I loved a woman once. Lauren. An olive-skinned, cheeky minx who made my heart skip three beats whenever she smiled at me.
I am an ordinary man and by no means is that an understatement. I was a little rounder around the edges back then and I lack the conventional, chiselled good looks that most women find favourable. Nonetheless, Lauren saw something good in me that allowed her to fall in love and marry me.
It was a corny proposal. The note, with the box, sat on the shelf in our bedroom where she kept her jewellery. I chose that place because I knew she would choose to undress and shower as soon as we got home. Genius, I had reckoned – wait for her to enter the bedroom, take off her watch and earrings and POW! Proposal! It worked, needless to say. I was elated beyond words when she agreed to marry me.
When she unexpectedly fell pregnant – her trepidation was equal to my joy. Fatherhood had finally sought me out. Marley Rose was born 8.20 pounds and healthy. We were ecstatic, completely in love with this precious life that we had been gifted with. If only I could have captured that feeling, the first moment I set my eyes on my daughter. If I could have bottled it and held on to it for the next five years we might have had a chance at some long-term happiness. But it was not meant to be…
Motherhood quickly took its toll on Lauren. I volunteered for the night feeds to allow her rest and took more time off work to take Marley to her Doctor’s appointments to allow Lauren to get settled into her year-long maternity leave.
The sleepless nights, the upset routines and the lack of socializing, on Lauren’s part, damaged her greater than we expected. It almost felt as though she blamed our daughter and I for her miserable existence. At first, I thought it might have been post-natal depression that drove a wedge between her and our child. But as time went on, I learnt differently. My wife just didn’t like kids. Hated them, in fact. She told me this during one...