I Was Eight Years Old When My Mum Left Home—She Walked to the Corner, Took a Taxi, and Never Came Back. My Brother Was Five. From That Moment, Everything Changed: My Dad Learned to Cook Breakfast, Do the Laundry, Iron Our School Uniforms, Clumsily Brush Our Hair Before School. He Burned Food, Got the Rice Measurements Wrong, Forgot to Separate Whites from Colours—But Never Let Us Go Without. After Work, He Helped with Homework, Packed Our Lunches, Never Brought Another Woman Home, Never Said He’d Fallen in Love Again. On Weekends, He Took Us to the Park, the River, the Shopping Centre—Learned to Braid Hair, Sew Buttons, Make Costumes from Cardboard and Old Fabric for School Plays. Never Complained, Never Said “That’s Not My Job.” Last Year, My Dad Went to God Suddenly. When Sorting His Things, I Found Not Love Letters, Nor Photos with Another Woman—Just Tattered Notebooks Tracking Bills, Dates, Notes Like “Pay the Fee,” “Buy Shoes,” “Take the Girl to the Doctor.” He Lived for Us. Now, With Him Gone, One Question Haunts Me: Was He Ever Happy? My Mum Left to Find Her Happiness. My Dad Stayed, Gave Up His Own, and Never Remarried—So We Wouldn’t Be Alone. Today I Realise I Had an Incredible Dad, But That He Was a Man Who Chose Loneliness So We Would Not Be Lonely. And That Weighs Heavy, Because Without Him, I Wonder If He Ever Received the Love He Truly Deserved.

Author Walton MerrittReading 3 minViews 1

I was eight years old when my mum left home. She walked to the end of our street, hopped into a taxi, and never came back. My little brother was five.

Everything changed in our house after that. Dad started doing things hed never had to do before: getting up early to make us breakfast, learning how to wash our clothes, ironing our school uniforms, and clumsily brushing our hair before we rushed off in the mornings. I saw him get the rice measurements wrong, burn the toast, and forget to separate the whites from the colours in the laundry. But no matter what, he always made sure we never went without. Hed come home worn out from work, sit down to help us with homework, sign our reading diaries, and pack our lunches for the next day.

Mum never came to visit. Dad never brought another woman home, and never introduced anyone as his partner. We knew he went out sometimes, and there were nights he would come home late, but his personal life never entered our four walls. At home, it was just me and my brother. I never heard him say hed fallen in love again. His life became a routine: work, come home, cook, clean, sleep, and repeat.

On weekends, he took us to the park, down by the river, or to the shopping centreeven if it was only to gaze at the window displays. He figured out how to braid my hair, sew on missing buttons, and whip up packed lunches. On days with school plays and fancy dress parties, he made our costumes from cardboard and old bits of fabric lying around. He never griped, never once said, This isnt my job.

A year ago, Dad passed away. It happened quicklythere wasnt even time for lengthy goodbyes. As we sorted through his things, I found old notebooks where hed scribbled budgets and bills, important dates, reminders like pay the fees, buy shoes, take the girl to the doctor. There werent any love letters, no photos with another woman, not a hint of a romantic life. Just traces of a man whose world revolved around his children.

Since hes been gone, one question keeps circling in my mind: was he ever truly happy? My mum left to seek her own happiness. Dad stayed, and it feels like he put his happiness aside for ours. He never started another family, never had a home with a partner again. After us, he wasnt anyones priority except ours.

Now, I realise how extraordinary my dad was. But I also understand that he was a man who chose solitude so that we wouldnt ever feel alone. And that feels heavy. Because now hes gone, I cant help wondering whether he ever found the love he deserved.

Life has taught me that love isnt always grand gestures or romantic adventures; sometimes, the most profound love is simply showing up, day after day, for the people who need you most. I hope he knew how much we loved him, and that he truly was our happiness.

LOVING BY ENDURING, ENDURING BY LOVING John and Dorothy’s marriage was blessed in church. On their wedding day, as the bridal party neared the church, a sudden wild summer storm broke out. Out of nowhere, a furious wind tore Dorothy’s bridal veil away, sending it spiraling high into the sky, only to drop, limp, into a muddy puddle. Guests could only gasp in shock as the storm stopped as suddenly as it began. John dashed after the veil, but it was too late. The snow-white veil now lay soiled in a black puddle. Flustered, Dorothy shouted to her fiancé: “John, leave it! I won’t wear it now!” The old ladies sitting near the church bent together and whispered, “A rough start means a stormy marriage…” Dorothy’s friends bought her an artificial white flower and pinned it into her hair. There was no time to look for a new veil. After all, you can’t be late to your own church wedding! So the new bride and groom stood before the altar, holding candles and exchanging sacred vows—to God. But before the church ceremony, they’d already signed the registry and celebrated with a beautiful wedding—for appearances. Three years later, they had two children: Sophie and Arthur. Family life was peaceful and happy. …But ten years after the wedding, a young woman knocked on John and Dorothy’s door. Dorothy always welcomed guests warmly, whether invited or unexpected—feeding them, pouring tea, and offering friendly conversation. But this visitor was different. She came when John was out. With a woman’s instinct, Dorothy sized up the stranger: well-dressed, friendly, strikingly beautiful, and so young. “Hello, Dorothy. I’m Millie. I’m your husband’s future wife,” the stranger said. “How interesting!” Dorothy was taken aback. “And how long has John been engaged to you?” Dorothy asked, entering into the odd conversation. “A while now. But I can’t wait much longer—John and I are having a baby,” Millie replied, unashamed. “Hm… Textbook story! Wife, mistress, illegitimate child…” “Miss, you do realise John and I are married—blessed in church? We have children.” Dorothy tried to reason with her. “I know. But we’re in love—forever! You can get an annulment; after all, your husband hasn’t been faithful. I looked into it.” “Look, Miss!” Dorothy was getting annoyed. “Don’t meddle in another woman’s family. We’ll deal with our love and loyalty.” The girl shrugged and left. Dorothy slammed the door in anger. “She’s so sure of herself! Well, you’re not getting John!” Dorothy couldn’t help but recall how John’s attentiveness had faded lately: working late, sudden business trips, outlandish new hobbies. Every woman can sense another’s presence—a tension in the air, something unsaid… But Dorothy pushed the dark thoughts aside. Maybe she’d imagined it; maybe John was blameless. That evening, after dinner, Dorothy finally broached the difficult subject: “John, are you in love?” she asked directly. He hesitated, “I am.” “Your…woman came by today. Is this serious?” Dorothy’s voice trembled. “I’m a scoundrel! I can’t live without Millie. I tried to end it… I just can’t. Please let me go, Dorothy!” “You’re free…” Dorothy knew appeals to conscience or the children were pointless. Life would decide. And so, John left for his new love. Dorothy turned to the vicar for counsel. After listening kindly, he said, “My child, love bears long, and never fails! You have every right to an annulment—John has strayed. Or you can forgive, pray, and wait. The Lord works in mysterious ways…” Two months later, Dorothy found herself expecting a child—John’s child. Joy blossomed: perhaps it was a sign—maybe John would rethink and return. That hope sustained her through the pregnancy. A healthy baby boy was born. Dorothy’s mother suggested calling him Jack—after all, Jack is the English for John. “Maybe your John will come back—stranger things have happened…” Fortunately, Dorothy’s mother helped in every way—watching the children, feeding them, teaching them sense and kindness. John didn’t forget Sophie and Arthur: he sent gifts, took them to the seaside, left money in envelopes. Dorothy forbade the children to mention little Jack to their dad. Naturally, Sophie spilled the secret during a visit. John assumed Dorothy had found someone new—and felt a pang of jealousy at the memory of their happy past. He never imagined Jack could be his own son. …Meanwhile, John’s new wife, Millie, had a difficult pregnancy. John ran about finding fruit and odd cravings—chalk, pickles… But tragedy struck: Millie gave birth to a stillborn girl. Then a second pregnancy ended in miscarriage. Devastated, Millie wanted a break from motherhood, but fate had other plans… During this time, Dorothy’s old university friend, Victor, began visiting. He’d had eyes for Dorothy back then, but she’d never considered him for a husband—too dutiful, too serious, too attached to his mother, and lacking a sense of humour—though other girls were drawn to him. After meeting John, Dorothy had given Victor the brush-off, but it turned out he’d only quietly stepped away. One rainy autumn day, Dorothy met Victor on the bus. “Mind if I sit here?” he asked. “Of course,” Dorothy replied, barely looking up. He was persistent: “Everything alright, miss?” When he called her by name—“Dorothy, hello! Why so sad?”—she finally looked. “Victor? Goodness, it’s been ages! Where have you been?” They laughed together, and she invited him round. Over wine and fruit, Dorothy poured her heart out. Victor listened, nodded, and comforted her. At the end, she kissed him—on the cheek, just for understanding. Victor left, quietly encouraged. He’d never married himself, it turned out. Victor began visiting Dorothy’s home, bringing gifts for the children, flowers for her. But Dorothy was clear: “You’re welcome here, but I’m waiting for my husband. There will be no impropriety.” Victor accepted even this, preferring to be ‘brother’ to Dorothy and ‘uncle’ to the children, rather than be alone. Meanwhile, Millie finally gave birth to a healthy girl, blessings at last. She and John named her Grace—a name meaning ‘blessed’. Millie devoted herself to motherhood and often thought back to her talk with Dorothy: “Stolen happiness brings no joy—only pain.” Only now did she truly realise the sorrow she’d caused. She longed to throw herself at Dorothy’s feet and beg forgiveness. John doted on their daughter Grace—spoiling her with toys, cradling her at night, cherishing bath time. Years passed; the children grew older, and the adults matured too. Then, tragedy struck—Millie fell gravely ill at just thirty. Hospitals, doctors, treatments—John did everything for her. When the end approached, Millie asked, “Please, John, take me to see your first wife—Dorothy.” John was surprised but agreed. Dorothy already knew Millie was ill—her daughter, Sophie, still visited John and had told her. So, when John called, Dorothy consented readily. Carrying frail Millie inside, John laid her carefully on the bed. The family gathered, waiting, as Dorothy sat by her side. “Forgive me, Dorothy, if you can. God’s justice has caught up with me. Please, promise me you’ll raise Grace—she’ll have no one but you, John, and your family,” Millie pleaded through tears. Holding her hand, Dorothy said gently, “Millie, we punish ourselves—not God! I forgave you long ago! Don’t worry about Grace, she will never be left alone. Stay here with us, both you and John, until you’re stronger. There’s room for everyone in this house! I promise—you’ll get better! With God, anything is possible. Don’t lose hope.” The house became like something from a fairy tale—there was shelter and care for all. Everyone helped look after Millie, but it was Victor who proved the most devoted—always by her side, comforting her. In time, he realised he’d fallen in love with her, just as he adored little Grace. Millie began to fight for her life; she clung to hope, and slowly, surely, improved. Six months of struggle passed. Gradually, Millie could walk in the garden and bask in the sunlight. Life returned by degrees… Millie pondered Victor. She still loved John, but another woman’s husband is off-limits—she’d learnt that lesson well. But Victor was kind, gentle, and cared for her child as his own. Such families too can flourish, where one’s love is enough for both. She would try to let Victor’s love grow. Recovery was slow, but real. Then, finally, during a family meal, Millie spoke: “Dorothy, John, Grace and I—and Victor—are leaving. Thank you for your kindness. I may never meet such wonderful people again. Bless you all from the bottom of my heart!” John and Dorothy exchanged glances. They’d seen the bond growing between Millie and Victor—LOVE. Some time before, John had shared with Dorothy: “No matter what happens between you and Millie, I want—I need—to be with you. Your generosity knows no bounds. Will you take me back? We must raise our three children together. I’ll beg at your feet for forgiveness!” “What do you think, John? Of course I will! I ought to be the one asking your forgiveness. Life teaches us all…” Dorothy kissed her once-wayward husband. “And Grace?” Dorothy pressed. “Her happiness matters too.” “Grace is my daughter. She will never suffer for my mistakes. My door will always be open to her,” John vowed. Victor, Millie, and Grace prepared to leave. At the door, Millie turned to John: “Love Dorothy. More than life—love her! Never hurt her. I’ll always remember you, John.” “Be happy, Millie,” John replied…

02

📌 Useful Social Services & Contacts in the U.S.

Stay informed and get help when you need it. Below are key national services with direct contacts that may support you or your loved ones:
🏥 Health & Mental Support

SAMHSA – Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

What they do: Free and confidential help with substance use and mental health disorders.

Hotline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – 24/7, anonymous support

Website: samhsa.gov

🧒 Support for Children & Families

WIC – Women, Infants, and Children Program

What they do: Nutritional and healthcare support for pregnant women, new mothers, and young children.

Federal Info Line: 1-800-522-5006

Find local WIC office: fns.usda.gov/wic

I Was Eight Years Old When My Mum Left Home—She Walked to the Corner, Took a Taxi, and Never Came Back. My Brother Was Five. From That Moment, Everything Changed: My Dad Learned to Cook Breakfast, Do the Laundry, Iron Our School Uniforms, Clumsily Brush Our Hair Before School. He Burned Food, Got the Rice Measurements Wrong, Forgot to Separate Whites from Colours—But Never Let Us Go Without. After Work, He Helped with Homework, Packed Our Lunches, Never Brought Another Woman Home, Never Said He’d Fallen in Love Again. On Weekends, He Took Us to the Park, the River, the Shopping Centre—Learned to Braid Hair, Sew Buttons, Make Costumes from Cardboard and Old Fabric for School Plays. Never Complained, Never Said “That’s Not My Job.” Last Year, My Dad Went to God Suddenly. When Sorting His Things, I Found Not Love Letters, Nor Photos with Another Woman—Just Tattered Notebooks Tracking Bills, Dates, Notes Like “Pay the Fee,” “Buy Shoes,” “Take the Girl to the Doctor.” He Lived for Us. Now, With Him Gone, One Question Haunts Me: Was He Ever Happy? My Mum Left to Find Her Happiness. My Dad Stayed, Gave Up His Own, and Never Remarried—So We Wouldn’t Be Alone. Today I Realise I Had an Incredible Dad, But That He Was a Man Who Chose Loneliness So We Would Not Be Lonely. And That Weighs Heavy, Because Without Him, I Wonder If He Ever Received the Love He Truly Deserved.