31 October
Dear Diary,
Im at the end of my rope. Mark shouted, Youve driven me up the wall, Emily! Are you finally going to sign those papers? I snapped back, Thats why we split, you never understood me. My nerves are frayed, and Im terrified for the kids future. He replied, Exactly why I left you! and then, Im worried about what will happen to them.
I tried to calm him. The children will be fine, especially since my mum is coming with us. He muttered, Coverup. I exploded, Im travelling for work! Im going abroad for a jobcan you comprehend that? He nodded, I can. Then he added, Im sure youll meet some foreigner, marry him, and never look back.
I told him I wasnt earning a fortune just to jet off and abandon my children. Im not planning to settle anywhere, I said, voice shaking. He raised his voice, I dont believe a word you say! Youre taking your mum, you have no one elseso youre moving the whole family overseas! He warned me not to lie about staying if an opportunity arose, and insisted I couldnt deprive the children of a father because of my personal life.
Mark reminded me that after the divorce the children had stayed with methree of them, if you hadnt forgotten. Women with three kids arent exactly in high demand, I whispered, Im travelling solely for work, but I cant neglect the children. While Im working, my mum will take them to amusement parks, beaches, and the like. He scoffed, Your mum could do that here; you can go wherever you please. I pleaded, Dont be worse than you already are. The kids are on holiday, Im abroad for the peak seasonlet them have a proper break. He retorted, They have nothing to rest from, but they can still enjoy time back home. I wont give up my right to be part of their upbringing.
I reminded him, I put half my salary toward their upkeep, so I have a say. He snapped, Its not about the money! I dont want to lose my children. I pressed, Is that your real point? He confirmed, Yesno permission for them to leave the country. I sighed in relief that Id raised the issue early; it was clear the road ahead would be rough.
He asked, Do you have a new boyfriend? I demanded an answer as his exwife. No, he said, when half my wage disappears, relationships dont bloom. I promised to sort the salary question and even improve his finances. He looked uneasy. Theres a court case coming. Youll file for a residence order for the children while Im abroad on work. You wont have to pay child support, and Ill receive half of my salary from you. Then the kids will stay in the UK with you, which you want so badly. He staggered, Youre out of your mind. I warned that if he refused, Id sue for loss of parental rightspaying maintenance isnt enough, his lack of involvement is.
He stood like a statue, stunned. I smiled, You could simply sign the documents for the childrens travel. He muttered, The kids will stay with me, like a soulless puppet. Excellent, I replied. I have three months before I leave, enough time to settle everything. I can even send my mum to help you.
Everyone could see that Mark and I were a mismatch. Our arguments were loud, promises empty, plans grandiose. Perhaps youthful idealism still clung to us. When we married, friends wagered on when wed split, shouting, How are you two managing? Yet we somehow kept the peacesometimes I gave in, sometimes he backed down. Our parents hoped wed work it out, fretting over each quarrel, bewildered why we didnt crumble.
My parents gifted us a flat, which needed renovation and furnishing. The passionate reconciling slowed the work to a crawl. Living in a halffinished house was amusing but impractical. Then I discovered I was pregnant. Mark, a man of physical labour, finished the renovations within two weeks of our daughters birth. I, a designer at heart, wanted something different, but a newborn forced me to accept what was done.
He could sweep cement, concrete, and sawdust with ease, but asking him to mop a floor felt too much. He could wash paintstained clothes, but loading the washing machine and hanging them was beyond him. He could cook, yet hated the chore. Our marriage teetered on the brink of divorce for eleven years, yet somehow survived.
Our second and third children arrived, baffling everyone. The divorce became a nightmare. Mark packed, left a note, and vanished for three years without a word. Our eldest, now eleven, our son seven, and the youngest three, were left without a fathers presence. Only the occasional child support reminded me he existed.
Then my employer offered a twomonth overseas assignment with everything providedhousing, allowances, and permission to take all three children and a chaperone. I hurried to secure the paperwork, needing Marks consent, which he refused. The clock ticked, and the court loomed.
I was nervous leaving the kids with Mark for two months. If he had been any more involved after the divorce, this would have been easier. But our older daughter, Grace, fourteen now, had become my little helper. James, ten, and Lily, six, werent infants; they understood more than I gave them credit for. The childrens paternal grandmother, Mrs. Margaret, was sent as a community liaison, essentially to keep Mark in lineshe could summon a solicitor if he misbehaved.
From a distance, I learned Mark had lost twenty pounds, dark circles under his eyes, and owed me thirty thousand pounds. Hes thin as a rail, Mrs. Margaret reported, and still owes me the money. I asked about the kids; she replied, Theyre happy, they built a fort for Dad in three days, and when he tried to protest, I stepped in and read him the law. I pressed, Are they safe? Images of junk food, endless screens, and unsupervised fun flashed before my eyes. Grace keeps them in line, James even reads to them, she said. I felt a sliver of relief.
When I returned home, I discovered a citywide manhunt for me. A week before my scheduled return, Mark offered ten thousand pounds to anyone whod alert him to my whereabouts, hoping to retrieve the children. They handed me over like broken glass after a party.
Mark burst into the flat the moment I opened the door. Give them back now! he shouted. I snapped, Im not even back yet! Im only here for a week before a yearlong contract starts! He accused me of lying, claiming hed been at my workplace and that my assignment was a oneoff. I laughed incredulously, You actually visited my office? He boasted hed spoken to the director personally and demanded I hand over the children, promising to deliver any necessary travel papers on his teeth.
I reminded him of the court rulings: we had established the childrens residence, I was paying child support, and the court had granted me the right to take them abroad. I had a mountain of work and no time to file another suit; Id rather continue paying support and visiting every few weeks.
Mark turned pale, sweating, as if about to faint. Youre the father of the year! You won the case against your exwife, now youre supposed to raise the kids! he roared, lightning flashing in his eyes. Ill try to be a decent Sundaymorning dad, unlike you, who never visited in three years! I begged, Please, take them, I have no strength left. Ill come every weekend! He fell to his knees, crawling toward me, pleading, Please, Im exhausted. Theyve drained me!
Ive lived like this, I said, and a former husband never helps. He swore hed help, just keep the children away from me. He collapsed, crawling, whispering, Help me, please.
The courtroom drama that followed was a circus; the children were briefly placed under the care of social services, but assessments concluded they treated the whole ordeal as a strange adventure. In the end, they regained a fatherflawed, clumsy, but present. Over the years, any bad memories of Mark faded; he never became Father of the Year, yet he tried his best.
I write this now, exhausted but hopeful, wondering how far weve come and how much further well have to go.
