**Diary Entry 5th October**
Its been three years since I married Oliver. He used to be so differentclimbed trees, made grand declarations in front of our friends, swore hed do anything for me. Funny how things change. A year and a half into the marriage, he stopped seeing me as his wife. Oh, he noticed the cook, the cleaner, the shoulder to cry onjust not the woman he once claimed to adore. No more little gifts, not even a birthday card. When I asked what was wrong, hed just shrug. *”Everythings fine.”*
Then our son, James, was born. While I was still in hospital, Oliver moved my things into the nursery. *”Youre his motheryou should be near him,”* he said, as if it were obvious. *”Im the one working. I need proper sleep.”* Like I didnt?
Lately, Ive had this nagging suspicion. The late nights at the office, the irritation when I call. Tonight was no different.
*”What do you want?”* he snapped when I rang. *”Im busy!”*
*”Just wanted to wish you a good day,”* I managed.
*”And you called for *that*? Christ, Emily, youre like a leech. Give it a rest!”*
The line went dead.
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirrorred eyes, tangled hair, no trace of the woman I used to be. *”Pathetic,”* I thought. *”No wonder he cant stand you.”*
Later, I noticed something missing from the wardrobethe box of condoms Id bought for our anniversary. A desperate attempt to remind him I still existed.
*”Did you move them?”* I asked when he got home.
Oliver exploded. *”What, accusing me now? Fine. Yes, I took them. And while were at itIm leaving. Theres someone else. Has been for ages.”*
*”How long?”*
*”Before James. You were unbearable when you were pregnantclingy, needy. I stayed for him, not you.”*
*”And shes better because?”*
His smirk was icy. *”She cant have children.”*
I walked out. No tears, just emptiness. FunnyI thought it would hurt more.
Oliver moved out. He pays child support, sees James when he remembers. His parents were horrified; mine rallied round. The divorce was quiet.
Some nights, I still hear his voice*leech, frumpy, useless*. But then James stirs in his cot, and I remember: Im free. And he? Well. Let him rot.
