**Diary Entry**
I’ve always known I wasn’t the best mother, but realising it fully now—seeing my own son turn away—is a pain like no other.
When Daniel was just three, our family fell apart. His father stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving behind a bewildered little boy and a woman who seemed lost, unsure of what came next. Soon after, I—Natalie—made the choice to leave for Poland, convinced I was doing it for him. I told myself the money, the stability, would make up for my absence. But as months turned to years, the distance between us grew wider. Instead of me, it was his grandmother, Margaret, who became his anchor.
Margaret was the one who guided his tiny fingers over alphabet books, who helped him memorise nursery rhymes, who held his hand on his first day of school. She smoothed his uniform, whispered encouragement when he cried—and he often did. Because I was never there. I sent gifts, money, brief visits that felt more like rushed guest appearances than homecomings.
Daniel clung to the hope that if he was good—obedient, studious—I’d come back for him. That someday, we’d be a proper family again. He believed it with every bit of his little heart.
But I had other plans. Abroad, I met another man. Built a new life—one with no room for the son I’d left behind. The parcels and bank transfers could never replace what he truly needed: me.
He grew up without me. Excelled in school. Got into a prestigious university in London. Landed a job at a top firm. Business trips, promotions—his life unfolded exactly as he’d once vowed it would. He would never abandon his own children. He’d give them the home I never did.
By thirty, he’d travelled half the world. In Paris, he met Alice—a girl from back home. Love at first sight. They moved in together, and when she told him she was pregnant, Daniel knew it was time to return. They married, bought a flat in London. Their son, Oliver, was born there.
Daniel dreamed of a big family—three children, at least. But Alice felt differently. She was young, restless. His job kept him away—meetings in China, long trips—but he provided well. Holidays, gifts, yet the distance between them grew until, one day, it all shattered.
He came home from a two-month trip to an unnervingly quiet flat. Only the nanny was there with Oliver. When he asked where Alice was, she hesitated.
“At the gym,” she said.
But Daniel knew. Once the nanny left, he unpacked presents for Oliver, who chattered excitedly—until the boy picked up a toy car and said, “I already have this one. Uncle Thomas gave it to me.”
Daniel froze.
When Alice returned, the truth spilled out. For over a year, she’d been seeing someone else.
“You’re never here,” she defended. “I needed someone.”
Daniel listened. Then, calmly: “You’ve made your choice. I’ll file for divorce. I’ll support Oliver. But the flat stays with me. Go build your life with him.”
The divorce was swift. Alice begged to keep the flat—for Oliver’s sake. He refused. “I bought it. I won’t fund your new life.”
Weeks later, Daniel found her outside their building with Oliver, a small backpack at his feet.
“Take him for a while. Thomas and I are moving. I’ll come for him once we’re settled.”
She couldn’t even look at him. Daniel understood. Another man who didn’t want another man’s child.
From then on, Oliver lived with his father. At first, he asked about Alice. Then he stopped. She never called. Never wrote. Daniel, who’d lived through betrayal as a boy and now as a man, vowed never to marry again. His family was him and his son.
Years passed. Oliver grew—strong, kind, independent. Then, one day, a knock at the door.
A weary, aged woman stood there.
“I… wanted to see my son,” she whispered. “I know I was a terrible mother.”
Oliver looked to his father. Daniel nodded. “Yes. This is your mother.”
Oliver studied her—long, hard. Then turned away.
“I don’t have a mother.”
And he walked off.
Daniel met Alice’s gaze, his own cold. “You heard him. Don’t come back.”
He followed his son, leaving the past—and those who’d failed them—behind. With every step, he felt it: they were finally free.