**Diary Entry 12th March**
Ill never forget the day Emily fell for Oliver. It was her final year at university, and shed gone and fallen head over heels for one of those posh ladsthe kind all the girls whispered about. Oliver came from money, after all. Emily was pretty enough, clever too, but their worlds were miles apart. Her folks were working-class, his well, you could tell by the way he carried himself.
“Em, youre wasting your time with that one,” her flatmates warned. “Hes got his nose in the air, that lot always do. Only mixes with his own kind.”
Emily just tossed her hair. “So what? I know my worth. Im not some dimwitIve got a brain, havent I? And I can hold my own in any conversation.”
“Just dont come crying to us when it all goes pear-shaped,” they sighed. “His mums probably the type whod look down her nose at the rest of us.”
That bit worried her. Meeting his parents? Terrifying.
But Oliver surprised
her. Asked her to the cinema first, proper old-fashioned like. They spent most of their final year together, and just before summer break, he dropped the bomb:
“Em, were going to meet my parents on Saturday. Mums been naggingwants to know all about you.”
Her stomach lurched. “So soon? Im not ready!”
He laughed. “Dont panic. Dads quiet, but Mum? Shell talk your ear off. Just be yourself.”
Emily wasnt so sure. She studied etiquette books for days, terrified of putting a foot wrong.
Saturday came. Oliver met her, and they walked to his parents flat in Kensington. Her hands were clammy.
“Hello,” she managed, stepping inside. His mothera striking woman with a warm smilegreeted her. “Im Margaret. Lovely to meet you, dear.”
At the table, Olivers father, Charles, gave a curt nod. Emily sat straight-backed, cutlery perfect, barely eating. Thendisaster. Her fork clattered to the thick Persian rug. She froze, but Margaret just chuckled.
“Oliver, fetch the poor girl a clean fork. Honestly, where are your manners?”
Relief flooded her. Margarets kindness melted the tension.
“Eat up, love,” she urged. “I cooked this myselfwanted to impress my future daughter-in-law.”
Emily gaped. “Waittodays *my* test, not yours!”
Margaret laughed. “Seems were both on trial. But Olivers chosen well. Isnt that right, Charles?”
He grunted. “Quite.”
The visit went better than shed dreamed. Two weeks later, they filed for a marriage license.
Then came the weddingand the shock. Olivers parents gifted them a one-bed flat in their own building. Emilys family wept with joy. “Youve landed on your feet, love,” her mum kept saying.
But clouds gathered.
They graduated, and Emily discovered she was pregnant. Olivers reaction? Ice.
“A baby? Now? Were barely on our feet! Get rid of it.”
She fled in tearsstraight into Margaret.
“Out with it,” Margaret demanded, steering her to the sofa.
Between sobs, Emily confessed. Margarets jaw set. “Right. Youre keeping that baby. Ill sort my son out.”
And she did. Oliver apologised, but the damage was done.
The baby camea boy. Oliver barely glanced at him. Late nights, booze, then other women.
Emily confronted him. His silence said it all.
Margaret offered refuge. “Stay with us. Raise your boy here. Youll work, build a life*your* life.”
Five years on, Emilys remarriedto a colleague, Robert. Two kids now, a little girl who adores “Gran Margie.” Olivers a distant memory.
Sometimes, luck isnt in the man you marry, but the family you gain. And Emily? She made her own happiness.
**Lesson learned: Blood isnt always thicker than watersometimes its the people who stand by you that matter most.**