I always believed my dad loved me more than my mum. He spoiled me with little treats and kindness, while she was quick to scold and nitpick. Dad was always the first to smooth things over after an argument, but Mum never shied away from confrontation. So when I learned they were getting a divorce, I actually felt a bit relieved. At thirteen, I definitely didnt want to stay with Mum and, besides, I thought Dad, being the breadwinner, would be better equipped to look after me. Both parents were curious about which one Id choose; Mum had hoped Id stay with her, though she didnt seem surprised when I picked Dad.
About a year after we moved out, Dad began seeing someone new. She was about Mums age, and Dad was smitten. She treated me fairly, but without the warmth and affection Mum always gave me. Once they had a daughter together, it felt as though Id faded into the background. Theyd head off together as a trio, barely considering me, or throw fancy dinner parties when I wasnt around. A cot appeared in my room, and ever since the baby arrived, I couldnt sleep properly. She cried through the night, my stepmum would come in to feed her and switch on the light…
Dad barely seemed to notice how all this was affecting memy mood or my grades. He didnt mind if I stayed out late with friends, either. At some point, I realised things couldnt go on like this. I wanted to go to university, I had plans. If I kept losing sleep, Id never manage to study. For my own sake, I swallowed my pride and phoned Mum.
Can I come over? I asked, not getting my hopes up. I rarely called her, and visits were even more infrequent. Of course, sweetheart, she replied. Come for as long as you want. Is your sister tiring you out?
I did pity Mum. Dad had his new family, all his worries, and she was left on her own.
If I could rewind time, maybe I would have chosen to stay with her. But then again, perhaps Id regret that just as much and forever wonder if things might have been better somewhere else.
