“Simon, are you listening to yourself? So you expect me to walk around pregnant at forty just to fix…

Jack, do you even hear yourself? Are you saying I should go through another pregnancy at forty just to make up for the mistakes you made in your youth?

I could barely believe this was the argument we were having. Yet there he was, utterly baffled, responding as if my feelings were a foreign language.

And why should I be paying for the fact that you found your garage more entertaining than spending time with your own son? I asked, my voice betraying a mixture of exhaustion and genuine surprise.

Oh, Anna, for heavens sake! he pressed on, sounding almost wounded. I was naïve, I didnt know what I was missing out on. Didnt appreciate what I had But its all gone now. Oliver doesnt even see me as a father!

And is he wrong? I replied with a bitter half-smile. For seventeen years, hes lived not with a dad but with a lodger. Did you think you could just switch on the child whenever you felt like playing daddy?

Jacks face darkened, frustration flaring in his eyes, that same look he always wore whenever his role as a dad came up.

Anna, please! Thats all in the past. Just give me one more chance, he insisted stubbornly.

So you can play with a child for a while, then leave me picking up the pieces again? One was enough, thank you. No, Jack. This isnt up for discussion.

His jaw clenched, he couldnt think of a comeback, so he just grunted and buried himself in his phone.

That was the end of it for now. Of course, nothing was actually resolved. The whole encounter left me with a familiar heaviness. It wasnt even Jacks ridiculous request that bothered me most. What hurt was everything Oliver had missed out on.

I still remember when Oliver was born, I was twenty-three, standing outside St Marys, exhausted but glowing with joy, cradling that tiny bundle swaddled in white. Jack hovered over us, fussing with the blanket, planting kisses on my forehead, taking our son with an almost sacred reverence.

Hes the spitting image of me! Even has the dimple in the chin, Jack beamed proudly. Im a dad, Anna. Can you believe it?

Now I get it, I really do, he said, almost to himself. Ill do everything for him, with him! Well go to the park, Ill feed him, teach him to play football I swear, Ill be the best dad ever!

I believed every word. I really did. I imagined us as this perfect family, full of love, togetherness, and joy.

But reality rarely matches up. It wasnt long before the everyday grind took over.

In those endless, bone-weary early mornings Id pace the living room, Oliver wailing with colic for the third time that night, bags under my eyes. Jack would turn over in bed, pulling the duvet over his head.

Try to settle him, will you? hed mutter. Ive got work in the morning.

Id quietly weep as I slipped into the spare room, Oliver screaming even louder, but what other option did I have? Id rock him for hours just so Jack could sleep.

On the weekends, desperate for a break, I tried pleading for help.

Jack, could you take him for just a couple of hours? Please, I need to sleep.

Not now, Anna. The lads are dropping round the car for me to fix. Maybe later?

I honestly cant cope

Youre tough, Anna. You can handle it! Ill help when Im back.

Door shuts. That was always the end of it just me and the never-ending drudgery of motherhood. That later never came.

As Oliver got older, I kept trying, hoping to foster at least some connection between him and his father. Id bring over our rosy-cheeked boy, arms outstretched.

Go on, Jack, play with him for a bit, Id ask, not even for rest anymore, just so we looked like a proper family.

Jack would take him, arms stiff, eyes glued to the telly, not really engaging at all. A minute, maybe two, then hed plop Oliver onto the carpet and turn back to the match. It was worse than no father at all.

By the time Oliver was five, building imaginary castles on the lounge rug, Jack would drift past, not even glancing down. Oliver barely looked up either hed grown far too used to his dads absence.

If only Jack had been totally hopeless, I could have accepted it. He brought in the money, even sometimes helped with dinner or tidying up. But as a father he just skipped Olivers childhood altogether. Was it any wonder Oliver, now almost grown, didnt really see Jack as his dad?

Hows school going, Oli? Jack tried, awkwardly one day.

Um all right. Its fine.

Marks are good, I hope? If you need anything, just say. I could help you revise educations everything, you know.

Dont want my son sweeping streets, do I?

No, Dad, really, Im fine, Oliver would say, ducking into his room as quickly as possible.

Lets go fishing this weekend, eh? Jack would call after him.

Silence. Jack never noticed, but I did that night Oliver was supposed to go to the school disco, had even plucked up the courage to ask a girl he liked, but shed turned him down. He was hurting, but Jack didnt see. He just wanted to play at being a dad.

Jack had missed the train. Oliver was no longer that little boy who needed him. The childhood Jack was desperate to redo was long, long gone. When it finally dawned on him, he suddenly decided he wanted a fresh start with a second child. But all I could remember was every sleepless night.

Word got out as it does. My mother-in-law jumped right in.

Anna, love, I know everything. Jacks told me. Just think about another baby. Hes changed! Dont deny him this second chance. It really is a blessing, having a little one again.

As if she had a right to an opinion. Jacks mum joined in too:

Anna, you could lose him if you say no, she whispered. Its his dream, having another baby. If not you, itll be someone else. And it would do you good, think about your future. With Oliver off to uni soon, another child would keep the marriage strong someone to support you in your old age!

Hearing it from another woman stung twice as much. It was as if my life and my body were just items to be haggled over. They saw me as nothing but wife and mother certainly not as someone worn out, who knew the cost of all that second chance talk.

Thats when, in frustration, I had an idea. Half ridiculous, but perfectly symbolic. I rummaged in the loft and found an old blue tin full of Olivers baby bits in it, his ancient, but still-working Tamagotchi.

That little electronic pet that needs constant feeding, cleaning, entertaining. When Jack came home, I handed him the egg-shaped toy with its tiny screen.

Whats this? he asked, confused.

Your trial run. Try even a tenth of the responsibility youd have as a father. This thing needs regular meals, cleaning, attention. Treat it like a baby, but all you have to do is press buttons. If you keep it alive for a year, maybe Ill believe youre ready for a child.

He looked at me first with amusement, then, as I didnt crack, with irritation.

Are you serious? Youre comparing a real baby to this thing?

Just try starting with this. If you cant manage, then theres no point discussing a real baby.

He laughed at first, stuffing the toy in his pocket as if he thought it was nothing. For the first few nights, he even got up to feed the virtual pet. By day five, he was grumpy but determined. By the end of the week he was moaning about how tired he was at work, lacking sleep.

On day eight, he came home and tossed the Tamagotchi on the kitchen table. The screen showed that little cross proof hed failed.

Forgot to feed it. Work was manic, was all he said, avoiding my eyes.

The arguments didnt stop after that, but the sheer force had gone out of them. Jack didnt push for another child quite so hard anymore.

Three years went by, each of us settling into roles that, in truth, had always been set. Eventually, Oliver, now a university student, brought home his girlfriend. Not long after, they told us they were expecting.

Jack, of course, livened up at once suddenly full of renewed energy. Another chance, this time as a grandfather! He dipped into his savings to buy a pram, bought babygros and toys unsuitable for a newborn, swore hed be the worlds best granddad, promised hed help out, babysit, all of it.

I watched with healthy scepticism.

History repeated itself. For a few weeks, Jack mucked in, pushed the pram, posed for photos. As the novelty wore off and real life returned, his interest faded. He encouraged the young couple to move into a rented flat, and his help soon became little more than sporadic, carefully timed weekend visits, when the baby was well-behaved and freshly bathed.

At the first hint of a cry, Jack would have an urgent phone call to make, or a last-minute trip to his mothers, or something or other to do at the allotment.

So, I stepped in. Looking at the bigger picture, at my tired son and his loving girlfriend, I knew Id made the right choice. Oliver became a kind, reliable husband, never leaving his partner to struggle alone.

And Jack? Jack stayed just as hed always been infatuated with the idea of fatherhood, but never understanding what it actually means.

I wonder, do you think I did the right thing? Honestly, Id love to know your thoughts. Leave a comment and a like!