Mike was 15, and his life felt like a rubbish sitcom. Ever since his parents split, his mum, Carol, had been on a relentless quest for “the one.”
The problem? “The one” seemed to materialise, unpack his suitcase, and then vanish in a puff of smoke, roughly every four weeks.
Each new boyfriend came with new rules. “Mike, you need to be more respectful,” Barry would boom, settling into Mike's dad's old armchair and demanding the telly remote. Or, “Michael,” as Graham insisted on calling him, would declare war on Mike's music. “That racket! It's hardly classical, is it?”
Mike's strategy was simple: make their lives a misery until they couldn't stand it anymore. He'd leave his dirty laundry everywhere. He'd “accidentally” break things. He'd blast his music at all hours. And he'd perfected the art of the sarcastic remark.
“Nice shirt, Barry. Did you get it from a jumble sale?”
“Graham, are you sure you know how to cook? Smells like the house is on fire.”
Carol, though, was livid. “Why can't you just be nice, Mike?” she'd scream, her voice cracking. “Just for once! Is it too much to ask?”
“They're not my dad,” Mike would mutter, kicking at the skirting board. “They're just… temporary.”
“They could be permanent if you weren't so impossible!”
The tension in their small house was always thick. Dinners were silent affairs, punctuated only by the clatter of cutlery and the barely-concealed glares between Mike and the latest intruder. Carol would try to make conversation, but it always felt forced, fake.
One particularly grim Tuesday, after Mike had “accidentally” spilled a glass of orange juice on Trevor’s brand new laptop, Carol snapped. The argument started in the kitchen, then spilled into the living room, escalating with terrifying speed.
“You do this on purpose, don't you?” Carol shrieked, her face red. “You want to ruin everything!”
“They ruin everything!” Mike yelled back, his voice trembling. “They come in here and try to tell me what to do!”
“They try to bring some stability into this house! Something you clearly can't do yourself!”
Then, Carol said the words that would forever echo in Mike's mind. Words that would change everything.
“Sometimes,” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face, “sometimes I wish I’d never had you. I should have had an abortion.”