Self-Discovery

Fight Fire with Fire

In the weeks after Graeme's departure, I became restless. I paced up and down the house, unable to sleep or eat, while the same question circled my head. Why? Why had he done this now, when everything had just started to work out for us? I spent countless empty hours of my maternity leave thumbing through estate agent magazines, staring at photoshopped pictures of houses until my eyes glazed over. I knew we had to downsize. The four bedroomed victorian villa bought in the early days of our marriage with Graeme's salary had provided hours of daydreaming about the little kids we would fill the rooms with. Now, I knew that Graeme and I were history, and Annabelle was my number one priority now, beyond any other man. I was thirty-five. I knew that the likelyhood of more kids was one in a million. 

Slowly, I began slotting my life back in order. I used some of my savings to scrape together enough to decorate what would be Annabelle's nursery. The prospect of moving would have to wait. I was on reduced pay, and Annabelle's birth loomed at less that less than four months away. I would have to stay put. 

As the weeks progressed, I redecorated the house. I re-painted the bedroom, changed the sheets, and cleared out the wardrobe, washing away any evidence that Graeme had existed within the house. All of this evidence; his Armani shirts, his aftershave, and his wedding ring (found craftily hidden in his sock drawer; of course he'd removed it!) were chucked in bin bags. It was strangely liberating, and refreshing. These all went to the charity shop, to be worn by some poor sod who had no idea of the person who had last worn them.

When I was eight months pregnant, a large brown envelope was pushed through the letter box. As soon as I glimpsed the heading, I knew what it meant.

Accompanied with it, was a letter.

Dear Charlotte,

I don't want to make things difficult for you right now, but I have to do this at some point, and we must act like mature and responsible adults. I would like to meet with you for coffee to discuss Annabelle's welfare once she is born. No matter what you say about me, I am still her father, and I still deserve a right to earn a place in my child's life. I'll be at the Coffee Bean on Sunday 23rd at 12.30pm. I would appreciate it if you could join me, as we have much to discuss.

As for the letter you may have received, yes I am divorcing you. Candice and I are ready to start afresh, and don't want this hanging over us. As for the house, I am afraid I will have to sell it. I have been in meetings with estate agents, and have decided to put the house on the market in the coming weeks. I will let you stay until you are safely secure somewhere else. 

I hope this matter can be settled maturely and responsibly, and I know you will come to the right decision for the sake of Annabelle, and her future. 

Yours,

Graeme.

You bastard! I thought Don't you dare blackmail me with my own daughter!

I reached for the phone, my fingers shaking while they dialled the solicitor's number. 

Fight fire with fire.