To Trust Again

Jamie was a year old, and Kate was nearly three when it happened.

‘I can’t believe it.’ I must have repeated these four words over and over a hundred times. I was stunned that something like this could happen to me.

My husband, Stan, and I had gone through all the tests before we were told that I would never conceive. We both wanted children and supported each other through the adoption process.

No one can ever know the joy that Stan and I felt when we adopted Kate on 3rd October 1965.

‘Oh, just look at you,’ I oohed and aahed, gazing down at the tiny three-week-old baby in my arms. ‘You’re the most beautiful little girl in the world, Katy.’ I couldn’t take my eyes off her; she was a gift from God.

‘You’re going to be the best mother in the world, Wendy.’ Stan put his arm around me and hugged me. He was a wonderful husband and an even better father.

Being an old-fashioned wife, I took on the full parental role as Stan was the breadwinner. I never asked my husband to change a nappy or to take turns staying up all night with a teething baby.

‘You get a good night’s sleep, my Love, you have to work tomorrow,’ I would say. ‘I’ll catnap during the day when Kate eventually falls asleep.’

When Kate turned two, we adopted Jamie, and our lives were perfect. We were happy, so how could this have happened?

Stan was earning reasonable money, and we had put down a deposit on our first house. Yes, money was tight, but we would manage, and in a year, when Jamie turned two, I would return to work. I still get that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think back to the moment when I realised he wasn’t coming back.

At first, I thought Stan had been delayed at work and forgotten to phone me. The switchboard lady had gone home, and there was no reply from his work phone number. I kept his dinner warm in the oven. He’ll be home shortly, I told myself. When he wasn’t home by nine o’clock, I started to worry. He might have had an accident. I phoned his parents, who began calling the hospitals.

My parents arrived, and we drank copious cups of tea, trying to think where he could be. I slept poorly that night, and the following morning I checked the suitcases in the top cupboard. There’s a suitcase missing. Then I checked his wardrobe and found several items of clothing had been removed.

My next move was to visit the bank. Stan had drawn exactly half our savings the day before he disappeared. He’s been planning this for some time; he’s left me and the children. The realisation that I was now on my own with two small children left me in shock.

That’s exactly how it happened. One day, he went to work and never came back. There was no explanation; he had just disappeared.

Over the years, I have searched back, looking for signs. Was I so wrapped up in myself that I missed something? Was he unhappy at home or at work? Had my parents or his parents, or a friend, said something to upset him? Was there another woman?

He had parked his company car at work and left his car keys with the receptionist.

‘He gave me the car keys and said, “goodbye Lucy, see you sometime,” then he walked out the door and around the corner.’

‘Was he carrying anything? Did he get into a car?’ her manager asked.

‘I didn’t see him carrying anything, and after he turned the corner, I couldn’t see him anymore.’ This is all she could tell us.

The fact was, Stan had packed a suitcase, drawn half our savings from the bank, and disappeared.

Five years later, my heart still aches, and I still have no answers. I loved Stan, but he’s either dead or he’s found someone else, or perhaps he couldn’t cope with the stress of family life.

After he left, I found an excellent job with a great company which has looked after me amazingly. Mum took care of Kate and Jamie while I was at work, and both Stan’s parents and my parents helped with the monthly bond repayments during the first year, so I could keep the house. In my second year, I received a substantial pay rise, which put me on my feet, and I never looked back.