“You’re never happy with anything, are you?” I snapped at my mother-in-law. The next day, she took her revenge in the cruelest way possible.
My name is William. These days, I live in Manchester, married for the second time, with a wonderful family and a young son. But the scar from my first marriage still aches—because my daughter was left behind in it. Left behind, and not by my choice.
I met my first wife, Emily, during our second year at university. We grew close quickly, dated for a few months. Then I started realising my feelings were fading—just as Emily told me she was pregnant. We were too young, and I knew right then things were going wrong. Still, I didn’t run from responsibility. We married. Her parents gifted us a one-bedroom flat as a wedding present; mine paid for a seaside holiday.
Months later, our daughter, Charlotte, was born. I loved her the moment I saw her. But honestly, there was no harmony in our marriage. The biggest problem? My mother-in-law, Margaret. She lived in the next building over and practically lived in our flat. Endless criticism—how I held the baby, how I spoke to Emily, how little I earned. I bit my tongue. For a long time. For my wife and child.
One evening, I came home exhausted from work to yet another scene. Margaret was displeased, as usual. And then—I snapped.
“For God’s sake! Why are you never happy with anything? Have you ever smiled, ever said one kind word in your life?”
She said nothing. Just turned and left. I thought—good. Maybe she’ll finally reflect. But I had no idea what nightmare awaited me the next day.
When I got home, my key wouldn’t turn in the lock. Two suitcases sat beside the door. It took me a moment to realise what was happening. I pounded, rang the bell, shouted. Through the door, Margaret answered:
“Take your things and get out. You’ll never see your wife or daughter again.”
I thought it was a joke. It wasn’t. Emily didn’t even come out. A week later, she filed for divorce. No discussion. No chance to explain. I was left with nothing—no family, no answers, no daughter.
Years passed. I married again. My second wife, Sophie, gave me a son. I’m happy, I love them, I cherish every moment. But my heart still aches—for Charlotte. Every month, I pay child support without fail. Emily takes the money but won’t let me see my daughter. No photos, no calls, no visits.
Why? I don’t know. I never cheated. Never raised a hand. All I did was lose my temper and speak the truth to her mother.
And for that—I was erased from my own child’s life.
Some wounds never really heal.
