Well, Aren’t You Just a Bit Dim?

Youre hopeless, Max.

Ive had enough, Max. I cant live like this any longer and, yeah, Im filing for divorce.

She blurted it out as if it were a casual remark, almost routine. Holly was surprised at how easy the words felt. Years of bottled bitterness, sleepless nights waiting for him until dawn, inventing excuses all of that collapsed into two short sentences.

Max turned his head toward her, a flicker of bewilderment crossing his face.

Come on you serious? Whats this all about?

Everything, she shrugged. Im tired.

The divorce dragged on for months, grinding her down so badly she sometimes forgot to eat. Courtrooms, endless paperwork, relentless hearings it became a sticky nightmare she couldnt escape. She showed up to a hearing in the old dress shed worn before she got pregnant; the fabric strained at her hips, the zipper wouldnt close, and she hid it under a cardigan the only decent one left that didnt have pills or stretched sleeves.

Across the table, Max sat in a brandnew suit. The jacket fit like a glove, his tie the height of fashion with an extravagant pattern. Holly stared at that tie, trying to recall the last time shed bought anything for herself. Just two days ago shed scraped together enough for a pair of winter boots for Arthur. Almost new, five hundred pounds, from a shop in the neighboring suburb. On the overcrowded bus home shed thought about how Arthur still needed trousers, a jacket, a hat for the summer.

Then the solicitor placed a stack of printouts on the table.

According to the bank statements, the lawyers voice was smooth and businesslike the respondent has spent, over the past eighteen months, in restaurants and entertainment venues an amount equal to the familys annual budget.

Holly stared at the numbers, unable to piece together a coherent picture. Restaurants, nightclubs, a line for a florist and she knew he hadnt sent her any bouquets. A jeweller earrings, a pendant, a ring. None of it was for her.

Meanwhile she was wondering whether she could even afford a single banana for Arthur. Not a bunch a banana is a luxury these days. She sliced apples thinly to stretch them over a few days, boiled porridge in water because milk had gone up in price, and sipped empty tea, convincing herself it was better for her figure.

Max cleared his throat, readjusted that smug tie.

Those are my own money. I earned them.

After the hearing Max caught up with her in the car park, grabbed her elbow, and spun her around.

Think youll get anything out of this? his voice dripped with venom Ill take Arthur. Hear that? Ill take him.

Holly stared silently at the man shed spent five years with, the father of her son. The one shed left work for, lost her qualification, lost herself.

Youre hopeless, he went on triumphantly you cant do anything. Poverty? Ill raise a proper man out of him, not a drifter. And youll be the one paying child support, not the other way round!

Hed used that word before, over and over:

Youre hopeless, you dont get the basics.
Youre hopeless, you forgot again.
Youre hopeless, what can I even take from you?

And Holly swallowed it, because she loved, because it was family, because thats what she thought she had to do.

He kept calling, demanding she hand over Arthur so he wouldnt corrupt him, so she wouldnt waste the support on whoknowswhat. One day Holly finally snapped.

Fine, she said. Take him.

Silence on the other end.

What?
I said fine. Ill bring Arthur tomorrow.

And she did.

Arthur stood in Maxs hallway, small, backpack shaped like a dinosaur, a bag containing his favourite pajamas, a spacebook, and a stuffed rabbit with a ripped ear. Max looked at his son as if the boy had materialised out of thin air.

There you go, Holly dropped the bag on the floor. Raise him.
Mum? Arthurs voice trembled.

Holly knelt, wrapped him tightly, inhaling the scent of baby shampoo and sunshine.

Youll stay with Dad for a bit, okay? Think of it as an adventure. Ill miss you and call every day.

She walked out without looking back, leaned against a wall, and let herself slump down, hands pressed to her face. God, what was she doing? She was exhausted from Maxs calls, his voice, his nitpicking.

An hour later Max called.

Holly, its uh whens Arthur starting nursery? Tomorrow or what?
Nursery? Holly blinked. Max, he goes to nursery every weekday at eight. Didnt you know?
How could I right, Ill sort it out.

He never did. He dropped Arthur off with MrsValerie Clarke that evening for a couple of hours while I sort some things and vanished.

Four days later Hollys phone rang; the number belonged to her exmotherinlaw. Valeries voice rang with outrage.

Lost your conscience? You handed the child over and went off gallivanting? Im sixtysomething, my blood pressure!

I didnt give him to you, Holly said calmly, almost sweetly. I gave him back to his father, the same bloke who promised to raise a proper man, threatened court, all that.

He works! He has no time!
And I have time? I work too, every day, and I manage on my own.

But he
Valerie, Holly cut her off, I handed Arthur to Max because he asked. Let him raise him as he promised. I cant help you.

A heavy silence followed, then a few short beeps.

Two days later Valerie called back, her voice tired, deflated.

Come, pick Arthur up. I cant do this any longer.

Holly arrived that evening. Arthur ran to her, clung to her legs, pressed his face into her stomach.

Mum, mum, mum he chanted like a spell, and Holly stroked his head.

Thats enough adventure for today, love. Lets go home.

Valerie stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a look of mild irritation rather than remorse. She hadnt expected Holly to be anything but clueless.

Max never resurfaced. No calls, no messages, no threats at the door. His parents stopped visiting the grandson altogether. They turned up once, years later, when Arthur was seven, in Year2, swimming lessons, obsessed with building LEGO sets.

One day a stranger knocked, and Arthur opened the door to two unfamiliar faces.

Who are you? he asked.
Arthur! Valerie exclaimed, waving her arms. Its us, Grandma and Granddad!

Arthur frowned, turned back.

Mum, there are strangers here.

The exchange was brief and awkward. Valerie complained that her grandson didnt recognise her, didnt greet her, didnt run for a hug. Her husband, Nikol, shook his head, muttering about modern parenting. They left, muttering that the boy was rude and hopeless, just like his mother. Holly shut the door, laughed at their nonsense. What did they even expect?

Time sped on. Arthur turned eleven, tall as his grandfather, with Hollys stubborn jawline and a sharp, teasing glance. He never asked about his dad; maybe one day he will, and Holly will answer honestly, without bitterness or sugar. For now they manage, just the two of them.

Later, an old friend, Kate, burst into Hollys kitchen, tears staining her mascara.

Hes threatening to take Sergey, Kate sobbed. He says hell hire a solicitor, gather papers I dont know what to do!

Holly poured tea, nudged the sugar bowl.

Kate, she smiled slightly, you want advice?
Anything, Im losing my mind.
Hand the child back to him yourself.

Kate stared, mug in hand.

What?
Pack your stuff, bring Sergey to his dad. Say raise him and go. Three days Holly raised three fingers maybe less. Thatll settle it for good.
Youre serious?
Absolutely. Tested on my own experience.

Kate looked bewildered, a flicker of hope in her eyes.

And then?
Then you live your life, no longer a footnote in someones family Instagram tag.

She thought of Max, his parents, all that history now locked away. Holly had learned her lesson, with flying colours.