“Don’t Go: A Story of a Boy and One Mistake”
—”Oliver, don’t do this!” Mum’s voice cracked through her tears. “Please, forgive me… just don’t leave…”
But Dad had already packed his few belongings and was walking toward the door without looking back.
I stood in the doorway between the hall and the living room, a living barrier. I was twelve, and I truly believed that if I just blocked his path, refused to let him go, everything would go back to how it was. We’d been a happy family, hadn’t we?
Mum and Dad used to laugh together, finish each other’s sentences, even tell the same jokes. Sure, Dad worked long hours, often coming home late and exhausted, but on those rare evenings when we were all together, I felt like the luckiest kid alive.
Then—out of nowhere—betrayal. Mum’s affair with some bloke named Liam from her office. The shouting, the tears. And now—there he was, at the door.
—”Dad, don’t go!” I choked out.
—”Move.” His voice was cold, robotic, like one of those stern detectives from his work calls.
—”What about me?” I pleaded.
He shoved me aside like I was furniture—just another chair or table—then walked out and slammed the door behind him. That was it.
Mum collapsed onto the sofa, burying her face in her hands. I watched her and felt everything inside me crumble.
Two weeks later, Liam vanished too. And Mum was left alone—with a loyal dog on a chain named me.
I started coming home late, hanging out with the “bad crowd” Mum warned me about. Petty theft, drinking, smoking. Then came the breaking point: my mate Ethan and I tried to rob some rich bloke, but he had security. They dragged us straight to the station.
When Dad walked into the cell, I recognized him instantly. His face was stone, his eyes ice.
—”Get out,” he snapped.
—”Sod off,” I muttered through gritted teeth.
He yanked me out, hauled me into an interrogation room, and hit me. Twice. Hard.
—”How old are you, Jack?”
—”Don’t you know?” I smirked, wiping blood from my lip.
—”Because you’re not my son!” he exploded. “I married your mum when she was pregnant. Thought we’d make it work. But she—” He swore under his breath.
I froze.
—”Then who is?”
He handed me a tissue and a bottle of water before sinking into a chair.
—”Dunno. Doesn’t matter. On paper, you’re mine. I pay child support. But if you keep this up, I’ll wash my hands of you. Let them lock you up. See if I care.”
—”What about Ethan?”
—”He’s got a dad. Let him sort it.”
I stared at the floor. Suddenly, I wasn’t just ashamed of myself—but of everything. Of Mum. Of Dad. Of what we’d lost… and how I was throwing away what was left.
—”I just… It hurts. I’m so tired. Everything’s falling apart. I didn’t know what else to do.”
—”That’s no excuse. Either you pull yourself together, get an education, build a life—or you rot in jail. Juvenile detention’s hell, Jack. You don’t want that.”
—”Alright. I’ll try.”
As I turned to leave, he called out:
—”And don’t blame your mum. Divorce is never one person’s fault. What I said about her—forget it. That was the anger talking.”
—”Will you two… ever fix things?”
He gave a bitter laugh.
—”No. That’s over.”
I walked away. And walked away from the person I might’ve become.
It took everything to cut ties with the old crowd. Ethan’s dad bailed him out, but he went straight back to trouble. I didn’t. I set my mind on a goal. Forgave Mum. Hit the books, hired tutors, pulled all-nighters.
Now—I’ve applied to several police academies. Mum lost it:
—”That’s no life! Look at your dad! It’s not living!”
But I did look. I remembered. And that’s exactly why I chose this path.
When I graduated and pinned on my sergeant’s stripes, I showed up at Dad’s office unannounced.
He was still head of the unit. Older. Greyer. But his eyes—the same.
—”Reporting for duty, Sergeant Holloway.”
He froze.
—”Jack?”
We talked for hours. About life, the job, even football and politics. He offered me a drink, but I refused. I just needed to be there. To prove I’d made it. That I hadn’t fallen into the abyss.
As I stood to leave, he rose too.
—”Don’t go. Join us. The unit.”
I studied him—this man who was both stranger and family.
—”I won’t. There’s always time to walk away later.”
Now we work together. He’s my boss. I’m under his command.
But the important part? He’s my dad again.
