Chapter 19
Hope
The kitchen cabinet door creaks and screeches the instant it opens, and I wince—not just at the noise, but at the realisation that even after a year living in this house, I’ve barely made a dent in the renovations I promised myself I’d finish.
Aside from the holes in the walls I’ve had to patch up and paint over, there’s still so much work to do before I can think about moving onto the garden, the very one I worked my damn arse off to grow and maintain.
My previous tenants didn’t just trash the inside of the house; they managed to kill almost every plant outside as well, leaving me to clean up and repair every bit of destruction they left behind.
I’ve made a vow never to accept a group of reckless uni students as tenants again, especially ones who treat my house like a party venue than their home.
Mark Avery’s business card glares at me from the fridge, a local carpenter I still haven’t called, and just one more task piled onto an already endless list. It’s moments like this that make me miss having Adrian around.
He was always on top of the household maintenance, the small, practical things that kept the house running.
Since the divorce, though, it’s all fallen to me—every repair, every decision—just me, myself, and I.
Now, what was I looking for again? Right—a box cutter.
I reach for the island drawer, the one with all the bits and bobs I couldn’t be bothered to organise, and the moment I pull it open, the handle pops loose, nearly grazing my thumb on a sharp nail.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
I fling the handle onto the countertop in frustration. It lands with a sharp clink, bouncing before rolling towards the edge. I gasp, suddenly remembering the stone beneath it, and rush to inspect the surface. Relief washes over me when I find not a single chip or mark in sight.
“Zac! I shout. “Where are you? Your pop is going to be here any minute now.”
“I’m coming!” he calls out from the bathroom.
Heavy footsteps echo down the hallway until Zac appears in the kitchen doorway, carrying his overnight backpack over his shoulders.
“Oh, good. Have you packed your toothbrush?”
“Yes.”
“Your pyjamas?”
“Yes.”
“Your jumper?”
“Yes.
“Extra pair of socks?”
“Yes, Mum. I’ve packed everything!”
“I’m just checking. No need to get snappy, little crocodile. I know how you can forget things.”
“Mum, I told you not to call me your little crocodile.”
“Why not? I think it’s cute.”
“It’s not. It’s embarrassing. And you have to stop calling me that in front of my teacher and friends.”
I roll my eyes at him, and he responds with an eye roll of his own, only far more dramatically. He might only be nine, but he has the attitude of a fifteen-year-old.
The day after I finally ended things with Adrian, I sat down with Zac to talk about his dad and me separating.
I told him we wouldn’t be living in the same house anymore, that his dad would be staying in Sandy Vale.
I didn’t go into the details of our separation; instead, I made sure he understood that none of it was his fault, and that we both still loved him deeply.
I explained the arrangement clearly: how he would spend every second weekend with his dad at his parents’ home here in Sydney.
As I expected, Zac had a few questions of his own—would his dad still come to watch him play soccer, would he still be at his birthday?
To all of them, I said yes. Adrian assured me he would be there for every milestone, every achievement.
And while there have been times he couldn’t make it to Zac’s games, he always made up for it on his next visit.
One thing I made sure to do was arrange sessions with a child therapist for Zac, to help him process his emotions and adjust to our new family dynamic. And so far, it’s been helping him, and me—more than I could have hoped.
The front door slams open, and I’m jolted back to the present. My dad’s deep, animated voice rolls through the house.
“Where’s my favourite grandson?” he shouts. He says it every time he comes to pick up Zac, and he can get away with it too, since he’s the only grandson in the family.
“Hey, Pop! Are we really going to catch a ferry to the city?”
“We sure are! So, make sure you’re packed and ready.”
“I am. Mum already bugged me about it.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Excuse me! I did not bug you. I simply reminded you.”
My dad chuckles and walks over, pressing a soft kiss on my forehead.
“Hey, petal. How are you?”
“I’m good, Dad. Though… my second island drawer is missing a handle now. I’m so sick of this place falling apart.”
“Have you called that carpenter I recommended to you, Mark Avery?”
“Not yet, but I will first thing Monday.”
“And what about the built-in-wardrobe in the master and guest rooms? Has that been fixed?”
“Nope.”
“What about the laundry door and shelves?”
“No, and no.”
“Hope, have you managed to get anything fixed besides the holes on the walls?”
“I’m slowly getting to them, Dad. You do realise it’s just me taking care of everything around here. I’ve managed to get the ensuite tiles and the guest room carpet replaced, but aside from that, I’m making my way through the rest, bit by bit.”
“Why don’t you let me help you?”
“No, it’s okay. I can manage everything on my own, just at my own pace. I’ve been tired from work lately, that’s all. This time of the year at the hospital is always hectic, so I’ve been doing a bit of overtime. But I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“Well, just remember, I’m here if you need any help.”
“Thanks, Dad. I will.”
“Alright, buddy. You ready to go?”
“I was ready five minutes ago.” my son quips.
My dad and I exchange a look and, on cue, roll our eyes at the same time.
“Zac, wait for me outside for a minute,” my dad asks. “There’s just something I need to talk to your mum about.”
“Okay.” He shrugs his shoulders, then, saunters out of the room and out the front door.
My dad turns back to face me, and the warmth in his expression fades instantly.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” I ask, a hint of nervousness creeping into my voice.
“Why did I have to hear from your mother that Adrian’s been seen with a different woman every month for the past year, like he’s some twenty-two-year-old playboy?”
“First of all, I told her that in confidence. So, I’ll be having a word with her the next time I see her. And secondly, Adrian is free to do what he wants. We’re not together anymore, so why does it matter who he brings home?”
“Because it looks like he’s deliberately trying to humiliate you,” he snaps. “Especially now that everyone knows he had an affair while he was married to you. It’s disrespectful.”
“Look, whatever he does in his own time is his business. I don’t want to know, and I certainly don’t care. As long as he sticks to the parenting order and shows up for Zac, he can do whatever he wants.”
“And how’s that going?” he counters. “Because the last time we spoke, you said he missed a few visits with Zac already for something important. That ‘something important’ wouldn’t happen to be his latest flavour of the month, would it?”
“No. Gosh, Dad. He actually had something on. I told you—he volunteers to fill in as the soccer coach from time to time.”
My dad looks at me, unconvinced, his fatherly intuition quick to recognise when I’m not being entirely honest. I’ve had my suspicions about what Adrian has really been up to for a while now, but I refuse to let it get to me.
I’ve spoken to a couple of the mums from the team he coaches, the same one Zac used to play for back in Sandy Vale, and they’ve confirmed that Adrian has only filled in twice.
The rest of the time, no one knows where he’s been.
“Should’ve given him hell during the divorce. He doesn’t deserve the life his living right now.”
“As much as I really wanted to, he’s still my child’s father. Any spiteful thing I do to him would only end up affecting Zac in some way. All I can do is just keep moving forward. The best kind of revenge is showing him just how much better off we are without him.”
My dad hums, still unconvinced, and I can tell he’s just itching to say more. But I don’t want to think about it anymore. I’m done feeling sad over him.
“Now go—my kid can turn into a real grouch if you make him wait any longer.”
He finally lets it go, but I have a feeling this conversation isn’t over.
I walk him to the door, and we say our goodbyes, reminding Zac to behave and not growl at people again—a habit he seems to fall into whenever he’s bored and needs to entertain himself.
Once they’re on the road and the car has disappeared down the street, I close the door behind me and gather my phone and bag.
After that unexpected conversation with my dad, and the oppressively heavy mood it left behind after talking about Adrian’s new life, I decide to do the one thing that never fails to lift my spirits: go plant shopping.