Steph and I had been dating for around a year and a half when she made the brave decision to leave the life she knew and move down to Lower Hutt to live with me. It was a major step for both of us, but especially for her. She was moving away from everything familiar and placing a great deal of trust in our relationship and the future we hoped to build together.

I was genuinely happy to have her there. After so much uncertainty in my life, it felt as though things were finally moving in a better direction. I had someone beside me who wanted to share a life with me, and for the first time in a long while, I began looking towards the future with some confidence. There was still partying in my life, and I was still using P, but I was working and trying to maintain the appearance of stability.

Only a couple of months after Steph moved in, she told me she was pregnant.

I was ecstatic. The news filled me with an excitement unlike anything I had experienced before, but it also frightened me. In approximately nine months, I was going to become a father. I understood what the word meant, but I had no real idea of what being a father involved. My own experiences had not exactly given me a clear example to follow. I did not have a lifetime of memories with my father to draw from or a close relationship that had taught me what a dependable dad looked like.

I wondered whether I would know what to do when my son arrived. I questioned whether I could provide for him, protect him and give him the kind of childhood every child deserved. There was no longer going to be only me to think about. A tiny human being was coming into the world who would depend on Steph and me for absolutely everything. That realisation brought happiness, pressure and fear all at once.

Despite my concerns, I was looking forward to becoming a dad. Steph and I began preparing for the baby together. We attended antenatal classes, learning about pregnancy, childbirth and what to expect during those first exhausting weeks at home. We listened as people explained feeding, sleeping, changing nappies and how to hold a newborn correctly. It was a completely unfamiliar world to me, but I tried to take it all in.

We bought the things we believed we would need and slowly began assembling a life for someone we had not yet met. There were baby clothes, blankets, nappies and all the other items that suddenly become necessary when a child is on the way. Each purchase made the pregnancy feel more real. The future was no longer some distant idea. It was arriving, whether I felt ready for it or not.

Steph continued working at a local bar in Petone while I kept working as well. Our routines carried on much as they had before, although everything now revolved around the approaching birth. We had appointments to attend, decisions to make and a home to prepare. Steph’s body was changing, our responsibilities were growing and the countdown had begun.

I still went out with my friends occasionally. At that stage, I had not completely separated my old social life from the new family life forming around me. Part of me was preparing to become a father, while another part continued behaving as though very little needed to change. I believed I could somehow keep both worlds running alongside each other.

One of the people I continued spending time with was Tim. Over the previous months, I had noticed a change in him. Tim had a background in boxing and knew how to handle himself physically. When he was sober, things could be fine, but alcohol often brought out a level of aggression that made him difficult to predict. When large amounts of P were added to the situation, that unpredictability became far worse.

A normal night out could turn into an argument without much warning. A glance from somebody across a bar, a careless comment or a minor disagreement could be enough to set something off. Before long, voices would be raised, people would be squaring up and a fight would begin.

I was never interested in that kind of behaviour. I went out to enjoy myself, listen to music, have a drink and spend time with my friends. I did not want to spend my nights watching every person in the room, wondering whether something was about to erupt. However, when trouble followed someone you were with, it had a way of dragging everybody nearby into it.

There had been occasions when Tim became involved in fights and I found myself caught in the middle, even though I had no desire to be there. I might be trying to calm the situation, pull someone away or prevent things from getting worse, only to end up looking as though I was part of the brawl. It became exhausting and increasingly dangerous.

Eventually, I warned him that I had reached my limit. I told him that if the fighting continued, I would leave immediately. I would not hang around to rescue him, defend him or become involved in whatever happened next. He was responsible for his own behaviour, and I was no longer willing to allow it to become my problem.

One night, Tim and I headed into the city. We had arranged to meet his father, who was always up for a good time. The intention was to have a few drinks and enjoy the night together, but once again, there was an altercation at one of the bars.

I do not remember every detail of what started it, but I knew I had seen enough. I had already made my position clear, and I was not prepared to become involved in another fight. I left Tim and his father in the city and went home. They continued the night without me.

At some point after I left, there was reportedly an incident between Tim and his father. It was described by some as an altercation and by others as a form of play fighting. According to the account I later heard, Tim either pushed or struck his father, causing him to fall backwards and hit his head on a concrete kerb. Rather than the night ending immediately, his father was reportedly placed in a taxi and sent home. Tim remained in the city and continued with his evening.

I was not there when it happened, so I can only describe what I was later told. What followed was a period of uncertainty, conflicting stories and unanswered questions. Over the following week, including the Christmas period, Tim’s father was said to have remained at home, mostly in bed and feeling increasingly unwell. From what I later understood, he was largely left alone during that time.

Tim continued with his Christmas celebrations, and as far as I was aware, he did not tell those around him just how unwell his father had become. Nobody seemed to understand the seriousness of his condition or what had happened in the days leading up to it. For approximately a week after that night, his father remained sick and alone while life carried on around him.

His condition did not improve. He later died from a head injury.

There were also unconfirmed reports that he may have sustained the fatal injury during a separate altercation around the same period. Different versions of events began circulating, and it became difficult to determine where fact ended and rumour began. What was certain was that a man had lost his life and a family was left dealing with the consequences.

In due course, the circumstances surrounding his death led to court proceedings involving Tim.

As the case approached, Tim asked me to give evidence. What he wanted me to say did not match what I understood to be true. Although I had left before the incident between him and his father occurred, I knew what I had witnessed earlier in the night and what I had been told afterwards. I was not prepared to go into court and give evidence that contradicted my honest recollection.

I refused.

It was not a decision I made lightly. Tim had been my friend, and refusing to support him in the way he wanted could have consequences of its own. By then, however, I had seen enough to understand what his life was becoming. The aggression, drug use and constant threat of violence were no longer isolated incidents that could be dismissed as someone having a bad night. They had developed into a pattern.

I also knew that being asked to alter my account crossed a line. Friendship did not require me to lie or place myself in legal jeopardy. Whatever had happened after I left the city, I was not going to allow loyalty to be used as a reason to abandon the truth.

For the first time, I looked at Tim without making excuses for him. He had become dangerous, violent and deeply unpredictable. I could not know what would happen whenever he drank or used large amounts of P, and I did not want to find out how much worse things could become.

Distancing myself from him was not only about protecting myself anymore. Steph was pregnant with our first child. I had a son on the way and a family beginning to take shape around me. My decisions would soon affect someone who had no say in the life he was being born into.

I could not continue placing myself in situations where a night out might end with police, hospitalisation or another tragedy. I did not want my son growing up with a father who was repeatedly caught in other people’s violence. I had already experienced enough instability in my own childhood to understand the damage it could cause.

There were many parts of my life that still needed to change, even if I could not yet admit the full extent of them. My own dr#g use had not disappeared, and becoming a father would not magically repair everything that was wrong. However, I could recognise that Tim’s path was heading somewhere I did not want to follow.

His father’s death changed the way I saw our friendship. It showed me how quickly aggression could produce consequences that could never be undone. A push, a punch or a fall could transform several lives in a matter of seconds. Whatever the complete truth of that night may have been, I knew I wanted no further part in the violence and chaos surrounding him.

Walking away from Tim became one of my first serious attempts to draw a boundary between the life I had been living and the life I hoped to create. It did not mean I had suddenly become responsible in every area, nor did it mean I fully understood what fatherhood would demand from me. It meant that, for once, I could see trouble approaching and chose not to wait until it destroyed something else.

My son was coming.

It was time to start deciding what kind of man would be waiting for him.