He Closed the Door Right in My Face “Mum, I know you don’t love me…” Zoe froze, towel in hand, and turned slowly to face her son. Alex stood in the doorway, sulking, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pyjama bottoms. “What?” Zoe folded the towel. “Why on earth would you think that?” “Gran said so.” Of course—Gran. “And what else did Gran say?” Alex stepped into the kitchen, chin raised stubbornly, his eyes defiant—so much like his father. “She said you left Dad because you didn’t want me to have a proper family. A real one. That you left just to spite me so I wouldn’t be a happy child.” Zoe stared at her son. Nearly ten years old. It had been two years since they started living alone, since Val disappeared from Alex’s life without so much as a call or even a birthday card. Tamara Peterson, ex-mother-in-law extraordinaire, made sure to see Alex every weekend—and drip poison in his ear. “Alex, darling,” Zoe tried to keep her voice even, “you really shouldn’t listen to everything Gran says. She doesn’t know everything.” “She does!” Alex’s voice jumped. “She knows it all! You’re the liar! If you loved me, you would have kept the family together! You wouldn’t have filed for divorce! You wouldn’t have destroyed everything!” Every word was a knife to Zoe’s heart. She saw his trembling lip, his bright eyes. He believed it. God, he really believed it. “Alex—” “Dad would still be with us! We’d be together!” “Your father hasn’t called you once in two years,” Zoe blurted. “Not once, do you hear me?” “That’s because you won’t let him! Gran says you forbid him!” Alex spun and ran out of the kitchen. A second later—slam—the bedroom door shook the house. Zoe stayed by the table—half-folded towels, ticking clock, loud silence. She sat, buried her face in her hands. The tears came hot and furious. Val had cheated, spent two months with some woman from his office. When Zoe found out, he barely bothered to apologise. Shrugged. These things happen. How could she forgive him? How could she live with a man who lied straight to her face? And now, Alex blamed her for everything. And Tamara Peterson—saintly Granny—kept weaving her web. Her precious son did nothing wrong, it was the wife who couldn’t put up with things, who wouldn’t keep the family for the sake of the child. Zoe wiped her face and looked out the window. Her child—nearly ten. He didn’t understand. Perhaps he wouldn’t for a long time. Three days crawled by painfully. Alex was there but distant—even breakfasting, homework, dinner. A shadow behind glass. Zoe asked about school—he muttered, glued to his phone. She called him to dinner—he came, ate in silence. She tried to hug him at bedtime—he wriggled away, muttered “night” and closed his bedroom door. On Friday, Zoe decided: enough. After work, she went shopping. A “Black Forest” gateau, his favourite crisps, a big ham-and-mushroom pizza. Maybe a movie. Maybe they’d talk, like before. She pushed open the flat door, dragged the bags into the kitchen. “Alex! Come see what I’ve brought!” Silence. “Alex?” She went down the hall, opened his door—empty. Bed stripped, books on the desk, but…the rucksack was gone. His coat missing, too. She grabbed her phone and rang him. Long rings, then voicemail. Texted: “Where are you? Call me.” The ticks turned blue—he’d read it. No reply. She called again. Once, twice, five times—declined. “What is going on…” Fingers shook, slipped on the screen. Again and again—ring, ring, ring. Click. “Hello?” “Alex!” Zoe clutched the phone. “Where are you? Are you okay?” “I’m fine.” His voice was calm. Far too calm. “Where are you? Why did you leave?” “I’ve gone to Dad’s. I’m going to live with him.” Zoe stood frozen. “What?!” “Gran said Dad wanted to take me. In court. But you insisted. You made them leave me with you. Well, I don’t want to. I’ll be better off with Dad.” “Alex, wait—” Short beeps. Disconnected. She rang back—declined. Again—now switched off. Chaos. She shoved on her coat, dropped her bag, called a cab. She still knew Val’s address by heart. Twenty minutes in traffic. Twenty minutes chewing her nails and thoughts. Taxis edged into the estate. Zoe thrust a note at the driver and ran. On the bench outside the block sat Alex. His coat thrown open, rucksack at his feet, face wet, red, shoulders trembling. He’d been crying. She rushed over, kneeling on the wet pavement, and grabbed his shoulders. The cold soaked through her jeans—she didn’t care. “Are you okay? Have you eaten? What happened? Why are you crying?” Her hands checked—arms, face—making sure he was in one piece. Cheeks frozen, nose red, eyelashes stuck with tears. Alex met her eyes. Red, swollen, so much pain she could hardly breathe. “Dad chucked me out.” Zoe stiffened. Her hands froze on his shoulders. “What?” “He lives with someone else—there’s a little kid,” Alex sniffed, wiping his face with a sleeve, smearing tears and dirt. “He wouldn’t even let me inside. Told me I shouldn’t have come. To go back to Mum. And he just shut the door. Right in my face.” His voice cracked, and he turned away. Shoulders shaking. Zoe pulled him close, hugged him tightly, buried her face in his hair—smelling of cold air and children’s shampoo. This time he didn’t pull away. For the first time in three days—he clung on, pressed his face into her shoulder. “Let’s go,” she whispered, once the tears eased, “let’s sort this, once and for all.” Fifteen minutes in a taxi to Tamara Peterson’s. Alex silent, staring out at the streetlamps. Zoe held his hand—he didn’t let go. His small, cold hand in hers. The door flew open at once, as if his gran were waiting. Dressing gown, curlers, slippers with bobbles—the picture of domestic bliss. Only her eyes—they darted, wary. “Oh!” Tamara brought her hands to her chest, stepping back. “Has your mother dragged you here? Wants to turn you against your dad? Against me?” Alex stepped forward, across the threshold. Zoe saw his back—thin, tense, so childlike under that soon-too-small coat. “Gran,” Alex raised his head, and Zoe heard something new in his voice—grown up—“you lied to me, didn’t you?” Tamara blinked. For a moment, her mask slipped. “What? Alex dearest, whatever do you mean?” “I went to Dad’s. He turned me away. Why?” Zoe watched her face change—the kindly-grandmother mask slipping, eyes darting between grandson and Zoe. “Alex, darling, it’s your mother’s fault, she—” “You told me that Mum wouldn’t let me and Dad talk. That she wouldn’t let him call me. That he missed me. Waited for me.” Alex’s fists clenched, knuckles white. “So why did he close the door in my face? Why didn’t he even want to see me? Why did he look at me like a stranger?” “He’s busy, it’s a tough time for him…” “Or maybe Mum was telling the truth?” Alex’s voice rose, and Tamara flinched. “That he doesn’t want me? That he never wanted our family? He’s got a new wife now. A little baby. They’re all so happy. Why would he want me? I’m just in the way—someone he couldn’t care less about!” Tamara straightened, chin up, her eyes flashing something fierce, cornered. “She’s put this in your head!” she snapped, jabbing at Zoe. “It’s all your mother’s fault, she destroyed the family, she—” “Enough!” Alex shouted, Zoe jumped. The stairwell echoed his anger. “You’re lying! I’ve had enough of your stories! For two years you told me fairytales about Dad, but he never even called me for my birthday! Never! I’m not coming back here, not ever. Don’t phone me again. If Dad doesn’t want me—then I don’t want him. Or you.” He grabbed Zoe’s hand. “Mum, let’s go.” Tamara stood in the doorway, pale and open-mouthed. For the first time ever, Zoe saw her lost—bereft—without her usual armour of blame and bitterness. “Goodbye,” Zoe said, and closed the door gently behind them. At home, Alex ate two slices of cold pizza and drank three mugs of hot tea with raspberry jam. He sat on the sofa, wrapped in his tartan blanket, subdued, nose still red. Outside, it was pitch black, and the lamplight cast warm shadows across his face. “Mum.” “Yes, love?” “I’m sorry.” Zoe set down her mug, looked at her son—small shoulders, ruffled hair, that stubborn crease between his brows. “You always tried. Did everything for me. Worked so hard, cooked, took care of me. I just listened to Gran. I believed her, not you.” Alex stared at the fringe on the blanket. “That’s not going to happen again. From now on, I’ll think for myself. I’ll trust what I see. Not what people tell me.” Zoe smiled, moved closer, ruffled his hair. He didn’t dodge—leaned into her, just as he did when he was little. The lesson was harsh. Maybe even cruel. But Alex had learned it.

Shut the Door in My Face

Mum, I know you dont love me

I froze in the kitchen, a dish towel still in my hands. I turned slowly to face my son. Jamie stood in the doorway, shoulders hunched, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his joggers.

What? I placed the towel down. Whatever put that in your head?
Gran said so.

Of course, Gran.

And what else did Gran say?

Jamie stepped inside, chin jutting out, stubbornness shining in his eyes all his father.

That you left Dad because you didnt want me to have a proper family. Left out of spite. So I couldnt be a happy child.

I stared at my son. Nearly ten years old. Its been two years, just the two of us. Two years since Daniel simply vanished from Jamies life not a single phone call, not even a birthday text. Yet every weekend, my former mother-in-law, Rosemary, faithfully collects Jamie, slowly dripping poison into his ear.

Jamie, I tried to keep my voice calm, you shouldnt listen to Gran too much. She doesnt know everything.
She does! Jamie shot back. She knows it all! Youre the one whos lying! If you loved me, youd have tried to keep the family together! Wouldnt have divorced! Wouldnt have ruined everything!

Every word cut deep. His lips trembled, his eyes glistened. He believed it. God, he truly did.

Jamie
Dad would still be here if it werent for you! Wed still be together!
Your father hasnt called you once in two years, the words slipped out before I could stop them. Not once, Jamie.
Because you dont let him! Gran says you wont allow it!

Jamie turned on his heel and bolted from the kitchen. A second later, the sharp bang of his bedroom door rang out from the hallway.

I stood at the table, towel half-folded. The ticking clock. And a silence heavy enough to smother me.

I sank onto the stool and buried my face in my hands. My tears came hot and angry. Daniel had cheated on me, spent two months seeing a woman from work, and when I found out, he hardly apologized. Just shrugged, as if these things happen. How could I have forgiven that? How could anyone live with a man who looked them in the eye and lied? And now Jamie thought it was me that I ruined everything.

And Rosemary, the saintly Gran, still weaving her web. Her precious son could do no wrong; it was the wife who couldnt cope, who shouldve looked away and carried on for the sake of the child.

I wiped my cheeks and stared out at the grey London sky. My son almost ten. He didnt understand. And, perhaps, wouldnt for some time.

Three days dragged on endlessly. Jamie was there had breakfast, went to school, came home, did his homework but always from behind a wall of glass. Id ask about school; hed mumble something, eyes on his phone. Id call him for dinner; hed come, eat in silence, gaze into his plate. Id try to hug him at bedtime; hed wriggle away, mutter good night, and shut the door behind him.

By Friday, Id had enough. After work I stopped at Sainsburys, filled up a basket Black Forest gateau, Jamies favourite crisps, a big pizza with ham and mushrooms. Maybe a film together. Maybe we could just talk, like we used to.

I pushed open the front door, heaved the bags into the kitchen.

Jamie! Come and see what I got!

Silence.

Jamie?

I moved down the hallway and pushed open his bedroom door. Empty. Duvet thrown back, schoolbooks on the desk, backpack Backpack gone. His coat wasnt on the rack either.

My heart thudded. I grabbed my phone, dialled. Ringing, then straight to voicemail. I texted, Where are you? Call me. Blue ticks hed read. No reply.

I called again. And again. The fifth time straight to voicemail.

What on earth

My fingers were clumsy, slipping on the screen. Another call. Again, just ringing.

Click.

Hello?
Jamie! My relief spilled out, heart pounding. Where are you? Whats happened? Are you alright?
Im fine.

His voice was cool. Too cool.

Where are you? Why did you leave?
Im going to Dads. Ill live with him from now on.

I was frozen to the hallway floor.

What?!
Gran said Dad wanted to take me. In court, he did. But you insisted and so you got to keep me. I dont want to be here anymore. Ill be better off with him.
Jamie, wait

The line went dead.

I called back voicemail. Again switched off.

I stumbled through the flat, dragging on a coat, dropping my bag, desperately ordering a cab. I still remembered Daniels address by heart.

Twenty minutes jammed in traffic, gnawing my nails, inventing disasters in my head.

When the cab finally turned into his street, I leapt out, not caring about the change, sprinted to the buildings entrance and stopped.

Sitting on the bench outside, Jamie hunched beneath his coat, backpack at his feet. His face was splotchy and wet, shoulders shaking.

He was crying.

I ran over, dropped onto my knees right on the damp concrete, clutching his shoulders. The cold soaked through my jeans, but I didnt care.

Are you okay? Have you eaten? Why are you crying?

I checked his arms, his face alive, in one piece, here. His cheeks were freezing; nose red, lashes clumped with tears.

Jamie looked up at me eyes swollen and red, pain deep in his gaze that made my throat tighten.

Dad threw me out.

I went still, hands poised on his shoulders.

What?
Hes got someone else now. Theyve got a baby a little one, Jamie sniffed, wiping his face on his sleeve, only making matters worse. He wouldnt even let me in. Told me I shouldnt have come. Said I should go back to Mum. Just shut the door, right in my face.

Jamies voice wobbled, and he turned away, shoulders trembling.

I gathered him into my arms, held on tight, pressed my face to his hair, which smelled of cold air and childrens shampoo. For the first time in days, Jamie didnt pull away. Quite the opposite he clung onto my coat, buried his face in my shoulder.

Lets go, I said softly when hed stopped shaking. Lets set things straight, once and for all.

The cab ride to Rosemarys house took another fifteen minutes. Jamie said nothing, stared out at the passing streetlights. I held his hand tightly; he didnt pull away. His hand was small, chilled, nestled in mine.

The front door opened straight away, as if Rosemary had been waiting. Dressing gown, hair in curlers, fluffy slippers with pom-poms the image of cosiness. Her eyes, though, were sharp, wary.

Oh! She held her arms out dramatically, retreating into the hall. So youve brought him here, have you? Going to turn him against his father? Against me?

Jamie stepped inside, past the threshold. I watched his back thin, tense, still so childlike beneath a coat hed soon outgrow.

Gran, Jamies voice was steady, but with something new in it, did you lie to me?

Rosemary blinked. Her mask slipped, just for a second.

What? Jamie love, what are you talking about?
I went to Dads. He threw me out. Why?

I watched her face change, watched the caring mask slide away, eyes darting between Jamie and me.

Jamie, its your mothers fault. She
You said Mum wouldnt let us talk. That she stopped him calling me. That he missed me, waited for me. Jamies fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white. Then why did he shut the door in my face? Why didnt he even want to talk to me? Why did he look at me like I was a stranger?
You dont understand, hes just busy, going through a rough patch
Or maybe Mum was telling the truth? Jamies voice rose, and Rosemary took a step back. That he doesnt want me. That none of this family stuff meant anything to him. Hes got a new wife. A baby. All happy together. What does he need me for? Just someone extra, someone to ignore?

Rosemary straightened, chin up, a hard glint in her eye.

Your mothers put these ideas in your head! She jabbed a finger toward me. Shes the one who ruined the family, she
Stop!

Jamie shouted so loud I jumped. The word echoed up the stairwell.

Youre lying! Ive had enough of your lies! Two years of stories about Dad and he didnt even call me for my birthday. Not once! Im not coming here again. And dont call me either. If Dads given up on me, I can do the same. I dont want either of you. He turned, grabbed my hand. Mum, lets go.

Rosemary stood in the open doorway, pale, mouth hanging open. For the first time in all these years, I saw her lost, small, stripped of her usual armour of blame.

Goodbye, I said, shutting the door behind us.

At home, Jamie wolfed down two slices of cold pizza and gulped three mugs of tea with raspberry jam. He curled up on the sofa in a tartan blanket, subdued, his nose still red. Outside, night had properly fallen, the lamps glow soft on his face.

Mum.
Yes, love?
Im sorry.

I put my own tea down on the table, looked at him those fragile shoulders, messy hair, stubborn brow.

You tried so hard, did everything for me, and I All the time, you did your best. Working, cooking, always looking out for me. And all I did was listen to Gran. I believed her instead of you. Jamie looked down, fiddling with the fringe on the blanket. I wont do it again. Ill think for myself. Ill trust what I see, not what people say.

I smiled, slid closer, ruffled his hair. He didnt shy away. In fact, he leaned into me, just like he did when he was little.

It was a harsh lesson, maybe even cruel. But, I think, Jamie finally learned it. And so did I. Dont let anyone else write your story not for you, not for your children.