**Diary Entry 12th October**
Jealousy destroyed me. When I saw my wife step out of another mans car, I lost control and ruined everything.
I stood by the window, fists clenched, my heart pounding so violently I thought it might burst. The room was silent, but my mind screamed one question: *Why is she so late?*
The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly.
It was late. Too late.
Then headlights swept across the street.
A sleek black car pulled up right outside the house. My breath caught. A man was at the wheeltall, confident. A stranger.
The passenger door opened.
And she stepped out.
Something inside me shattered.
She was smiling, effortless, as if this were nothing. She leaned into the window, said something, and *he laughed*. Then she shut the door and strolled toward the house like it was just another evening.
Every muscle in my body tensed.
*Who was he? How long had this been happening? How had I been so blind?*
The front door opened, and she tossed her handbag onto the table without a care.
*»Who was that?»* My voice was tight.
She stopped, frowning. *»Who was who?»*
*»The man in the car. Who is he?»*
She sighed, irritation flashing. *»Oliver, dont start. That was James, Marthas husband. He gave me a lift because it was late. Are we really arguing about this?»*
But I wasnt listening.
My thoughts were a whirlwind. Blood roared in my ears.
Then my hand moved on its own.
The slap echoed through the room.
She stumbled back, pressing a hand to her cheek. A trickle of blood ran from her nose.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Then I saw it in her eyesnot anger, not pain. Fear.
I knew it was over.
No going back.
She didnt scream. Didnt cry. Just grabbed her coat and left.
The next morning, a solicitor arrived with divorce papers.
The court took everythingeven our son.
*»I put up with your jealousy for years,»* she said, voice icy. *»But violence? Never.»*
I begged for forgiveness. Swore it was a mistake, a moment of madness. That it wouldnt happen again.
She didnt care.
Then came the final blowin court, she claimed I was aggressive with our child.
A lie.
A calculated, vicious lie. Id never laid a hand on him, never raised my voice.
But who would believe me? A man whod already struck his wife.
The judge didnt hesitate.
She got full custody.
I got scrapsa few hours a week in some sterile visitation room.
No bedtime stories. No mornings making him pancakes.
For six months, I lived for those momentswhen hed run into my arms, hug me tight, whisper how much he missed me.
Then, every time, Id have to watch him leave.
Until one day, he said something that broke me completely.
He was growing up. Starting to notice things.
As he played with his toy cars, he said absently, *»Daddy, Mummy wasnt home last night. A lady came to stay with me.»*
My stomach dropped.
*»What lady?»*
*»Dunno. She comes when Mummy goes out at night.»*
I couldnt breathe.
*»And where does Mummy go?»*
He shrugged. *»She doesnt tell me.»*
My hands curled into fists.
I had to know the truth.
And when I found it, I shattered all over again.
Shed hired a babysittersome strangerwhile I begged for more time with my own son.
I called her, voice trembling. *»Why is our child with a stranger when Im right here?»*
Her reply was ice. *»Because its easier.»*
*»Easier?!»* I choked out. *»Im his father! If youre not there, he should be with me!»*
She sighed, impatient. *»Oliver, Im not dragging him to your flat every time I have plans. Stop making a scene.»*
My knuckles whitened around the phone.
What could I do? Take her back to court? Risk losing again?
One mistake.
One moment of rage.
And theyd taken everything.
But my son
*I wont lose him.*
I wont let some stranger raise him.
Ill fight.
Because hes all I have left.
