Move out and live on your own, my husband declares.
I begin a serious talk with my wife over dinner. I cant postpone it any longer.
Eleanor, sit down, I say in a low tone.
Eleanor turns off the stove and faces me slowly.
Whats wrong? she asks, worried.
I cant meet her eyes; it feels a bit shameful.
Im leaving. I have another woman, Julie. We work together. This isnt just a fling, Eleanorits real love. I cant keep lying to you or to myself.
To Eleanors credit, she takes the news of her husbands betrayal with dignity. She doesnt cry, smash dishes, or beg him to stay. She accepts his choice.
One condition is hard for her to swallow: while I still want her to take the childrenher daughter from a previous marriage, Emma, and our son, Tommyand move to her own place, I need a space to start my private life.
Eleanor spends the night sleepless, turning everything over in her mind. Seventeen metres of flat, two children, her modest accountants salary that barely covers the bills, and help if possible from the man who just threw the family aside. How does she go on? Why should she be the one to suffer, to break herself and the kids for my comfort and new love?
In the morning she tells me, All right, Victor. Ill move out.
I smile.
Good, youre clever. I knew you were sensible
But theres one condition, Eleanor cuts in.
Whats that? I ask warily.
Youve fallen for someone else, I dont mind. The heart cant be ordered. I wont split the flat, even though the law gives me half. Keep it.
Really? I gasp, relieved. Thanks!
Really. Sophie and I will move into my studio; the two of us will be fine there. Well rearrange, buy a bunk bed, make it work.
What about Tommy? I blink, confused.
Eleanor looks me straight in the eye.
The boy stays with you.
You mean with me? I laugh nervously. Youre joking. Hes small! He needs his mum!
In this country parents have equal rights and duties, Victor. Youre his father. You wanted a son. You asked me to have him, remember? I want an heir, a lad to play football. So there.
Ill pay child support as the law requires, and Ill take him on weekends whenever I can.
You cant do that! Youre his mother! What mother would abandon her child?
Im not abandoning him; Im leaving him with his father.
In the spacious flat, near the nursery, why should I drag him into a cramped flat, change his school, strip away his comfort? You yourself said the conditions arent great. Let him live well, with you and Julie. Let her learn to be a stepmum now that shes building a life with you.
I have a job! I shout. Im busy all day! Who will take him to nursery? Who will pick him up? Who will feed, wash, and put him to sleep?
I also work, Eleanor replies calmly. Im busy too, but Ive managed these four years. Now its your turn. The boy needs a male role model. You always said I spoil him. So raise him. Make a man out of him.
Victor clutches his head, pacing the bedroom.
This is madness! Julie wont agree! Shes twentyfive; why would she want another child?
Thats your problem, dear, Eleanor says, crossing her arms. Youre the head of the family. Decide.
Double standards tire me out. Want a new life? Take responsibility.
Gathering our things takes two days. Victor wanders around like a fish out of water, alternating between pleading, threatening, and invoking conscience.
Eleanor, think about what people will say! he hisses while I pack Sophies clothes into boxes. Your parents, my parents theyll mock us!
Let them talk, I seal a box with tape. I dont care. I cant support two adults on one salary in one room.
You want this? So that your childrens mother ends up in hospital?
The hardest conversation is with my mother, who calls three times that evening, crying into the phone.
Girl, pull yourself together! How can you leave Tommy to his father? Hes a!
Mom, you live in another city. What can you do? Send money?
My pension is a joke.
Ive decided. Victor is the father. He should be a father not just in words.
The day of the move, Tommy runs around the flat, thinking its a game. I squat beside him, smooth his hair, my heart tearing. I want to scoop him up and run, but I know if I falter, Victor will strangle me with his expectations, and Ill be left alone with two kids, no money, and a cramped flat while he enjoys his new life.
Son, I say, meeting his bright eyes. Mum and Sophie will stay somewhere else for a while. Youll stay with Dad. Youll play, youll go out. Dad loves you very much.
Will you come back? Tommy asks, hugging his stuffed rabbit.
Ill be back on Saturday. Well go to the park, have icecream. Listen to Dad.
Sophie stands at the door, headphones around her neck, silent but supportive. Victor stands in the hallway, pale as a wall.
Youre really leaving? Just like that?
The keys are on the nightstand, I say, tossing him a list of medicines for his slight sore throat, reminding him of the Thursday meeting at the nursery.
I leave.
The first week of Victors solo life throws him off balance. Mornings start not with coffee and a kiss from Julie, but with a scream: Dad, Im hungry! Then frantic searches for missing socks, burnt porridge, milk that disappears. Tommy refuses food, spits, demands cartoons.
Eat, I told you! Victor shouts, late for work. Tommy starts to cry. Victor feels like a wreck, grabs his belt, then tosses it aside, offers a chocolate bar just to quiet the boy.
Nursery staff give him sideways looks and remarks: Dad, why is he in a dirty tee? You forgot a change of clothes. You need to pay for the curtains.
At work, papers slip through his fingers. Hes constantly on his phone, juggling home crises. His boss has called him to the office twice, hinting that his personal life shouldnt affect his job.
Evenings become a second act: collecting Tommy from nursery, sprinting to the shop, cleaning, cooking. Five minutes after Victor tidies up, Tommy scatters toys across the floor again.
Julie shows up on the third day, steps into the flat and wrinkles her nose.
Victor, we were supposed to go to the cinema, she says, halfheartedly, not taking off her shoes.
What cinema? Victor replies, dishevelled, one sock missing. I cant leave Tommy alone.
Then lets hire a nanny!
What? Have you seen nanny rates? Half my salary goes to the mortgage!
Tommy darts into the corridor, covered in marker ink, collides with Julies light trousers, flailing his dirty hands.
Auntie! Look, Im a tiger!
Ouch! Julie shrieks, jumping back. What are you doing? Victor, get him off! Thats an expensive doll!
Hes a child, Julie! Victor barks. Stop whining! Help would be better!
I? Help?! Julies eyes widen. I didnt sign up to be a nanny! Im a woman; I want attention!
Youve got aformerwife drama here! Your ex set this up!
My ex spent four years arranging all this while I was at work! Victor blurts, surprised by his own words.
Julie huffs, turns, and slams the door, never to return.
By Saturday Victor looks like a shadow. Hes lost weight, his beard is scruffy, dark circles loom under his eyes, and the flat resembles a battlefield.
When the doorbell rings, he darts to answer, tripping over toys. Eleanor stands there with Sophie.
Mum! Tommy shrieks, running into Eleanors arms. She kisses his cheeks.
Hello, my dears. How are you? Alive? Victor leans against the wall, knees shaking. He watches his wife as if seeing her for the first time, finally grasping the monumental effort shes shouldered all these years, smiling and never complaining. He always called it just staying at home.
Eleanor, he croaks.
She lifts an eyebrow.
Take him back, please. I cant manage. Ill lose my job. Julie left. I Im at my wits end.
Eleanor sets Tommy down.
Go, Tommy, show Sophie your new drawings. The kids dart into the bedroom.
Eleanor walks to the kitchen, surveys the mountain of dirty dishes, the dried buckwheat on the stove, and sits on the same stool she occupied a week ago.
I wont return to this flat, Victor, she says evenly. After what youve done, I wont live with you.
Damn Julie! Victor waves his hand, sits opposite her, covering his face. I get it. I was wrong, completely wrong.
But Tommy Im a bad dad, Eleanor
Learn, she snaps. But I know a child shouldnt suffer. I have a proposal.
Victor lifts his head, hope flickering like a battered dog.
What is it? Ill agree to anything.
Ill take Tommy. Well stay in this flat with the kids. You move out.
Where? he stammers.
To my studio, that same seventeenmetre flat. Live there, bring anyone you want.
Youll rewrite the deed, splitting the property equally between the children, so I cant evict you tomorrow for a new love.
Victor opens his mouth to argue, to call it theft, that its his home too but then he remembers the weeks sleepless nights, the fever, the tantrums, the endless déjàvu. He recalls the empty flat and the crushing helplessness.
He looks at Eleanor. Shes not bluffing.
If he refuses, shell turn and leave, and hell be left alone with a responsibility hes catastrophically unready for.
Youll pay fixed child support, Eleanor continues, seeing his hesitation. Plus half the fees for clubs and classes.
You can see your son whenever you want; I wont block that.
But well live here, without you.
Victor is silent for a minute, then exhales.
Fine. I agree.
Eleanor nods.
Gather your things, Victor. The studio is free. Ill give you the keys now.
He stands, heads to the bedroom, pulls out a suitcase. He has lost everything: family, son, pride. Yet, as he zips his bag, he somehow feels its the only right decision in seven years.
