Emily was about to go to bed when she heard quiet, muffled sobs from her son’s room. She jumped up and rushed to him, her heart racing.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” She perched on the edge of his bed, resting a hand on his shoulder.
Oliver jerked away, burying his face in his pillow before muttering, “Go away. I don’t want to see you.”
Emily felt like she’d been punched in the gut.
“What are you talking about, Ollie? Why?”
“Because you’re… you’re horrible!” He sat up, tears brimming in his eyes. “Dad told me everything! I know the truth about you!”
She remembered how it all started—with the phrase William would throw at her during every argument:
“If you’re so clever, why don’t you just leave?”
Every time, she’d bite her tongue, swallow her pride, and stay. Because that’s what she’d been taught—women endure, keep the family together, carry the weight, even if it feels like they’re barely living.
But that night, something inside her snapped. She met his gaze and, for the first time, didn’t back down.
“Fine,” she said calmly.
William faltered. Then, with his usual smirk, he scoffed, “Sleep on it. You’ll change your mind.”
She didn’t. She lay awake all night, replaying every year with him—the fights, the disrespect, his mother’s shadow looming over their home. No decision was ever hers. Even Oliver saw his dad and gran as the ones in charge. That’s when she realised—she didn’t exist here anymore.
The next morning, she silently gathered her things. William screamed, tore down the curtains, snatched the iron, the pans, even the shower curtain—anything bought during their marriage, he took.
“Go on, then! Live without us and without ‘our’ things!” his mother spat, clutching a bulging bag as they left.
Emily stood in the emptying flat and didn’t shed a single tear.
The divorce went smoothly—William and his mum didn’t even show up. And to her surprise, two years later, no one tried to take Oliver from her. She worked, raised him alone, didn’t look for love—but love found her anyway.
James came into their lives quietly. No grand declarations, no empty promises—just steady support. He listened. He helped.
“I get it,” he’d say. “Oliver comes first. That’s how it should be. He and I will figure it out.”
She didn’t realise then how those kind words could one day be twisted against her.
At first, everything was fine. Oliver and James bonded over toy cars, built garages with Lego. But lately, her son had grown distant—avoiding eye contact, snapping at questions. And that night, he outright told her to leave.
“You want to get rid of me!” he shrieked, leaping up. “You’ll have a new baby, and then you’ll send me away! Dad said so!”
Emily’s blood ran cold.
“Who told you that, Ollie?”
“Dad! He said you’ve already agreed to hand me over because I’m in the way!”
She fought back tears as she pulled him close, whispering, “Never, okay? I’d never leave you. You’re mine. Always.”
He resisted at first but eventually hugged her back. Still, the doubt in his eyes lingered—and that hurt worst of all.
A few days later, Oliver returned from his dad’s beaming, full of stories about fishing and boat rides. But by evening, he sat silent, staring at his shoes.
“You were so happy earlier. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, turning away.
“Ollie,” she pleaded, “please tell me—”
“You asked him to take me, didn’t you?” he burst out. “Because I’m in your way!”
This wasn’t just pain—it was a knife to the heart.
Emily grabbed her phone. William’s voice on the other end was smug.
“What do you want? He’s with you, isn’t he?”
“I want you to stop lying. If you poison his mind against me again, you’ll lose visitation. Understood?”
“Threatening me now?” he sneered. “You’re making things up!”
“Really? So Oliver imagined me abandoning him when I have another child?”
Silence.
“You’ve paid child support three times in two years. Shall I take you back to court? I’m sure the judge would love to hear about your little ‘stories’.”
More silence.
“Watch your mouth, William. Don’t you dare try this again.”
She hung up, exhaling hard. Her hands shook, but James was there, his hand warm on her shoulder.
“Everything alright?” he asked quietly.
“It will be,” she nodded. “I won’t back down now.”
That night, she sat by Oliver’s bed, stroking his hair as he slept. He still seemed wary, but the light in him was returning. She knew this wasn’t over—William wouldn’t stop trying to plant fear and anger in their son.
But she wasn’t alone anymore.
She was strong now. And she had someone who didn’t ask her to divide her love—just to share it.
