I stood at the window, my fists clenched and my heart racing, waiting. The silence in the room was deafening and the ticking of the clock only made it worse. It was late, much too late.
Then I saw headlights. A sleek black car pulled up. A man I didn’t know was driving, and someone else got out, her. Something inside me broke. The man smiled, exchanged a few words with the driver, and then went into the house. I was tense, confused, and angry. Who was he? What was going on?
When she came in, I asked: “Who was that man?” She rolled her eyes, tired of my questions. “It was Javier, Marta’s husband. He drove me home because it was late. Do we really want to argue about this?”
But I wasn’t listening. My mind was racing, my blood was boiling. Before I knew it, I slapped her. The sound echoed through the room. She stumbled back, blood dripping from her nose. The silence that followed was oppressive.
I looked into his eyes, there was no anger, no pain, just fear. I knew it was over. He didn’t scream or cry. He just left. The next day a lawyer showed up with the divorce papers. “I’ve put up with your jealousy for years”, he said coldly, “but no violence”.
I begged him to forgive me, but he didn’t care. Then he accused me in court of abusing our son. It was a lie, but who would believe me?
The judge awarded her sole custody, and I only had a few hours a week to see my son. Those moments were all I had left.
One day, while we were playing with his toy cars, my son told me: “Mommy wasn’t home yesterday. A woman stayed over at my house”. I froze. Who was this woman? My son didn’t know, only that she came when Mommy went out at night. My heart sank.
I found out the truth when I hired a babysitter. She had left him with a stranger while I begged for more time. I called her angrily. “Why leave him with a stranger when I’m here?” I asked. “It’s easier this way”, she replied coldly.
“Easier? I’m his father!” I screamed, clenching my fists around the phone. She sighed: “I don’t drive him to your house every time. Don’t make a drama out of it”.
I felt powerless. I couldn’t lose him. I wouldn’t let a stranger raise my son. No matter what happened, I would fight for him. It was the only thing I had left…