I am fifty now. A year ago, while I was away, my wife gathered up the children and simply left. When I returned, the house was silent and empty, not a trace of them remained.
A few weeks ago, a stark, official letter arriveddemand for maintenance. Since then, the money just slips straight from my wages, automatic as rain. Theres no room for debate. I cant delay, cant bargain. Pounds vanish from my pay before I even see them.
I wont pretend Im blameless. Ive been unfaithful, more than once. I was never really subtle about it, but never openly confessed, either. Shed say I was lying, inventing things, or that it was all in her head.
My temper was like a summer stormloud and sudden. Id shout, snap, the whole house on edge until things bent to my will, at the moment I demanded it. If the shape of things displeased me, my tone said it all. Sometimes, things went flyingplates, mugs, whatever was within reach. I never laid hands on them, but fear echoed louder than any slap. I see now that the children were frightened of me.
It came to me too late. When I got home, theyd hush up, retreat into bedrooms at the faintest sign of my voice rising. My wife moved about as if walking on a frozen lake, her words measured, careful to sidestep any argument. I thought this was respect. Now, I know it was dread.
At the time, I didnt care. I felt like the kingthe breadwinner, the lawmaker, the one who set the rules.
When she decided to leave, I felt betrayed, as if she had staged a rebellion. Thats when I made another mistake. I refused to give her moneynot because I couldnt, but to punish her.
I thought shed tire and return. Realise somehow she needed me. I told her if she wanted money, shed have to come back. That I wouldnt support anyone living away from me.
But she didnt return. Instead, she went straight to a solicitor. Filed for maintenance, lay out all the factsincome, expenses, evidence. Faster than I thought possible, a judge set up the deductions, ironclad and unbending.
From that day, my pay has been clipped, shrunken. I cant hide anything, cant wriggle free. The moneys gone before I can even feel its weight in my hand.
Now, my house is quiet and cold. My wife and children are elsewhere. I see them now and then, but they keep their distance, silent as ghosts. Im never welcome.
Money presses in from every siderent, support, debtspounds trickle away and hardly anything remains. Sometimes it makes me furious; other times, shame burns through me.
My sister says I brought it all upon myself.
