During the divorce, the husband declared, «Return everything I ever gave you and the kids!» A week laterthere were boxes onhis doorstep. When he opened them he was astounded…

Inside, neatly packed, were hundreds of photographs, stacked and tied with delicate ribbons. Leon’s breath caught as he lifted one bundle, his fingers fumbling with the knot. The images spilled free and happy faces stared back at him, his own, younger and unburdened.

Valerie’s, radiant with a smile he hadn’t seen in years. Little Steve’s, smeared with ice cream. Roses, framed by pigtails.

There they were at the seaside, tanned and laughing, the waves crashing behind them. There at an amusement park, arms wrapped around each other on a carousel. There at home by the Christmas tree, surrounded by torn wrapping paper and glowing lights.

On the back of each photo, Valerie’s careful, calligraphic handwriting noted the details. Our first vacation together, 2010. I’m so happy.

Steve is three here, 2012. He loves cotton candy. The best new year of our lives, 2015.

Leon’s throat tightened, a lump forming as his eyes burned. He set the photos aside, his hands shaking and reached for another stack. These were children’s drawings, their colours faded but vivid with memory.

Crooked houses under lopsided suns, clumsy stick figures holding hands. Each was signed in a child’s unsteady scrawl. I love Dad.

Dad is the strongest. Dad is the best. Leon’s chest ached, the words piercing through the haze of his denial.

He hadn’t seen these in years, hadn’t realised Valerie had kept them, preserved them like treasures. He kept digging, unable to stop. There were cards he’d written to Valerie in the early years, their edges worn from handling.

Romantic poems penned in his fervent handwriting, declarations of love that felt like they belonged to another man. You’re my forever, Val. I’ll never let you go.

Promises of eternal fidelity, now mocking in their brokenness. Beneath them, a stack of Steve’s and Rose’s school notebooks, filled with their childish gratitude. Thank you, Mummy, for helping me with math.

I got an A. Thank you, Daddy, for explaining how to solve the problem. Leon’s vision blurred, tears spilling silently as he traced the words, the weight of what he’d thrown away crashing over him. The garage door creaked open and Annabelle’s voice cut through the silence, sharp with irritation.

What the heck are you doing in here, Leon? I’ve been calling you for ten minutes. Leon didn’t look up. He sat frozen, a drawing of a stick figure family clutched in his hand, the words, Dad is the best, staring back at him.

His silence only fuelled Annabelle’s annoyance. She stormed closer, her heels clicking on the concrete. Are you ignoring me? What’s all this junk? She peered over his shoulder, her lip curling at the sight of the photos and drawings.

Oh, great. More of Valerie’s garbage. Why are you wasting time on this? Leon’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his fingers tightening around the drawing.

He pulled out another photo, Valerie laughing as Rose smeared cake on her face at a birthday party and Annabelle’s scoff grated against his nerves. Pathetic, she muttered. Get rid of it, Leon.

We don’t need her trash cluttering up our space. He finally looked at her, his eyes raw with something she couldn’t read. Grief, anger, clarity.

It’s not trash, he said, his voice low, unsteady but firm. These are my kids, my family. Annabelle blinked, caught off guard by the steel in his tone.

Your family, she sneered, recovering quickly. You mean the one you left? Don’t get all sentimental now. You wanted this life, Leon.

You chose me. He stared at her. The woman he’d once thought was his salvation and saw her clearly for the first time.

The manipulation, the control, the chaos she thrived on. It wasn’t love. It was a trap and he’d walked into it willingly, blinded by his own discontent…