, full of dreams. But I knew one thing: we shouldnt rush into parenthood. We needed time to settle, to buy a bigger home, to save up. I knew because I had younger siblings, and I understood the relentless work of caring for a baby day and night. James, though, was an only childspoiled, sheltered, never truly tested by hardship.
Then his cousin had a baby, and James became obsessed. After every visit, hed come home with the same refrain:
*”Come on, Emily. Nows the time! Why wait? Younger parents cope better. If you keep preparing, well be forty before we get there”*
I tried to explain that a child wasnt a toythat it meant sleepless nights, soothing colic, endless feeding and rocking. But hed just shrug.
*”You make it sound like a disaster, not a miracle.”*
Our parents only made it worse. My mum and his kept insisting theyd help endlessly, that it would all be easy. In the end, I gave in.
During the pregnancy, James was the perfect husband. He carried the shopping, cleaned, cooked, came to every scan, pressed his hand to my belly and whispered how much he loved us. I truly believed hed be a good father.
But the fairytale ended the moment we brought our son home. He cried. Often. For hours. With reason or without. I tried to spare James the worst of the nights, but the baby woke every two hours. I paced the flat, rocking him, singing lullabies. In our tiny two-bedroom, there was no escaping the sound. The kitchen light stayed on all night, and Id watch my husband toss in bed, hands over his ears, frustration simmering.
Slowly, he grew irritable. The arguments started. He came home later and later. Then, one eveningjust after our son turned three months oldhe packed a bag without a word.
*”Im staying at Mums. I need sleep. I cant do this. I dont want a divorce, just Im exhausted. Ill come back when hes older.”*
I stood frozen in the hallway, the baby in my arms, milk still warm in my chest. And just like thathe left.
The next morning, his mother called. Calmly, as if nothing had happened.
*”Emily, love, I dont agree with James, but its for the best. Men arent built for newborns. Ill come help. Dont hold it against him too much.”*
Then my own mum rang.
*”Mum, do you think this is normal?”* My voice cracked. *”He wanted this baby. Now hes abandoned me. How am I supposed to do this alone?”*
*”Darling, dont make any rash decisions. Yes, he ran. But not to another womanto his mother. That means he hasnt given up entirely. Give him time. Hell come back.”*
But Im no longer sure I want him back.
He broke me. He betrayed me when I was at my most vulnerable. When all I could think about was our son, about ushe gave up. He couldnt even last a few months. Now I keep wondering can I ever trust him again? Rely on him? He was the one who wanted this child. He was the one who pushed for it. And the moment that baby arrived, he ran.
Now its all on me. Our son. The endless days. The exhaustion. The fear. And one question that wont leave me: If he abandoned me at my weakestwhat happens next?
