My Ex-Husband Regrets Full-Time Fatherhood, Missing His Old Life

When Alexander and I decided to end our marriage, we were both adamant that our children, Connor and Harper, would not become casualties of our failed relationship. We had seen it happen too often in our circle, and we were determined to write a different story. The judge, influenced by Alexander’s lawyer and his own declarations, awarded us joint custody. It seemed like the best outcome for everyone involved, especially for Connor and Harper. But as the months rolled by, the cracks in our carefully laid plans began to show, particularly on Alexander’s side.

Alexander had always been a hands-on dad, or so I thought. During our marriage, he was the fun parent, always ready with a game or a surprise trip to the park. However, the reality of being a single father seemed to hit him hard. The endless cycle of school runs, homework, cooking, and cleaning, on top of his job, began to take its toll. The man who had once argued fervently in court about his rights and abilities as a father was now calling me, sounding exhausted and defeated, questioning his decision to fight for joint custody.

“I just didn’t realize it would be this hard,” Alexander confessed one evening over the phone. His voice was barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to the confident, almost brash tone he had used in court. “I miss… I miss my old life, Mary.”

It was a punch to the gut. Here I was, juggling my responsibilities as a mother with my career, and yet, I never once regretted our children. They were the best part of my day, even when the days were long and hard. But Alexander, it seemed, was mourning his lost freedom.

As the months turned into a year, Alexander’s visits became less frequent. Connor and Harper would wait by the window, counting down the minutes until their dad’s car pulled into the driveway. But more often than not, they were left waiting. Excuses poured in – work, a sudden illness, an unavoidable commitment. It became clear that Alexander’s heart was no longer in it.

The final straw came when Alexander missed Harper’s birthday. No call, no gift, no explanation. Just silence. Connor tried to hide his disappointment, but Harper was inconsolable. That night, as I held her in my arms, listening to her sobs, I realized that our children had become collateral in Alexander’s quest for self-discovery.

Our story doesn’t have a happy ending. Alexander’s visits have dwindled to a sporadic trickle, each one more awkward and strained than the last. Our children have learned to cope with his absence, but the questions linger in their eyes. Why doesn’t Daddy want to see us? Did we do something wrong?

As for me, I’ve learned to be both mother and father to Connor and Harper. It’s not the life I envisioned for us, but it’s our reality. And despite the heartache and the challenges, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Because unlike Alexander, I can’t imagine a life without our children at the center of it.