Monday, 12th September 2025
I was planted by the kitchen window, the night outside as black as a coal cellar. My hand clenched a halfempty glass of Scotch, the amber swirling like the thoughts in my head. The clock on the mantel ticked loudly, each second stretching out like a cruel rope.
She was late.
Far too late.
Then the streetlights flickered on and a sleek black Mercedes pulled up in front of our semidetached in Croydon. My heart lurched. In the drivers seat sat a tall, selfassured stranger.
The passenger door swung open and she stepped out.
A cold shiver ran through me.
She smiledlight, easy, as if shed just heard a private joke. She leaned toward the man, whispered something, and he chuckled, a soft, intimate laugh.
She closed the door and walked back to the house, oblivious to the storm gathering inside me.
My blood boiled.
Who was this man? How long had this been going on? Was it the first time?
She opened the front door, tossed her handbag onto the kitchen table as if nothing had happened.
Who was that? My voice was low, edged with a knife.
She froze, eyes widening in surprise. Excuse me?
That man in the car. Who is he?
She sighed, clearly annoyed. Thomas, not again Hes Julies husband. He just gave me a lift, thats all. Are you serious?
I could no longer hear her words. All I sensed was a dull, raging heat gnawing at my skull, a torrent of dark thoughts.
My hand rose of its own accord.
The slap cracked through the room.
She recoiled, her hand flying to her face. A thin line of blood seeped from her nose.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
She stared at me, eyes wide with fear, a knot tightening in my throat.
I had crossed a line.
A line I would never be able to step back from.
She didnt scream. She didnt sob. She simply grabbed her coat and left.
The next morning a bailiff handed me the divorce papers.
Id lost everything even my son.
I put up with your jealousy for years, she said in our final conversation, her voice cold as ice. But violencenever.
I begged her forgiveness, swore it was a momentary lapse, a mistake that would never happen again.
She wouldnt hear any of it.
Then, in court, she claimed I was also violent with our child.
A lie.
A vicious lie that sealed my fate.
I had never raised a hand to him, never shouted at him. But who would believe a man who had already struck his wife?
The judge didnt blink.
She was awarded sole custody.
Me? A few hours a week, supervised visits at a neutral venue.
No nights at home. No mornings making his toast.
For six months my world shrank to those scant hours, the brief moments when he would run to me, giggling, his tiny arms looping around my neck. Then, each time, I had to watch him go again and again.
One afternoon, while he was pushing his little wooden cars across the table, he said in that innocent voice of his:
Dad, last night Mum wasnt home. There was a lady with me.
My heart stopped.
A lady? Which lady? I asked, trying to stay calm.
I dont know. She comes when Mum goes out at night.
A chill ran down my spine.
Where does she go?
He shrugged. She doesnt tell me.
My fingers clenched.
I had to know.
When the truth emerged, my throat tightened. She had hired a nanny.
A foreign woman.
While I begged for more time with my own child, she was leaving him in the care of a stranger.
I grabbed the phone and called her.
Why is a stranger looking after our son when Im here? I demanded.
Her voice was flat, icy. Because its easier.
Easier?! My anger roared. Im his father! If he cant be with you, he should be with me!
She sighed. Thomas, Im not going to drive across town every time I have a meeting. Stop making everything about you.
The phone trembled in my hand.
What could I do? Sue her? Fight for full custody?
And if I lost again?
One more mistake. One slipup. And everything would be taken from me.
But my son?
I would never let him be taken away.
Ill fight.
Because he is the only thing I have left.
Lesson learned: Jealousy is a poison that corrodes the heart long before it destroys the life around you.
