I love him, but I don’t want his child to grow up without a father.
Hello. My name’s Emily, and right now, I’m at a crossroads that could change not just my life, but two others as well. I’m twenty-nine, live in Manchester, work at a small law firm, and have friends, family… but my heart belongs to someone I can’t be with openly. And this isn’t just some cheaty little love drama. It’s been a year of pure torture.
I was with Liam for three years. Young, in love, carefree. We fought, made up, made plans. I believed he was my person, and he’d say he couldn’t breathe without me. We were happy—until one stupid row over nothing. Both of us too proud to apologise, too stubborn to reach out first. Ah, youth.
Months passed. I missed him. Stared at my phone, willing a message to appear. Never texted, never called—too proud. Then I found out he was seeing someone else. A girl from the office next door, quiet, reserved… and pregnant within months. It felt like my heart got ripped out. I remember standing by the window, chest hollow, as if an icy gale had settled inside.
When his daughter was born, I somehow mustered the nerve to call—just to say congratulations. He went silent for a second, then said:
*”You’ve no idea how glad I am to hear your voice. Let’s meet?”*
I don’t know why I agreed. Maybe just to see his face. At the café, we barely spoke. Just looked at each other, silent, and in that silence was everything—love, pain, regret. He held my hand, and I cried without a word.
From that day, we started meeting. Irregularly, carefully, as if we were scared of ourselves. A year of stolen moments—though, honestly, nothing physical ever happened. I couldn’t. Every time I pictured his daughter, that little girl waiting at home with her mum’s eyes, my stomach twisted.
Liam kept saying home was unbearable. That with the mother of his child, there was nothing left but duty. That he didn’t love her anymore. That he dreamed of me. And over and over, he’d ask:
*”What if I left? What if I came back? Would you take me?”*
I stayed quiet. Because I didn’t know the answer. Because even if I loved him, I didn’t just see *him*—I saw a father. And his daughter, Sophie, who couldn’t even talk yet but already knew her dad’s smile, the smell of his jacket, the way he hugged her before bed.
How could I take that from her? How could I be the reason a little girl grows up without her dad?
Maybe they don’t love each other. Maybe they’re staying together for the child. But is that a crime? Plenty of families do it—some even make it work, some just learn to live with it. If I ruin this, could I *ever* be happy, knowing Sophie’s missing her father?
I’m terrified. I’m in agony. I dream of him, fall asleep thinking of him, can’t even look at other men. I don’t want anyone but him. He’s my air. But do I have the right to this happiness?
Sometimes I think—what if I were Sophie? What if some other woman stole my dad? I remember too well growing up without mine. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
Liam’s waiting for an answer. He’s talking more and more about leaving her. Begging:
*”Please. Just tell me what you want. I’ll walk away today—just say the word.”*
And me? I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know how to do the right thing. My head says one thing—walk away, leave it be, don’t wreck a child’s life. But my heart? It’s screaming for him, begging me not to let go.
If you’re reading this, if you’ve been in this mess—tell me, what do I do? Can you build your own happiness without wrecking someone else’s? Or does love always come with collateral damage?
I love him. But I don’t want his child to grow up without a father.
And for the first time in my life, I think I’m truly scared.
