What did you expect? muttered Michael, his tone as flat as a crumpet left out overnight. Ive never lied, have I? From day one, I told youchildren arent my thing.
My chest tightened, a strange flutter in my lungs.
How can you not cherish your own son, Mike? Hes your future! You never even call him by name Why always that one?
Thomas, our chubby one-year-old, sat in his highchair with bits of porridge stuck to his chin, dropping his rattle onto the tiled floor.
He froze, inhaled sharply, and unleashed a piercing wail that nearly made my ears ring.
I rushed over, scooped him up, and shot Michael a glare.
Unfazed, he continued crunching his toast.
Its alright, love, I murmured, You just dropped it, thats all. Daddy will pick it up. Mike, could you hand it over? Its rolled by your foot.
Michael glanced down. The yellow giraffe lay beside his slipper.
He nudged it away with his toe, then reached for more butter.
Mike! I snapped. Why kick it? Is bending down such a monumental effort?
He stood, silent as Big Ben at midnight, wandered to the kettle, pressed the switch, waited for his tea to brew, and finally turned to face me.
Im running late, Laura. Got a meeting in forty minutes and havent finished my breakfast.
Traffics a nightmare everywhere. Just grab the rattle yourself! Im not risking my shirtdont fancy wearing his breakfast to work.
Whats a shirt compared to our sons tears? You act like you couldnt care less
He cries all day, Mike replied, cool as a breeze. Its his favourite hobbydriving me up the wall. Anyway, Im off.
He pecked my cheek and dodged Thomass sticky hands.
Da-da! Thomas beamed, his toothless grin stretching wide.
Mike ignored him.
Bye, he tossed over his shoulder, disappearing from the kitchen.
A minute later, the door slammed. I sank into a chair and let the tears come.
Why does he treat me this way? What have I done wrong? And what did our child do to deserve it?
Thomas, sensing the gloom, quieted and began smearing porridge across the table.
After a good cry, I tried to pull myself together. I couldnt let my son absorb my sadness.
Suddenly, I remembered a conversation with Mikejust after our wedding, hed said:
Laura, honestly, I dont like children. Any children. They make me uneasy. The noise, the mess, the constant whining
Why bother? Lets skip the whole children thing, yeah?
Id laughed it off:
Oh, dont be silly, Mike. All men say that until they hold their own. Instinct kicks inyou wont even notice.
No instinct ever arrived, and he couldnt stand his own son.
***
By midday, my parents arrived. Mum, Helen, burst in first, followed by Dad, George, lugging a box of building blocks.
Wheres our little prince? Wheres the boss? George bellowed from the hallway. Come here, lad!
Thomas squealed with delight, and for two hours, peace reigned.
I finally collapsed onto the sofa with a cup of tea, watching Dad build towers and Mum spoon fruit puree, singing silly rhymes.
Laura, you look pale, Mum observed. Did Mike get in late again?
No, he was on time, I mumbled, eyes downcast. Just exhausted.
Helen pursed her lips. She saw everything. Shed noticed the lack of family photos with Thomas, except those from the hospital, where Mike looked like a prisoner.
She knew her son-in-law never asked about teeth or vaccinationshed never shown interest in his son. Id complained more than once
Does he ever spend time with him? Dad asked quietly.
Dad, please dont start. He works hard, hes shattered.
Work! George snorted. I worked two jobs when you and your brother were little. Still popped in to your cot, even at night, so your mum could sleep! This one thinks hes the King of England.
George, hush, Helen scolded. Laura, maybe you should talk to him? It cant go on. The boy needs his dad, a proper male role model.
Ive tried, Mum. A hundred times.
I hugged myself, shame prickling. I knew Id chosen the wrong father for my son.
And what does he say?
He says, Let him grow up. When hes a person, Ill talk to him. For now, hes your problem.
Just yours?! Mum dropped the tea towel. Did you make him solo? He wasnt involved? What a fool, honestly!
That evening, after my parents left, my spirits sank again. Mike would be home soon, and I still needed to sort dinner and clear up the toys so he wouldnt step on something and start moaning.
Mike returned at eight.
Hi, he tossed his keys in the bowl. Anything to eat? Im starving.
Cutlets are in the oven, salads on the table, I said, drying my hands. Thomas said two new words today: gran and give.
Brilliant, he replied, shrugging off his jacket. Hope give wasnt about my wages? Hes costing me a fortune.
He chuckled at his own joke and headed to the bedroom to change. I froze.
It wasnt just rudenessit was pure indifference to his only child. Whether his son spoke or barked, hed react the same.
***
Thomas was teething. The boy whimpered from dawn, and the whole house had been up half the night.
I carried him, rubbed gel on his gums, played cartoonsnothing worked.
Mike had the day off.
He sat in the lounge with his laptop, headphones clamped on, trying to binge a series, but the wailing cut through the noise-cancelling.
Around two, I tried to put Thomas down for a nap. It was my only chance to breathe, shower, and enjoy a sliver of quiet.
But Thomas resisted. He arched his back, hurled his dummy, and screamed so loud the lampshade trembled.
The bedroom door burst openMike stood in the doorway.
Laura, how much longer?! he barked. Ive listened to this racket for four hours! My heads splitting!
Thomas, spooked by the shouting, sobbed harder, and I snapped:
You think I enjoy this?! Hes teething! Hes in agony!
Do something! Shut him up, I dont care Give him medicine!
I did! He needs sleep!
Mike stepped in, looming.
Stop torturing him. If he wont sleep, dont force it. Let him crawl and scream in another room. Take him to the kitchen and shut the door!
Are you serious? I was stunned. Hes only one! He cant go without a nap.
If he doesnt sleep now, tonight will be a nightmare. None of us will cope.
I dont care about his nerves! Skip the naphell crash earlier tonight. Makes sense, right?
Im sick of this moaning. I want to relax at home, alright? Im fed up with this madhouse!
Relax?! I stood, clutching my sniffling son. You want to unwind? What about me? I havent eaten today! I cant even nip to the loo without him!
If he doesnt nap, Ill collapse, Mike. I need this hour. I do!
Oh, here we go, he rolled his eyes. Supermum. Everyones got kids, everyone copes, but youre the most miserable.
Put him on the floor, let him play. Go cook or do whatever Hell amuse himself.
Do you hear yourself? My voice shook. Hes your son. Hes suffering, his teeth are coming through. You want to deprive him of sleep so you can watch your precious show?
Im offering a solution! Mike shouted. If he wont sleep, dont force it! Simple!
Thomas cried again, burying his face in my chest. I looked at my husband, disgusted.
Leave, I said quietly.
What? Michael was baffled.
Get out of the room. And close the door.
Mike stood for a moment, snorted, and left, slamming the door.
Twenty minutes later, Thomas, exhausted, finally nodded off, breathing in ragged sighs.
I headed to the kitchen. Mike sat at the table, munching a sandwich and scrolling his phone.
I rang your mum yesterday, I said, leaning on the doorframe.
Mike stiffened, put down his phone.
Why?
I wanted to understand whats happening between us. I asked what you were like as a child, how your parents treated you.
She said your dad never let you out of his arms. Took you fishing at three, read you stories.
You grew up loved, Mike. Where did this come from?
Mike turned to me slowly.
If you complain to my mother again, well have a serious problem.
I wasnt complaining. I wanted advice.
Advice? he smirked. You know what she told me? That Im cold, that Im wrecking my family.
Youve made me a monster, Laura. Well done! Is that what you wanted?
Arent you a monster? I asked softly. Look at yourself. You live with us like a lodger.
You havent called your son by name once this week. He, the little one, that one. Do you hate him?
Mike was silent.
I dont hate him, he finally muttered. I just I havent a clue what to do with him.
He screams, he stinks, he demands, demands, demands!
I come homeits chaos, and I want peace, I want to talk to you, watch a film.
Instead, its nappies, toys everywhere, and your constant sour face.
Its temporary, Mike. Kids grow up
Far too slowly, Laura. I warned you, I was honest: I dont like them. Did you think I was joking? Or that your great love would change me?
I thought you were grown up. And that I dont like children and I dont like my own child arent the same.
Turns out they are, he said, tossing his half-eaten sandwich in the bin. Im going for a walk. I need air.
Go, I turned to the sink. Go. Thomas and I are used to it.
He left, and I rang my parents. Something had to change, and soon.
***
That evening, Thomas woke in a cheerful mood. The pain had eased, and he crawled across the carpet, chasing the cat, whod wisely hidden under the sofa.
Mike returned two hours later. I didnt react. He slumped into an armchair and grabbed the remote.
Thomas spotted his dad. The boy grinned, shuffled over on his knees, stood clutching Mikes trouser leg, and peered up at him.
Da! he chirped, offering a toy car.
I held my breath, watching. Mike glanced at his son, grimaced, and said to me:
Take him away, will you? Let me watch telly in peace! Whys he glued to me? Go bother your mum!
I scooped up Thomas and carried him to the bedroom. An hour later, I dragged out two enormous suitcases. Mike barely had time to react before the doorbell rang. My parents had come for me and their grandson.
***
For a month, Mikes mum tried to coax me back, but I stood firm.
I filed for divorce days after moving out, refusing to live with my husband.
Mike suddenly repented, tried to see me and Thomas, but I insisted: everything went through the courts.
Thomas would be raised by my fathera true English gentleman, through and through.
Reflecting on it all, I realised: honesty before marriage is vital, but love alone cannot change someones heart.
