Take Me Back, Please
You really dont have to do this, Mum… Simon couldnt finish his sentence.
Margaret Turner shook her head slowly, running her fingers along the edge of the battered armchair. The flat carried the scent of her perfume and dried lavender, tucked into every room. But those familiar smells would soon fade.
Im not doing it for you, she said. Its for Michael. The boy needs a homea proper one, not a rented box that the landlord could toss you out of at any moment. No matter what happens between you and Alison, Simon, the flat should pass to Michael. Thats what I want.
Alison stood by the window, a hand resting on her sons shoulder. Michael squirmed, not fully understanding why the adults were speaking in such careful, hushed voices.
Thank you, Simon managed quietly. Honestly, Mum. Thank you.
Margaret dismissed his gratitude. She looked over at Michael, and suddenly her entire expression softened.
Come here, love.
Michael crossed the room and let his grandmother pull him close. Her hands trembled gently as she cupped his face.
You know, Michael? Youre the best thing that ever happened to me. You have my eyes. My stubbornness. And my dreadful taste in music.
Gran, Michael replied, embarrassed but clearly pleased.
This flat is yours, Margaret continued, becoming more serious. Itll be in your fathers name, only because youre not eighteen yet. Youre why Im giving it away while I still can. Were family, Michael. I want to look after you properly.
Two months later, Margaret stopped breathing…
The three-bedroom flat swallowed them whole. On weekends, Simon stripped floral wallpaper, painted over years-old stains, and installed new lights. Alison sorted and re-sorted their belongings, trying to find space among the remaining pieces of Margarets furniture.
Michael dashed from room to room, thrilled by the space. Finally, he had his own roomwalls he could plaster with posters without needing permission.
Dad, can I put my desk by the window?
Put it anywhere you like, mate. Its your room.
Simon watched as Michael arranged his little figures on the windowsill. Because of his mum, his family now had a real home. He should have felt happygrateful.
Instead, he felt the walls closing in. Routine, predictability, days blurring into one another. Up. Work. Home. Dinner. TV. Sleep. Repeat. Right up till the end…
The café near his office became his refuge. He started dropping in after work, delaying his return home by half an hour, then an hour. The barista already knew his order. That corner table by the window was unofficially his.
Thats where he met her…
She laughed at something on her phoneloudly, with no embarrassment. Her laughter drowned the ambient hum. Simon glanced up from his laptop, she caught his eye, and rather than looking away, she raised an eyebrow.
Sorry, she said, her tone entirely unapologetic. My mate sent me the worst joke Ive ever heard. Want to hear it?
Simon shouldve refused. He shouldve finished his spreadsheet and gone home to his wife and son.
Go on, he said…
Her name was Emily. She worked at a marketing agency, hated her job, adored silly puns. Emily was vibrant, spontaneous, genuine.
Youre drowning, she said during their third meeting.
Im not drowning. My lifes fine.
But are you happy?
Three weeks later, they ended up in bed together…
Simon told Alison the truth that night. He watched her face change as the meaning sank in.
You slept with someone else, Alison repeated slowly.
Yes.
Simon said nothing more. Words would only make things worse.
Alison flung a towel at him. It hit his chest and dropped to the floora pitiful gesture that only made her fury burn brighter.
You betrayed our family for some young fling? Fourteen years, Simon. Fourteen years of marriage, and you got bored?
Its not about boredom
Then what is it? Alison shouted. Explain, because apparently Im too stupid to understand why my husband would destroy everything we built!
Simon ran his hands over his face.
Im suffocating with you, Alison. Every day is the same. Work. Home. Dinner. Bed. I needed to feel something else. Something real. Alive.
Something alive. Alison laughed cruelly, tears streaming down. I gave you a son. My youth. And you needed to feel alive?
Somewhere in the hallway, a door creaked. Michael had woken up and was now hiding in his room. Simon felt sick at the thought of what his son might have overheard.
Fine, Alison snapped, wiping her face and smudging her mascara even more. Fine, Simon. If you want to leave, lets divorce. I wont keep you here. But lets talk about the flat. Your mum wanted it to go to Michael. She told him that clearly
The flat stays with me.
Alison froze.
What did you say?
Its registered in my name, Simon couldnt look Alison in the eye. Legally, its mine. You and Michael will have to find somewhere else.
Youre throwing your own son out, Alison whispered in shock. Your own child. The boy your mum left this flat for.
Im not throwing anyone out. Youll have time to find somewhere. Ill help with the first months rent, or whatever you need, but
Youre a monster. Alison gripped the table. Youre not a man, not a fatheryoure nothing. Your mum would be sickened if she saw what youve become.
The next morning, Alison packed their things while Michael sat on the bed, staring at walls newly covered with his posters. He didnt look at his dad. He didnt speak. He simply followed his mother out.
The divorce was finalised three months later. Simon paid child supportnot much, but enough to satisfy the court. Every Sunday he phoned Michael, and every Sunday Michael ignored the call. Texts went unanswered. Birthday gifts were accepted without a single word of thanks.
Eventually, Simon stopped trying. The boys angry, he told himself. When he matures, hell understand that adults sometimes make hard choices.
Emily moved in two weeks after Alison left. She filled the flat with candles, decorative cushions, and music playing at all hours. She cooked elaborate, expensive meals and insisted on weekend shopping sprees. With her, Simon felt young, reckless, excitingly free.
Six months on, his savings were down to forty-seven pounds.
Hotels, restaurants, spontaneous shopping trips, after which Emily would twirl out of changing rooms in dresses costing more than his monthly food budget. It all felt wonderful until the account ran dry.
We need to talk about expenses, Simon told Emily that night.
Later, darling, lets chat tonight. Im meeting my friends.
She kissed his cheek, grabbed her bagthe new one hed bought last monthand headed out.
Emily didnt return that night…
She came back the next morning and told him they were finished. That she was bored, just suffocating… Emily quickly packed her things and left as breezily as shed arrived.
For two weeks, Simon wallowed in self-pity. He wandered the empty flat in the same clothes, left dirty dishes in the sink, never bothered with the blinds. Everyone had left himso he told himself. His son refused to speak. His wife had taken all the best and gone. And Emily, carefree, beautiful Emily, had vanished the moment the money ran out.
By the third week, self-pity turned to desperation. Simon took a shower, shaved, put on his cleanest shirt, and trekked across town to the address Alison gave the court.
The building was old but respectable. A post-war block with new paint and a working lift. Alison let him in without asking why hed come.
Michael, she called over her shoulder, your fathers here.
Simon entered the narrow hallway, surveying the modest flat where his family now lived. Two rooms instead of three. A small corridor. Tiny kitchen.
But the place felt warm and alive.
Michael paused in the doorway. The boy had grown during the months Simon barely saw him; his face had lost some of its childlike softness. Not a hint of warmth in his eyes as he looked at his father.
Michael, I know youre angry, Simon began. But I realise now that I was wrong. I messed up. But things can change. We can be a family again. The three of us. Your rooms waiting, Michael!
Alison leaned against the wall, watching her ex-husband with indifference.
People change, Simon went on, pleading with both. Ive had time to think, and I see what I lost. I understand.
You havent lost anything, Michael responded sharply. You made a choice. You chose her, not us.
Its not that simple, mate.
Dont call me that. Michael stepped forward. You forced us out of Grans flat. Our home. You threw me out, then picked Emily.
Michael, please
If we trust you, what happens next? Michael cut him off. You meet someone else, get bored again, and toss us out like rubbish?
Simon scrambled for words.
Thatll never happen. I promise, Ive changed.
Michael shook his head, slowly.
I dont need a father like you, he said quietly.
He turned away and went to his room.
Simon glanced at Alison, searching for a flicker of support.
Alison, talk to him. Tell him Ive learned, Ive changed.
She shook her head.
I wouldnt forgive you either, Simon. Even if you begged. I cant stand you. Not because you cheated. Not even for throwing us out. But because you only came back when she left you. When you had no one left.
Simon couldnt recall how he ended up standing on the stairwell. He didnt remember getting home…
Now, Simon was alone in three empty rooms. Alone in a big flat his mother hoped would be filled with family. Yet no one remained. He had pushed away those who truly loved him. And now, it was too late to fix anything.
Too late.
In the end, Simon learned that what matters most arent the things we acquire or the excitement we chase, but the people who stand by uswhen we are at our lowest and when we are at our best. Once trust is broken and loved ones are lost, no luxury or thrill can fill the space they leave behind. Choose wisely whom you value, before its too late.
