Harry, can you hear yourself? So Im supposed to wait until Im forty to mop up the messes of your teenage years? And why should I be the one paying because you found your garage more exciting than your own son? Emma asked, genuine bafflement in her tone.
Oh, come off it, love! Harry pressed on. I was stupid, I didnt value it, I didnt realise what I was losing. And now everythings gone sideways; Sam doesnt even see me as his dad.
And why not? Emma smiled wryly. He spent seventeen years not with his father but with the neighbour down the lane. Did you really think a child is a switch you can flick on and off whenever you feel like playing dad?
Harrys face darkened, his brow furrowed. The familiar irritation flared in his eyes the very look Emma always caught whenever his parental duties came up.
Emma, thats enough! Its all history now. Give me one more shot, he stubbornly pleaded.
So you can have a fling and dump everything on me, another kid growing up without a father? Emma crossed her arms. Thanks, but Ive had enough. No, Harry, thats not even up for discussion.
A mask of wounded pride twisted his features. He found no retort, so he huffed, slammed his phone down and walked away.
The argument was exhaustedfor now. The problem, however, lingered. Emmas heart was heavy, not just from Harrys absurd demands, but from concern for their son, Sam.
Emma had been twentythree when Sam arrived. She could still picture herself outside the maternity ward, exhausted yet glowing, cradling a tiny bundle swaddled in a white blanket. Harry hovered like a raven, never moving an inch. He beamed with happiness, occasionally adjusting the blanket, planting kisses on Emmas forehead, and reverently hoisting Sam into his arms.
Look at that! With the same little dimple on his chin, he cooed, eyes sparkling. Im a dad now, Emma. Im finally getting it. Ill do everything with him! Walks, changing diapers, teaching him to kick a football Ill be the best dad ever, just you wait!
Emma returned his enthusiasm with an equally bright look, believing every word. She imagined a pictureperfect family, brimming with love, care, and shared joy.
Reality, as it often does, turned out to be far more prosaic and harsh.
It was a deep night. Emma, dark circles under her eyes, paced the bedroom, gently rocking the wailing infant for the third time that evening. Harry, meanwhile, tossed restlessly, pulling the duvet over his head.
Just put him down, will you? he muttered. Ive got work early tomorrow!
Moments like that forced Emma into the spare room, tears of helplessness brimming. The babys cries grew louder, pleading to stay in the bedroom, but Emma had no choice. She shut the door and rocked Sam for hours, hoping to buy Harry a few more minutes of sleep.
On a weekend, exhausted from a sleepless week, Emma timidly asked:
Harry, could you take him out for a couple of hours? Im falling apart, I need a nap
Not now, love. Ive got plans. The lads promised to drop off a new bike, well be fixing it.
But I cant
Youre strong, Emma. Youll manage. Ill be back later and help.
The door closed, leaving Emma alone with her strength and an exhausting parental duty. The promised later never materialised.
Time marched on. Sam grew. Emma tried to forge any connection between father and son. She approached Harry, who was slumped in his armchair watching the football, and handed him the rosycheeked toddler, tugging at his tiny hands.
Take him, spend a bit of time with him, she said, no longer pleading for a break but hoping to knit the family together.
Harry took the boy reluctantly, as if a suspicious package had just been thrust into his lap. He held Sam on outstretched arms, not pulling him close, eyes glued to the TV. A minute and a half later he set the child down on the floor and returned to the match.
Now Sam was five, building a tower of blocks on the livingroom carpet. Harry passed the sofa, glance never meeting his son. Sam didnt look up either; hed grown accustomed to his fathers absence.
Harry wasnt a complete failure as a husband. He brought home a steady paycheck, helped Emma with cooking and tidying, but he missed Sams childhood entirely. No wonder Sam, now a teenager, didnt see him as a dad.
Sam, hows school going? Harry asked one afternoon.
Uh fine, Sam mumbled.
Grades alright? Harry persisted. Let me know if you need help. I dont want my boy ending up as a binman.
No thanks, Dad, Im good, Sam replied, edging toward his room.
Fancy a weekend fishing trip? Harry called after him.
Sam never answered. Emma knew hed got a school disco that night, had asked a girl from his class to dance, and shed turned him down. He also had zero interest in fishing.
The train had clearly left the station. Sam was no longer the little lad begging for his fathers attention. The childhood Harry hoped to recoup was irrevocably gone. When he finally grasped this, he started dreaming of a clean slate a second child. Emma, whod endured every sleepless night, was adamantly against it.
Soon the whole family was aware of the friction.
Dear, Ive heard the whole story, Harry. Listen to your mother, have another baby. Hes changed, grown up! Give him another chance. Itll be wonderful to raise another little one! said his mother, stepping in.
His motherinlaw added:
Emma, if you dont have another, you might lose him. A man wants to be a dad. If you wont, someone else will. Think of the future. Your first son will soon fly the nest, and a second will cement your marriage and give you support in old age.
Emma felt twice as insulted hearing this from other women. It was as if her body and life had become a bargaining chip. Everyone saw her as a mother and wife, not as a weary woman whod walked this road before and remembered how it ended.
In desperation she hatched a halfmad plan that would prove a point. She dug out an old box of Sams baby things from the loft and found a dusty, stillworking Tamagotchi. A tiny electronic pet that needed feeding, entertaining, medicating, and cleaning.
When Harry came home from work, Emma handed him the plastic egg with a tiny grey screen.
Whats this? he asked, puzzled, eyeing the gift.
Consider it your probation period. Feed it on schedule, press the buttons, treat it like a baby. If after a year your Tamagotchi is still alive, Ill believe youre ready for a real child.
Harry stared at Emma, then burst out laughing, assuming it was a joke. But seeing her deadpan expression turned his mirth into irritation.
Youre serious? Comparing a living child to a toy?
Start with this, then. If you cant handle this thing, how can you manage a real kid?
He smirked, shoved the gadget into his jacket pocket, and went about his day.
For the first three nights he dutifully got up to feed the virtual pet. By the fifth night he was losing his mind, but he soldiered on. After a week he complained that the lack of sleep was ruining his job.
On the eighth day, returning home, he flung the Tamagotchi onto the kitchen table. A glaring red cross blinked on the screen hed failed.
Forgot to feed it, work was crazy, Harry muttered, avoiding Emmas gaze.
Arguments and squabbles continued, though they quieted down. The tension and resentment lingered, but Harry no longer pushed his agenda with such fervour.
Three years later everything fell into place. Sam, now a university student, brought his girlfriend home and announced they were expecting.
Harry, reborn with enthusiasm, now talked about a second chance this time as a grandfather. He splurged on a babycarriage with savedup cash, bought oversized overalls and tiny building sets, swearing hed be the worlds best granddad.
Emma watched all this with a healthy dose of scepticism.
When the grandchild arrived, the familiar pattern repeated. The first weeks Harry was a whirlwind of diaper changes and photoops. But once the initial high faded, his zeal dimmed. He insisted the young couple move into a rented flat, and his help was reduced to occasional, meticulously planned weekend visits, when the baby was fed, changed and in a good mood. The moment the infant whined, Harry would find an urgent work call, a meeting, or an excuse to retreat to the garden.
Emma stepped in, looking at the tableau of her son, his exhausted partner, and the everpresentyetabsent Harry, and knew shed made the right call. Sam grew into a considerate, responsible man who never left his wife alone. Harry he remained the man who loved the idea of fatherhood, not its reality.
