Dear Diary,
Alex, could you please look after Milo for a couple of hours? I have an appointment at the GP.
He shot up from the sofa, his voice sharp. Cant, love. Im meeting the lads. Ive got a shift soon.
I tried to explain, Alex, Im serious. My headaches wont quit and my back feels off ever since the birth. Im running on fumes.
He glared, Polly, do you want me to repeat that? I cant. Move it to another day Ive already got plans.
He already had his jacket halfzipped, patting his pockets.
I cant shift it, love. The next slot isnt for another three weeks.
Fine, then wait three weeks, he shrugged as if it were nothing. Nothing serious will happen to you.
The bedroom door slammed. A soft whimper drifted from the nursery Milo had woken again. I sighed, grabbed the phone and dialed the clinic, the ringtone now a cheery jingle rather than the old beeping tone.
Hello, I need to cancel todays appointment
I collapsed onto the sofa. Postnatal health feels like a lottery. My back snaps shut, my head feels like someones hammering from inside. The doctors wave their hands, saying I need tests, but tests take time and someone has to watch the baby.
Alex doesnt seem to care. The past two years feel like theyve been swapped for someone elses script.
During the pregnancy he actually carried me literally. He lugged heavy shopping bags, cooked, even gave me foot massages before bed. He told me I was the most beautiful woman in the world and that he was endlessly happy. I believed every word, thinking Id hit the jackpot with him.
Then Milo arrived, and everything fell apart.
The endless crying, the constant changing of nappies, sleepless nights they stripped Alex of whatever mask he wore. He started shouting at me when I didnt have time to tidy the flat, at Milo when he wailed in the night, slamming doors, disappearing to the pub with his mates and returning after midnight.
Look at yourself! hed roar, finger pointed at me. Do you even recognise the woman in the mirror? Wheres my beautiful wife gone? Shes turned into a… beast!
I watched the dark circles under my eyes, the tangled hair, the stained housecoat from baby food, the stubborn extra pounds despite barely eating twice a day. When do I find a minute for myself when Milo has a fever, teething pain, or a stomach ache?
You only think about the child, hes the centre of the universe, Alex would snap, pulling on his boots. Do you even need me?
I stayed quiet I didnt know what to say. Yes, I thought about Milo. Hes my son, after all.
Im exhausted. Ive reached the point where I just want to lie down and never get up. Im trapped within four walls, a wailing infant, and a husband who casts himself as the victim of this family.
Theres no job on the horizon either. The firm I used to work for closed down; the owner vanished with debts, the office was locked, staff were let go. I was on maternity leave, so the blow didnt hit me directly, but Milo will be three soon and I know Ill have to look for work again. A threeyear gap on a CV and a baby in tow isnt the sort of thing employers like.
Still, I dreamed of a different life. I imagined taking Milo to a nursery, stepping onto the tube, commuting to an office, chatting with real people instead of a baby whose only interest was cartoons. I wanted to remember who I was before motherhood.
Milos third birthday I organised myself. He ran around the flat in a fresh onesie, cheeks rosy with excitement.
Alex was nowhere to be seen.
Polly, wheres Alex? his mother, Susan, asked, looking around as if expecting him to appear from behind the curtains.
I have no idea, I managed a weak smile. He must be delayed.
How can he be delayed? his father, Ian, frowned. Its his sons birthday!
I shrugged. Id called Alex a dozen times, texted, but received no reply.
The guests exchanged glances, saying nothing aloud. My mother, Maggie, squeezed my hand under the table a silent comfort that changed nothing.
The party felt strained. Milo was happy, everyone else pretended everything was fine. I cut the cake, poured the tea, smiled at the guests, while inside something cracked, breaking into tiny shards that could never be pieced back together.
When the evening drew to a close, Milo fell asleep before anyone could change him out of his birthday outfit. I tucked him into his cot, adjusted the blanket, and returned to the living room. Chaos reigned: dirty dishes, ripped packaging, deflated balloons.
I began clearing the mess mechanically, without thought. Plates into the sink, wiping the table.
The sound of keys in the lock made me freeze. My watch read midnight. I peeked into the hallway.
Alex stood in the doorway, swaying. His eyes were bloodshot, his shirt rumpled, cheap perfume clinging to him, a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek. He stopped dead when he saw me.
Polly, its not what you think, his voice cracked. I had a whisky and lost my mind. One night I swear it wont happen again!
I exhaled slowly, a chill spreading through me as though ice was poured over my heart.
Where have you been? I whispered.
I was out with the lads. We went to a bar, there were girls, and
In the middle of my sons birthday, I interjected, anger rising. You were with some girl when Milo turned three!
Please, Polly, Im sorry! I didnt mean it! It just happened!
Just happened? My voice trembled. Youre a liar, a cheat. I trusted you completely. We have a family, a child! I never imagined youd stoop to this!
Youre to blame! Alex exploded. Look at yourself! There are plenty of beautiful women out there, and I come home to you! Of course I get distracted! Im a young man, I want love!
I turned and fled to the nursery. He called after me, but I didnt look back. I closed the door, slipped into the tiny room with Milo, lay down beside his narrow cot and stared into the darkness.
The next morning I packed my things mine and Milos. Alex tried to stop me, grabbing my arm, pleading for forgiveness and a second chance. I didnt budge. I hailed a cab, loaded the bags, and drove to my mothers house.
The first weeks were rough. Milo didnt understand why we were now living with Grandma, he cried, calling for his dad. I held him, kissed his forehead, whispered that everything would be alright, even though I didnt believe it myself.
Gradually life steadied. Maggie helped with Milo while I searched for work. A month later I landed a job not glamorous, but steady pay and a decent boss. I finalised the divorce; Alex didnt fight it, he only asked to see Milo. I agreed; Milo loves his father.
A few months later I moved into a modest onebed flat my own space, though tiny. It became ours, Milos and mine.
Alex started dropping by. At first rarely, then more often, fixing a leaking tap, helping assemble flatpack furniture, taking Milo for walks. I allowed it, not for me but for Milo. He delighted in his dad, laughing, clambering onto his shoulders. I couldnt take that away.
Six months after the divorce Alex remarried. I spotted him in a shopping centre with his new wife a tall, slim, impeccably dressed woman with perfectly styled hair and makeup.
He kept visiting, even more frequently than before, always praising his new wife.
Vickys a proper homemaker, hed say. The house is spotless, dinner always ready. She looks like a model.
I nodded, seething inside. Even after the split he managed to get under my skin.
Then an idea sparked. I could get back at him, petty but fair.
I began calling Alex for every trivial reason.
Alex, could you swing by? Milo wants to play.
Alex, the kitchen tap is leaking, could you help?
Alex, Milo misses you, could you come over?
He showed up each time. It turned out all he needed was a chance to be with his son, and he took it. Wed chat for an hour or two, Id tell him about Milos nursery antics, hed answer eagerly, as if starving for any contact.
Soon his wife Vicky grew irritated.
Alex, stop chatting with her! Enough! she snapped.
He brushed it off, but I could hear the tension in her voice, and it gave me a strange relief.
Months passed. One evening Alex turned up unannounced. I opened the door to his dishevelled face.
Were divorcing, he blurted, stepping inside.
What? I shut the door, leaning against it.
Vicky left. She couldnt stand us.
Stand what? Ians voice from the hallway his fatherinlaw asked, eyebrows raised. Your sons birthday!
Id tried calling, texting, nothing. The guests exchanged uneasy looks, while my mother squeezed my hand under the table again.
The party had been a thin veneer. Milo was smiling, the rest pretended normalcy. I was cutting cake, pouring tea, but inside something was cracking into irretrievable pieces.
When the night ended, Milo fell asleep straight away. I tucked him in, fixed the blanket, and faced the mess left behind. I started tidying, moving plates, wiping surfaces, the motions automatic.
The front door clicked. Alex stood there, eyes red, shirt crumpled, cheap perfume on his skin, a streak of red lipstick on his cheek. He froze when our eyes met.
Polly, its not what you think, he rasped. Im sorry, Id had a whisky and
I breathed out slowly, feeling an icy chill settle in my chest.
Where have you been? I asked softly.
I was out with the lads. We went into a bar, there were girls, and one
On my sons birthday, I cut in, voice trembling. You were with some girl when Milo turned three!
Polly, please forgive me! he pleaded, stepping forward. I didnt mean it! It just happened!
Just happened? My voice shook. Youre a cheat, a liar. I trusted you completely. We have a child! I never thought youd stoop to infidelity!
Youre the one at fault! Alex erupted. Look at yourself! There are gorgeous women everywhere, and I come home to you! Of course Im tempted! Im a young man! I want love!
I turned and walked back to Milos room. He called after me, but I didnt turn. I shut the door, lay down on the narrow bed beside him, and stared into the dark.
That morning I gathered our things mine and Milos and left. Alex tried to stop me, grabbing at my arm, begging for forgiveness and a second chance. I slipped into a taxi, loaded the suitcases, and drove to my mothers.
The weeks that followed were tough. Milo didnt understand why we were now living with Grandma, he cried for his dad. I held him close, kissed his forehead, whispered that everything would be alright, even though I didnt believe it.
Eventually life settled. Maggie looked after Milo while I hunted for work. Within a month I landed a position modest pay, decent boss. The divorce was finalised; Alex didnt resist, only asked to see Milo. I agreed; Milo loves his father.
A few months later I moved into a snug onebed flat my own space, though tiny. It became our little home, Milos and mine.
Alex began visiting again. At first rarely, then more often, fixing a dripping tap, assembling furniture, taking Milo for walks. I permitted it, not for myself but for Milo. He delighted in his dad, laughing, clambering onto his shoulders. I couldnt strip that away.
Six months after the split Alex remarried. I saw him in a shopping centre with his new wife a slender, wellkept woman with flawless makeup and a crisp dress.
He kept turning up, even more often than before, always boasting about his new wife.
Vickys proper efficient, hed say. House always spotless, dinner ready. She looks like a model.
I nodded, fury simmering beneath. Even after the divorce he managed to get under my skin.
Then a thought struck. I could get back at him, petty but just.
I started phoning Alex for every little thing.
Alex, could you pop over? Milo wants to play.
Alex, the kitchen tap is dripping, could you help?
Alex, Milo misses you, could you come?
He turned up each time. It turned out all he needed was a chance to be with his son, and he took it. Wed chat for an hour or two, Id tell him about Milos antics at nursery, hed answer eagerly, as if starved for any contact.
Soon his wife Vicky grew irritated.
Alex, stop talking to her! Enough! she snapped.
He brushed it off, but I could hear the tension, and it gave me a strange relief.
Months later Alex barged in one evening without warning. I opened the door to his wornout face, hair dishevelled.
Were divorcing, he blurted, stepping inside.
What? I shut the door, pressing my back against it.
Vicky left. She couldnt stand this.
Stand what? Ian asked from the hallway, eyebrows raised. Your sons birthday!
Id called him a dozen times, texting, but got no answer. The guests exchanged uneasy glances, while my mother squeezed my hand under the table again.
The party had been a thin veneer. Milo was smiling, the rest pretended normalcy. I was cutting cake, pouring tea, but inside something cracked into irretrievable pieces.
When the night ended, Milo fell asleep straight away. I tucked him in, fixed the blanket, and faced the mess left behind. I started tidying, moving plates, wiping surfaces, the motions automatic.
The front door clicked. Alex stood there, eyes red, shirt crumpled, cheap perfume on his skin, a streak of red lipstick on his cheek. He froze when our eyes met.
Polly, its not what you think, he rasped. Im sorry, Id had a whisky and
I breathed out slowly, feeling an icy chill settle in my chest.
Where have you been? I asked softly.
I was out with the lads. We went into a bar, there were girls, and one
On my sons birthday, I cut in, voice trembling. You were with some girl when Milo turned three!
Polly, please forgive me! he pleaded, stepping forward. I didnt mean it! It just happened!
Just happened? My voice shook. Youre a cheat, a liar. I trusted you completely. We have a child! I never thought youd stoop to infidelity!
Youre the one at fault! Alex erupted. Look at yourself! There are gorgeous women everywhere, and I come home to you! Of course Im tempted! Im a young man! I want love!
I turned and walked back to Milos room. He called after me, but I didnt turn. I shut the door, lay down on the narrow bed beside him, and stared into the dark.
That morning I gathered our things mine and Milos and left. Alex tried to stop me, grabbing at my arm, begging for forgiveness and a second chance. I slipped into a taxi, loaded the suitcases, and drove to my mothers.
The weeks that followed were tough. Milo didnt understand why we were now living with Grandma, he cried for his dad. I held him close, kissed his forehead, whispered that everything would be alright, even though I didnt believe it.
Eventually life settled. Maggie looked after Milo while I hunted for work. Within a month I landed a position modest pay, decent boss. The divorce was finalised; Alex didnt resist, only asked to see Milo. I agreed; Milo loves his father.
A few months later I moved into a snug onebed flat my own space, though tiny. It became our little home, Milos and mine.
Alex began visiting again. At first rarely, then more often, fixing a dripping tap, assembling furniture, taking Milo for walks. I permitted it, not for myself but for Milo. He delighted in his dad, laughing, clambering onto his shoulders. I couldnt strip that away.
Six months after the split Alex remarried. I saw him in a shopping centre with his new wife a slender, wellkept woman with flawless makeup and a crisp dress.
He kept turning up, even more oftenAnd as I watched them walk away, I finally felt the quiet freedom of a life reclaimed.
