I came home from work one day to find my wife and two kids had moved out (2024)

Henry*, then 52, came home from work one day to find his wife of 10 years and two children had moved out of their family home, with no explanation.

I came home from work one day to find my wife and two kids had moved out (1)

During the summer of 1992, I was working away in Manchester on a month-long contract. At the time, I’d recently taken the leap to become a self-employed electrician and was eager to make as many new connections as possible to build up my business. I was also young and single, so I didn’t mind travelling up and down the country for jobs.

One Friday night, I finished earlier than normal so I decided to make the most of my downtime and explore the Manchester nightlife. Being from London, I’d never really ventured up north, so it was a fun new experience for me.

Building our dream life

Little did I know that evening would change my life forever, as I met the love of my life and the woman I’d go on to marry and have two children with. Shelley* and I hit it off immediately, and it wasn’t long until I’d sold my flat down south and relocated to Manchester so we could live together.

I really felt like this was 'it'. My business was flourishing, I was so happy in my relationship and, as a couple, we worked as a team to create our dream life together.

I was so happy in my relationship and, as a couple, we worked as a team to create our dream life together.

The start of the end

But in 2013, our worlds were turned upside down. While my wife and I were on a weekend getaway in Blackpool celebrating my upcoming 50th birthday, I suffered a heart attack which resulted in me having to undergo emergency surgery. I was in hospital for around two weeks, and when I was discharged, I was unable to work for months under my doctor’s orders.

I suffered a heart attack which resulted in me having to undergo emergency surgery. I was in hospital for around two weeks, and when I was discharged, I was unable to work for months.

Not only did this emotionally affect our family life, but it also wreaked havoc on us financially. Being self-employed and the main breadwinner, I lost out on contract after contract. This created huge tension between my wife and I, as we worried how we could afford our mortgage, our children’s education fees (they attended the local private school), and generally keep up with our idyllic life.

Marriage breakdown

Being at home for those months took its toll on my mental health too. I felt useless and, admittedly, developed a fiery temper due to my frustration at being unable to provide for my family.

Shelley and I would spend most evenings yelling at each other, the kids always taking her side and begging me to stop because she was smaller and more fragile – and because before the heart attack, she’d been the one who’d been around the most with them as I’d always been working.

I remember one evening after a particularly heated row, our boys locked themselves in the bathroom because they were genuinely scared of me.

I remember one evening after a particularly heated row, our boys locked themselves in the bathroom because they were genuinely scared of me. They’d never heard me shout like this before, and looking back, I feel like it was the beginning of the end.

That night, my wife said she couldn’t bear to look at me and would be moving into the spare bedroom. I took it to heart and became more angry and hostile, which pushed my family even further away from me. I began to think of it as being 'three against one', and in my spiralling state, thought, 'They already hate me, I might as well make them hate me even more.'

I moved the living room TV into the master bedroom, put locks on the door, bought myself a mini fridge and stocked up on everything I’d need. As the weeks went on, we were like passing ships in the night.

I came home from work one day to find my wife and two kids had moved out (2)

Shelley and the boys began staying with her parents or with friends, and when they were at home – which became rarer – they’d just ignore me. Or, Shelley and I would argue over anything and everything which resulted in me retreating to the bedroom, slamming and locking the door.

Shelley* and I would argue over anything and everything which resulted in me retreating to the bedroom, slamming and locking the door.

When I was finally able to go back to work, six months later, it was at a much slower pace. At first, I thought this might improve things, but I was wrong. We were still living separate lives – our only communication being through arguments – and I was spending any spare time in the pub with friends. This only added fuel to the fire, but during that period, I didn’t care. I was feeling more bitter by the day.

Angry and confused

This went on for around two years until one evening in 2015 I came home from work to find the house empty. The sofas, dining room and coffee table, the kids’ beds and all of their possessions were gone. They’d literally moved out of the house while I was at work and I had no idea where they’d gone.

At first, I felt nothing but anger. I couldn’t believe they’d done this to me. But after an hour or so, reality set in and I became inconsolable. 'I’ve done this to myself,' I remember thinking. 'There’s no way back from here.'

I ran outside to knock on my neighbours’ doors to see if they knew where my family had gone. But they were reluctant to talk to me...

I ran outside to knock on my neighbours’ doors to see if they knew where my family had gone. But they were reluctant to talk to me – Shelley had apparently told them not to tell me where they were going. They also knew we’d been having problems for years after hearing some of our arguments. Now, I don’t blame them, but at the time, I thought, 'This is what hell feels like.'

Weeks passed before I found out where they’d gone. Shelley texted me but begged me to give them some space, telling me that our sons were still processing everything that had happened.

Now, it’s been almost 10 years. Shelley and I are divorced, and to this day, I don’t really have a relationship with my kids. I’ve tried to reach out, but every time we’ve met for the occasional lunch or dinner, it’s exploded into rowing matches – mainly the boys wondering why I’ve never said sorry for what I put them through.

But it’s not that simple. I get that they’re probably traumatised from what they experienced during their teenage years. I’ve learnt to accept what happened, and I’m much less angry now. I love my children more than anything, and I just hope that in the future, they’ll want to see their dad again.

*Names have been changed to protect identities.

Read more: All of Yahoo UK's How I was dumped stories.