Please Take Me Back, I Beg You

Take me back, please
Mum, you really dont have to, I couldnt finish my sentence.
Margaret gently shook her head, fingers tracing the edge of the old armchair. Her flat always smelled of her favourite perfume and dried lavender she kept in every room. But soon, those scents would fade.
Im not doing this for you, she said quietly. For Michael. The boy needs a home. A proper one, not a rented box where the landlord can kick you out at any moment. No matter what happens between you and Sophie, my son, the flat must belong to Michael. Thats what I want.
Sophie was standing by the window, her hand on our sons shoulder. Michael squirmed a bit, not quite understanding why adults were speaking with such careful hush.
Thanks, I managed, voice tight. Honestly, Mum. Thank you.
She brushed away my gratitude with a wave of her hand, her gaze settling on Michael, her face softening in an instant.
Come here, my sunshine.
Michael crossed the lounge and allowed gran to pull him closer. Her hands trembled slightly as she cradled his cheeks.
You know, Michael? You’re the best thing thats happened to me. Youve got my eyes. My stubbornness. My terrible taste in music.
Granny, Michael mumbled, bashful, but pleased.
This flat is yours, Margaret said, her tone serious. It’ll be registered to your father, but only because youre not yet eighteen. Youre the reason Im giving it away now, while I still can. We’re family, Michael. I want you looked after properly.
Two months later, Margaret stopped breathing
The three-bedroom flat swallowed us whole. At weekends, I scraped away old floral wallpaper, painted over long-standing stains, fitted new lights. Sophie rearranged and sorted our things, seeking places for them among Mums remaining furniture.
Michael darted from room to room, thrilled at the space. He finally had his own room, his own walls to plaster posters on without asking.
Dad, can I put my desk by the window?
Put it wherever you want, son, its your room.
I watched him arrange his action figures on the windowsill. Thanks to Mum, my family had a home of their own. I should have felt happy, grateful. Instead, the walls seemed to press in. The routine, predictability, days spilling one into the next. Wake up. Work. Home. Tea. The telly. Sleep. And so on, without end
The café near my office became my refuge. I started popping in after work, delaying my return by half an hour, then an hour. The barista knew my order by heart. The corner table by the window unofficially belonged to me.
Thats where I met her
She laughed aloud at something on her phone uninhibited and noisy. Her chuckle drowned out the café buzz. I glanced up from my laptop; she caught my eye, raised her brow instead of looking away.
Sorry, she said, not the least bit apologetic. My mate just sent me the worst joke Ive ever heard. Want to hear it?
I really shouldve said no. I ought to have finished my spreadsheet and gone home to my wife and son.
Go on, I said
Her name was Emily. She worked at an ad agency, despised her job, adored silly puns. Emily was lively, vivid, real.
Youre sinking, she said during our third meet-up.
Im not sinking. I have a good life.
But are you happy?
Three weeks later, we ended up in bed together…
I told Sophie the truth that same evening. I watched her face change as she processed the meaning of my words.
You slept with someone else, she repeated slowly.
Yes.
I stayed silent. Any words Id have added would just make it worse. Sophie hurled a towel at me. It hit my chest and fell to the floor a pitiful gesture that only fuelled her fury.
You betrayed our family for some younger woman? Fourteen years, Mark. Fourteen years of marriage, and you got bored?
Its not about boredom.
So what is it, then? Sophie shouted. Explain, because apparently Im too stupid to understand why my husband decided to destroy everything we built!
I pressed my palms to my face.
Im suffocating with you, Sophie. Each day is the same. Work, home, tea, sleep. I needed to feel something different. Something real. Alive.
Something alive, Sophie scoffed, tears running down her cheeks. I gave you a son. I gave you my youth. And you needed to feel alive?
Down the hallway, a door clicked softly. Michael had woken up and was hiding in his room. The thought that he might have heard us made my insides twist.
Fine. Sophie wiped her face fiercely, smearing mascara further. Fine, Mark. Want to leave? Well divorce. I wont hold you back. But lets sort out the flat. Your mother wanted it left to Michael. She said so, clear as day
The flat stays with me.
Sophie froze.
What did you say?
The documents are in my name, I couldnt meet her eye. Legally, its my property. You and Michael will have to find somewhere else.
Youre throwing your son out on the street, Sophie whispered in shock. Your own child. The boy your mother left the flat to.
Im not throwing anyone out. Youll have time to find somewhere. Ill help with the first months rent, anything, but
You monster, Sophie gripped the table. Youre no father, youre nobody. Your mother would be sick if she saw what youve become…
The next morning, Sophie packed belongings while Michael sat on his bed, staring at the walls hed only just decorated with posters. He didnt look at me. Didnt say a word. Just followed his mum out of the flat.
The divorce came through after three months. I paid child support not much, just enough to keep the court happy. Each Sunday I rang Michael, and each Sunday he declined the call. Messages went unanswered. Gifts for his birthday were accepted without a word of thanks.
Eventually, I stopped trying. The boys angry, I told myself. When hes older, hell understand that adults sometimes make tough choices.
Emily moved in two weeks after Sophie left. She filled the flat with candles, decorative cushions and music that played day and night. She cooked elaborate, expensive meals and insisted on shopping sprees every weekend. With her, I felt young, reckless, and thrillingly free.
Six months on, my savings account had forty-seven pounds left.
Hotels, restaurants, spontaneous shopping sprees where Emily would twirl out of the fitting room in dresses costing more than my monthly food budget. All of it felt good, so I didnt notice the problem until the account ran dry.
We need to talk about spending, I told Emily that evening.
Later, darling, lets chat tonight. Im off to meet my friends.
She pecked my cheek, grabbed her handbag the new one Id bought last month and left.
That night, Emily didnt come back.
And the next morning, she returned and told me we had no future. That she found me boring and was suffocating Emily packed quickly and flitted away as easily as she had entered my life.
For two weeks I did nothing but wallow. Wandering the empty flat in the same clothes, letting dishes pile up, never opening the blinds. Everyone had left me or so I told myself. My son wants nothing to do with me. My wife took all the best bits and left. And Emily, beautiful, carefree Emily, vanished the moment the money ran out.
By week three, my pity turned to something more desperate. I showered, shaved, wore my cleanest shirt and crossed London to the address Sophie had listed in the court papers.
The block was old, but decent. A post-war tower with fresh paint and a working lift. Sophie let me in without asking why Id come.
Michael, she called over her shoulder, your dads here.
I stepped into a narrow hallway, taking in the modest space where my family now lived. Two rooms instead of three. Tight corridor, small kitchen.
Yet everything was warm and alive.
Michael hovered in the doorway. Hed grown in the months Id barely seen him; the softness of childhood had faded from his face. No warmth in his eyes for me.
Michael, I know youre angry with me, I began. But I know I made a mistake. I did wrong. But now things can change. We can be a family again. The three of us. Your room is waiting for you, Michael!
Sophie leaned against the wall, looking at me like I was a stranger.
People change, I pressed on, facing both. Ive had time to think, and I realised what I lost. I understand now.
You lost nothing, Michael said sharply. You made your choice. You picked her, not us.
Its not that simple, son.
Dont call me that, Michael stepped forward. You threw us out of Grans flat. Out of our home. You picked Emily.
Michael, please
What happens if we trust you again? Michael cut in. Next time you meet someone else and get bored, will you throw us out like rubbish again?
I started to protest:
Never. I promise, Ive changed.
Michael shook his head slowly.
I dont need a dad like you, he whispered.
He turned and disappeared into his room.
I looked at Sophie, desperate for a scrap of support.
Sophie, talk to him. Tell him I get it now, Ive learned.
She shook her head slowly.
I wouldnt forgive you either, Mark. Not even if you begged. She moved toward the door. You disgust me. Not for cheating. Not even for throwing us out. But for coming back only after she dumped you. When you had no one else left.
I dont remember ending up on the landing. I dont remember how I made it home
In the end, I was alone in three empty rooms, alone in a big flat. Mum believed her family would live here. But no one remained. Id pushed away those who loved me. Now, nothing could be fixed. It was too late.
If theres anything Ive learned, it’s this: dont throw away the people who love you for fleeting thrills. Because in the end, you may find yourself with nothing but regrets, wishing you could turn back time.