Dear Diary,

Enough of standing in my way! I could have lashed out at James. My heart raced as I prepared to confront him, but before I could, our son Oliver intervened, coming between us and grabbing his father’s hand.

“Don’t you dare touch Mum!”

James turned a fierce gaze on Oliver and cursed. In the past, he would have raised his hand to both of us, but those days were long gone. Now, he stood facing not a small boy, but a sturdy sixteen-year-old young man.

“Brat!” James threw out a final jab.

“Just leave!” Oliver shot back, the defiance in his voice echoing my own frustrations.

James slammed his fist against the door frame and stormed out. I let out a quiet sob, covering my face with my hands. Oliver shifted awkwardly beside me; he never knew how to deal with a crying mother but eventually wrapped his arms around me.

“Oh, Ollie, how are we going to live like this?…”

Oliver understood that I was asking what we should do about his father. James had been drinking for ages, and despite my pleading, my reminders, and my tears, he continuously chose the bottle over his family.

“Why don’t you just leave him, Mum?” Oliver asked grimly.

“Are you serious? How could I abandon James? He would be lost without me!”

I waved my hand dismissively, wiping my tears before heading to the kitchen to prepare dinner. I knew James would be home late and would surely be hungry in the morning, so I tried to make something for him.

Oliver expressed his confusion at my continued caring for a man who had just threatened me. “Why do you bother? What for?”

Unable to contain myself, I returned to the kitchen with a heavy heart and asked, “Mum, do you even respect yourself at all?”

“What do you mean, darling? He’s my husband! How could I just leave him? Besides, someone has to prepare dinner. I promised James I would be a faithful wife no matter the situation, and I intend to keep my word.”

“But that’s just foolish! He doesn’t keep his promises! He swore to love and protect you when you got married, didn’t he? So what’s really changed?”

Oliver stubbornly referred to James as “he” or by his name, rejecting the title of ‘father’. He had long decided that parents shouldn’t act this way.

“Ollie, try not to judge your father too harshly. He has his own issues, and he’s struggling. That happens sometimes.”

“Mum, those are just excuses! Everyone has problems! That doesn’t justify hitting you or drinking!”

I lowered my hands, standing before the stove. I knew Oliver was right and understood everything. Still, I couldn’t imagine backing down, letting go, or filing for divorce… I held onto the hope that if I remained strong a little longer, James could change. He might stop drinking and start loving me and Oliver again. Yet, I had been clinging to such hopes for nearly ten years. And what had really changed?

“Ollie, I need to think,” I whispered softly.

Oliver believed there was nothing left to ponder, but he held back from arguing, recognising that I was deeply reflecting on something important.

He wandered off to attend to his own matters, knowing that James wouldn’t return anytime soon. This left him feeling somewhat relieved; he had grown accustomed to shielding me, though he understood this wasn’t right. James was only a threat when he was drunk, a state in which he tended to be docile toward me and Oliver.

Oliver spent the evening hanging out with friends and working out. He didn’t feel particularly eager to head home, even though it was getting dark and chilly. Earlier in the day, it had been warm enough to wear a t-shirt, but with nightfall came the cold.

In his thin sweater, he quickly grew cold and made his way home, already anticipating what awaited him: a drunken father snoring on the couch and a distressed mother in the kitchen.

He rushed up the stairs, suddenly pausing as he noticed the front door was ajar. It unsettled him; his mother always made sure to close the door behind James. Had something happened? Clenching his fists, Oliver stepped into the hallway, quietly shutting the door behind him.

“Mum, where are you? Is everything alright?”

He flicked on the living room light, not considering the possibility of waking James, but the room was empty. There was no sign of him in the bedroom either. Anxiety washed over Oliver, and he dashed into the kitchen, hoping to find me there.

“Mum, are you in here?” He flipped on the switch and gasped.

I lay on the floor, seemingly having hit my head. Relief washed over him as he realised I was still breathing.

“Hello, ambulance? You need to come quickly; my mum’s hurt…” Oliver stumbled over his words, struggling to articulate.

“What’s happened? Who’s hurt?” came the unbothered voice on the line.

“My mum was beaten… She’s unconscious. Hurry!” He relayed our address and then called the police, determined that James deserved consequences. How could anyone inflict violence on the vulnerable, especially on those he should protect?

Before long, Oliver was giving statements while I regained consciousness, sitting quietly on the couch, trying to comprehend what had transpired. Oliver stole glances at me and finally asked, “Mum, what happened?”

The police officer turned his attention to me. He hadn’t questioned me earlier, seeing that I was unable to respond, but now was the right time.

Slowly, I turned to Oliver and softly said, “Don’t be angry at your father.”

“What? Mum, what are you saying? Let him come here! What did he do to you? He wasn’t supposed to return so soon!”

“James forgot his wallet, and when he came back to get it, I tried to talk to him again. Nothing came of it, and he just got angrier.”

“James!” Oliver spat, disgust seeping through his voice. He couldn’t fathom how I still referred to the man who hurt me by such a name.

“Ollie, your father is a troubled man and deserves sympathy.”

“No, Mum! He deserves nothing but hatred! I feel nothing for him.”

The police officer, weary of the family quarrel, had seen such dramas unfold all too often and guessed that I would not place blame on my husband.

“Will you be filing a report?”

“No!” I shot back, raising my head, and the police officer couldn’t hide his smirk. It was an expected response, yet Oliver had a plan and eyed me coldly.

“If you don’t file a report against him, he will come back, and I’ll beat him up myself. Then I’ll be taken away, and he’ll be left injured. Do you want that? Do you want me in jail, while he becomes disabled?”

Silence filled the room as I weighed Oliver’s words, feeling that he spoke truth. James had gone too far. Oliver interpreted my silence correctly and pressed on, “Mum, this has to be getting old for you! You’re a young, beautiful woman! Why suffer with this drunkard? Divorce him, kick him out, and we can live properly!”

I stared at Oliver intently, suddenly realising he had grown up and was tired of living in the shadow of his abusive father. I also recognised that he was right—if James wouldn’t keep his promises, why should I suffer trying to be a good wife?

The days when James would apologise for his behaviour had long passed. Now, he considered drunken rants and insults as normal.

“I will file a report,” I declared decisively, and Oliver beamed, thrilled to have reached me.

The police officer raised an eyebrow in surprise. It wasn’t often that beaten wives reported their husbands.

“Can you protect us from him?” I asked. “I don’t want him interfering with our lives.”

“We’ll charge him with assault. That’s a death threat; you were just a breath away from losing your life, and he won’t walk away lightly from this.”

“Fantastic! Will I be able to divorce him while he’s locked up?”

“You might even find someone else before he gets out,” chuckled the officer.

Oliver grinned, hearing my newfound determination. I felt like I had finally shaken off the burden of James and was becoming myself again!

“Why are you smiling?” I lightly smacked Oliver on the back of the head when we were alone. “I’ll have a word with you about wandering off at night.”

Oliver laughed; he was unbothered by my threats. My heart lightened as I smiled at him, too.

“Darling, thank you for pushing me to do this. I wouldn’t have gathered the courage otherwise…”

Oliver didn’t reply, merely hugged me shyly before darting off to his room. He wasn’t fond of overt displays of emotions, but deep down, he was happy as well.

Now, things should finally start looking up. Oliver even promised himself that he would study harder and help me more now that James was out of our lives. With that weight lifted, I found myself wanting to be home more often than before.

I felt like a different person, finally able to breathe without fear. James was detained that same evening, now in a holding cell. I visited him just once to say goodbye and inform him of the divorce. Of course, he cried and begged for forgiveness.

“I forgave you that night,” I told James. “But I no longer love you. Do not come back to us. We have a new life now.”

As I walked away from the prison and made my way home, I chose a long route to be alone with my thoughts. The future appeared light and carefree, and life was brimming with vibrant colours. The only regret I carried was not leaving James sooner.