Trusting Myself Again

It was the way he avoided eye contact.
The way he opened the door, stumbled slightly, and tried to act like everything was normal.
Like I wouldn’t notice.

I thought maybe he’d had a couple of drinks. But as time passed, it became clearer: he was drunk. Not tipsy — not relaxed — drunk. His speech was slurred, his eyes unfocused, and his behaviour was weird. Childish, even. Trying to cover up the fact that he’d messed up instead of just saying something.

The thing is, I would’ve picked up my son. No issue.
It’s two minutes down the road.
But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t give me that option.

I used to get stuck in the “why.”
Why do people think they can get away with this?
Why do I keep trusting people who aren’t capable of holding it?

But that’s not where my focus went this time.
This time, I didn’t spiral. I just saw it clearly:

I can’t leave my son in your care again.

And that was that.

I thought about softening it. About managing his emotions.
I almost said:
“You’re usually reliable — this was just a slip.”

But the truth is, that’s not my job.
My job is to protect my son.
My job is to trust my gut.

And my gut said: this isn’t safe anymore.

It’s sad, of course.
This was one of Victor’s close friends.
They live across the road. It made things easy. Familiar.

But parenting isn’t about comfort.
It’s about protection.
And if something ever happened, and I hadn’t set this boundary, I’d never forgive myself.

What made it worse was the way he tried to hide it.
He didn’t just drink too much.
He tried to cover it up — tried to act like he was fine — tried to coast through without saying a word.

That’s what really broke the trust.
Not the drinking itself. The dishonesty. The avoidance.

So tomorrow, when I see him, I won’t make a scene.
I won’t explain.
I won’t pretend everything’s fine.

I’ll probably say a soft “alright.”
But the distance will speak louder than anything else.
He’ll feel it. And he’ll know exactly why it’s there.

I think that’s the kind of man I want to become.
One who doesn’t need to over-explain.
One who doesn’t ignore the gut feeling just because it’s awkward.

This time, I didn’t betray myself to keep the peace.
And even though it hurts — it’s also a relief.
Because the moment I chose to trust myself again…
was the moment I gave Victor the father he deserves.