There is a sentence that looks simple at first sight, yet reveals a whole way of thinking about children:
“Van étel a hasukban, tiszta ruha rajtuk, fedél a fejük felett. Kell ennél több?” –
“They have food in their bellies, clean clothes on, a roof over their heads. Do they need anything more?”
My quiet, clear answer is: yes, they do.
Not luxury.
Not spoiling.
Not “extra”.
What every child needs – and what English law also recognises – is more than basic physical care. Children need emotional safety, attention, meaningful connection, and stable contact with both parents, where this is safe and in their best interests.
The child’s best interests: more than survival
In England and Wales, every serious decision about a child is guided by the principle of the best interests of the child. Courts, local authorities and professionals are not asking only: “Is the child fed and dressed?” but rather: “Is this child safe, well, and supported in their emotional development and relationships?”
The law talks about parental responsibility and contact, not “minimum supply”. Parental responsibility is not only about food, clothes and a bed. It is about being involved in the child’s life, caring about their wellbeing, and upholding their right to family relationships and emotional security.
Physical care is the lower limit, the baseline. It keeps a child alive.
Emotional care is what allows a child to truly grow.
A child is not a logistics project. A child is a person.
The child’s right to contact with a parent who lives apart
When parents live separately, the child still has a right to regular contact with the parent who does not live with them – unless there is a clear, serious risk to the child’s safety. This is not a favour to that parent. It is part of the child’s own rights.
Contact can mean many things:
• seeing the parent in person,
• spending holidays and weekends with them,
• video calls, phone calls,
• and, in the modern world, regular messages – short texts, pictures, voice notes.
When a child is quietly cut off from these forms of contact, or when one parent does not show or forward messages from the other parent, this does not only hurt the adult. It narrows the child’s world and weakens the child’s access to one of their key emotional resources: the parent who loves them and tries to stay present.
English law does not define good parenting as “food + clothes + roof”.
It talks about welfare, safeguarding, emotional wellbeing, and family life.
Family life includes the right to a relationship with both parents.
What emotional neglect looks like behind a “perfect” facade
From the outside, everything can look fine:
the children are fed, the house is tidy, the school runs are done.
But inside, something essential can be missing:
• warmth in everyday interactions,
• space for feelings,
• genuine listening,
• the freedom to speak about the other parent without fear or tension,
• and real, supported contact with that parent.
Children growing up with a covert narcissistic parent often learn an unspoken rule:
“Only one story is allowed. Only one version of reality is safe.”
They may not be openly forbidden to write to, call or talk about the other parent – but they do not feel free to do so. The cost feels too high. The loyalty conflict feels too strong.
In such an environment, the child’s silence is not indifference.
It is often protection.
The child protects themselves from conflict, tension, disapproval.
And in doing so, they may quietly sacrifice pieces of their own emotional truth.
Emotional safety: the part the law cannot enforce, but still cares about
No legal system can force a parent to be warm, kind or emotionally available. The court can order contact, define schedules, and set boundaries. It cannot legislate genuine affection.
Yet English child law and safeguarding guidance recognise that:
• children need stable, caring relationships,
• emotional harm can be as serious as physical harm,
• cutting a child off from a loving parent can damage their wellbeing,
• and a parent’s responsibility goes beyond “keeping them alive”.
When a parent writes every morning and every evening, not asking for anything in return, they are doing more than “sending messages”. They are creating a consistent emotional backdrop:
• “I am here.”
• “You matter.”
• “You are not alone.”
• “Even if you cannot reply now, you still have a parent who thinks of you.”
These words may not show up in any statute. But their absence shows up in therapy rooms, in adult stories of childhood, and in the quiet pain of children who felt unseen and unheard.
Daily messages as evidence of love – and of responsibility
For a parent living apart, especially across borders, a short message can carry enormous weight. It is a small act, yet it says:
• “I did not disappear.”
• “I did not give up on you.”
• “I cared, even when I had little power.”
Documenting these attempts – the dates, the content, the care – matters in two ways:
• It can become evidence that the parent with parental responsibility actively tried to maintain contact, in line with the child’s rights.
• It is also personal proof, for the parent themselves and eventually for the child, that this relationship was never abandoned – even if the child was not allowed to see it clearly at the time.
The law can look at contact patterns.
The child, years later, will look at who was there, and who was not.
When messages may not reach the child
There are situations where a parent writes and writes, yet is not sure whether the messages ever reach the child:
• the device is controlled by the other parent,
• messages are not shown or are deleted,
• the child is too afraid or too confused to react,
• there is a quiet campaign to portray the other parent as “unnecessary” or “irrelevant”.
From a legal point of view, this can become a question of obstructed contact.
From a human point of view, it becomes a question of invisible love.
The invisible love still exists.
The child simply cannot see it clearly, yet.
One day, perhaps when the child is older and has more independence, they may discover traces of it – in saved emails, in old accounts, in a blog, in written records. And then they will see that someone stood behind them, even in the years when they felt alone.
What the law cannot replace – and what a parent still can give
No court order can replace a missing hug.
No contact schedule can replace the feeling of being genuinely listened to.
No legal term – not even “best interests of the child” – can itself create emotional safety.
But these concepts remind adults of an essential truth:
children are not property.
They are not trophies.
They are not extensions of a parent’s ego.
They are individuals with their own inner world, their own relationships, and their own right to feel loved by more than one parent.
For a parent living apart from their children, especially under the shadow of a narcissistic dynamic, this truth becomes a mission:
• to send messages even when no reply comes,
• to make space for all of the child’s feelings – happy, sad, confused – without judging them,
• to tell the child, again and again, that their feelings are real and important,
• to stay, emotionally, even when physically distant.
“Do they need anything more?” – the real answer
So when someone says:
“They have food, clothes and a roof. Do they need anything more?”
The deeper, honest answer is:
Yes.
They need more.
They need:
• calm, regular contact with the parent who lives apart,
• permission to love that parent without guilt,
• a sense that their voice matters,
• emotional safety, not only physical survival,
• and the knowledge that at least one parent will not disappear, even in silence.
Food, clothes and shelter keep a child alive.
Love, presence and safe contact teach them that life is worth living.
Between these two, there is an entire childhood.
And for that childhood, “more” is not a luxury.
It is exactly what every child deserves.
Author’s note – A külön élő apa szemszöge
I am writing this as a father who lives apart from his children. They were born in England, they live there with their mother, and my daily physical presence in their lives has been heavily reduced.
What I have not reduced – and will not reduce – is my emotional presence.
Every morning and every evening I send them messages.
I tell them they are important.
I tell them I am proud of them.
I ask about their day, even if no answer comes back.
At times, I do not even know whether my messages actually reach them.
I do not know if they are shown the texts, if they read them, if they feel free to reply.
What I do know is that I have a responsibility as a parent:
to keep the line open,
to stay available,
to let them know that there is a parent who does not disappear when things get hard.
This is not about blaming one parent and idealising the other.
It is about the child’s right to feel loved by both,
to have contact with both,
and to grow up knowing that love is not conditional on silence or obedience.
If you are a parent in a similar situation – living apart, feeling shut out, unsure whether your love is reaching your children – my invitation to you is simple:
• Document your efforts.
• Keep sending kind, non‑pressuring messages.
• Tell your children, again and again, that their feelings matter and that you are there for them, even in silence.
If you are the parent who has day‑to‑day care of the children, and you receive messages from the other parent that are calm, loving and safe, please do not block them out of your children’s world.
You may have your own pain, your own story, your own reasons.
But your children have a right to a relationship with a parent who loves them,
and to know, one day, that this parent tried – quietly, consistently, without giving up.
Food, clothes and a roof are the beginning.
Emotional safety, free contact and honest love are the continuation.
A whole childhood lives between these two.
Let us not cut children off from the part that makes them feel truly seen.
