Driven to Madness: The Tale of My Ex-Husband

12March2024

Dear Diary,

Eleanor burst into the living room, her eyes sharp with irritation. Alex, could you watch Harry for at least a couple of hours? I need to get to the doctor.

I sprang up from the sofa, my tone flat. I cant. Im meeting the lads, and Ive got a shift coming up soon.

She pressed on, Seriously, Alex. My headaches wont stop, my back feels like its made of lead. After giving birth, everythings gone haywire

I snapped, Eleanor, do you want me to repeat myself? I cant. Reschedule it. Ive already made plans.

I pulled on my jacket, patting down the pockets.

I cant move the appointment. The booking was made three weeks ago.

Fine, then youll have to wait another three weeks, she said, shrugging as if it were nothing. Nothing dreadful will happen to you.

The front door slammed. A soft whimper drifted from the nurseryHarry had woken up again. I let out a weary sigh and grabbed the phone, dialing the GP practice while a generic hold tune filled the line. Finally, a receptionist answered.

Hello, I need to cancel todays appointment

She slumped onto the sofa. Postnatal health had turned into a lottery for her: the back would seize up so badly she couldnt stand, the head would throb as if someone were hammering inside her skull. The doctors waved their hands, saying she needed tests, but the tests required time and, crucially, someone to sit with the baby.

I couldnt have cared less. The past two years felt like someone had swapped me for a stranger.

During the pregnancy Id carried Eleanorliterallyon my back, lugged heavy grocery bags, cooked, even gave her foot massages before bed. I told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world and that I was endlessly happy. She believed every word, convinced herself shed hit the jackpot with me.

Then Harry arrived, and everything fell apart.

The endless crying, the pile of nappies, sleepless nights stripped away any mask I wore. I started shouting at Eleanor when she couldnt tidy the flat in time, yelling at Harry when he bawled in the night, hurling furniture, slamming doors, heading out to the pub with the mates and stumbling back past midnight.

You look at yourself! I roared, pointing a finger at her. Do you even recognise the woman in the mirror? Wheres my beautiful wife gone? Shes turned into a a swamp monster!

She stared back, dark circles under her eyes, hair a tangled mess, a stained old Tshirt from baby food, stubborn extra pounds despite barely eating twice a day. How could she find time for herself when Harry was feverish one day, his teeth hurting the next, his tummy upset another?

You only think about the kid, you treat him like the centre of the universe, I sneered, tightening my boots. Do you even need me?

She stayed silent, not knowing what to answer. Yes, she thought about Harryhow could she not? He was her child.

Eleanor reached her limit. She wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the floor and stay there. She was trapped within four walls, a wailing infant, and a husband who saw himself as the main victim.

Work prospects were nonexistent. The firm where shed once been employed had gone bust, the owner fled with debts, the office was locked, staff were let go. She was on maternity leave, so the collapse didnt hit her directly, but Harry would be turning three soon, and she knew shed have to hunt for a new job. Three years off a résumé, a toddler in towemployers werent keen on that.

She dreamed of taking Harry to nursery, stepping out of the house, hopping on the tube to get to an office, chatting with people who werent tiny cartoonloving monsters. She wanted to remember who she had been before motherhood swallowed her whole.

Harrys third birthday was a modest affair that Eleanor organised herself. He ran around the flat in a brandnew onesie, grinning like a little sunshine.

Alex was nowhere to be seen.

Eleanor, wheres Alex? asked Margaret, my mother, glancing about as if expecting me to pop out from behind a curtain.

I dont know, Eleanor replied, forcing a smile. Hes probably delayed.

How delayed? demanded John, my father, frowning. Its his sons birthday!

Eleanor shrugged. Shed called me a dozen times, texted, but I never answered.

The guests exchanged uneasy looks, saying nothing. My own mother, Dorothy, squeezed Eleanors hand under the tablea quiet show of support that did little to change the situation.

The party felt strained. Harry was happy, everyone else pretended everything was fine.

Eleanor sliced the cake, poured tea, smiled at the guests, while inside she felt something cracking, breaking into tiny shards that could never be reassembled.

As night fell the guests left. Harry fell asleep before even being changed. Eleanor tucked him into the cot, adjusted the blanket, and returned to the living room, where chaos reigned: dirty dishes, crumpled packaging, deflated balloons.

She began tidying mechanically, without thought. Plates into the sink, wiping the table.

The sound of keys in the lock made her freeze. She glanced at the clockmidnight. She peeked into the hallway.

There I stood in the doorway, swaying, eyes bloodshot, shirt rumpled, cheap perfume clinging to me, a bright red lipstick smudge on my cheek.

Eleanor, its not what you think, my voice cracked. I had a few drams; I lost my head. Im sorry, I swear it wont happen again!

She exhaled slowly, a chill settling over her like ice.

Where have you been? she whispered.

I I was out with the lads. We went to a bar, there were girls, and one

At my sons birthday, she cut in, sharp as a knife. You were with some girl when Harry turned three!

Eleanor, please forgive me! I pleaded, stepping forward. I didnt mean it! It just happened!

Just happened? her voice trembled. Youre a traitor, a liar. I trusted you a thousand percent. Were a family, we have a child! I never thought youd stoop so low!

Youre the one at fault! I exploded. Look at yourself! There are plenty of beautiful women out there, and I come home to this! Of course I get distracted! Im a young bloke, I want love!

Eleanor turned and walked to the nursery. I called after her, but she didnt look back. She shut the door, closed it behind her, and lay beside Harry on the narrow cot, staring into the dark.

Come morning, she packed her bagshers and the boys. I tried to stop her, grabbed her wrist, muttered about forgiveness and second chances, but she wouldnt budge. She called a taxi, loaded the suitcases, and drove to her mothers house.

The first weeks were rough. Harry didnt understand why we now lived with Grandma, he cried, called for his dad. Eleanor held him, kissed his forehead and whispered that everything would be alright, though she didnt believe it herself.

Gradually life settled. Dorothy helped with Harry while Eleanor hunted for work. After a month she landed a jobnothing glamorous, but steady pay and decent management. The divorce was filed; I didnt contest it, only asked for regular visitation. Eleanor consented. Harry loved his dad.

A few months later she moved into a modest onebed flather own space, theirs. She furnished it sparsely, but it became their home. I started dropping by occasionally, first rarely, then more often, fixing a leaky tap, assembling a shelf, taking Harry to the park. She allowed it, not for herself but for Harry. He laughed, climbed onto my shoulders, and I could see the joy in his eyes that Id missed.

Six months after the split I remarried. I saw my new wife, Vicky, by chance in a shopping centretall, slender, immaculate hair, a sleek dress. She seemed like a model, always crisp, always smiling.

I still visited, sometimes more frequently than before, and would invariably boast about Vicky.

Vicky is a proper homemaker, Id say. The house is spotless, dinner is always ready, she looks like she stepped off a runway.

Eleanor would nod, her anger simmering beneath a polite smile. Even after the divorce, my words managed to sting.

Then a thought struck me. A petty, lowkey revenge, but just enough to feel some satisfaction.

I began calling her constantly, any excuse enough.

Alex, Harry wants to play, can you come over?

Alex, the kitchen tap is leaking, could you help?

Alex, Harry misses you, when are you coming?

I showed up each time. It turned out all I needed was to be the one who fetched his son, to be the dad he adored. Wed walk, chat, share a cuppa. Our conversations stretched for an hour or two; Id share stories about Harrys day at nursery, ask her for advice. I answered eagerly, as if Id been starved of any connection.

Vickys voice would cut in, irritated:

Alex, are you chatting with her again? Stop it!

I brushed it off, but hearing her irritation made it easier for me to keep going.

Months later, I turned up at her door one evening without warning. Her eyes widened at the sight of my dishevelled face.

Were divorcing, I blurted as I stepped inside.

What? she snapped, shutting the door and leaning against it.

Vicky left. She couldnt take it any longer.

Take what? she asked.

Thisus. Our connection.

She gave a sardonic smile.

What connection, Alex?

You know we spend so much time together. I thought maybe we could be together again.

What? You think Id go back? I crossed my arms, trying to look tough. Im already seeing someone new, and Im happy.

She stared, her face twisted with disbelief.

You think Ill wait for you? she laughed bitterly. Seriously?

Then youll keep paying my child support to some strangers kid? I shouted, the anger bubbling over. Youve been leading me on!

I never promised you anything, she said calmly. You chased after us like a dog. Im done. I cant even afford to feed a cat with your alimony, let alone a proper man.

You you

What? I asked, stepping closer to the door, my voice raw. Go on, Alex. Dont come back without asking first.

Youre not a proper woman! I snapped, grabbing my coat and lunging for the exit. A petty, vengeful serpent!

Maybe, she shrugged. But you made me that way.

The door slammed. I leaned against it, closed my eyes. There was no triumph, no reliefjust a hollow void.

I knew Id acted poorly, but Alex had shattered my dignity, my faith, my love. I simply returned the blow with the same coin.

I went back to Harrys room. He slept, arms outstretched, innocent. I sat beside him, stroked his cheek, and felt the weight of everything Id done settle over me.

Tonight I write this down to remind myself that vengeance only deepens the wound. The lesson is clear: if you value yourself, you must break the cycle of hurt and choose honesty over retaliation, even when the temptation is strong.