**Diary Entry**
When I opened the door to my ex-husband, my breath caughtstanding beside him was a blonde woman in glossy heels.
“Mum, why does Auntie Claire have such pretty shoes and you dont?” asked my six-year-old daughter, Emily, peering out the window at our neighbours feet.
I set down my mug of cold tea and looked at her. She stood by the windowsill in her favourite pink pyjamas, her nose pressed to the glass.
“What’s wrong with my shoes?” I smiled, though something twisted inside me.
“Theyre not bad, just old. Auntie Claires are shiny, with little heels. You always wear trainers.”
I walked over and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. The neighbour, Claire, was walking past in her new patent heels, a smart coat, and a designer handbag. A polished woman in her forties, freshly divorced and clearly doing well for herself.
“Emily, pretty shoes dont make someone beautiful,” I murmured. “What matters is whats inside.”
“But shoes are important too,” she insisted. “Dad used to buy you nice things, didnt he?”
At the mention of her father, my shoulders tensed. James left us six months ago, saying he wasnt happy anymore. The divorce wasnt final, but our family was already broken.
“Dad bought a lot of things,” I answered carefully. “But we live differently now.”
“When is Dad coming back?”
She asked this every day, and every day, I had no answer. James saw her once a week, took her out for a few hours, then brought her home. Each time, Emily hoped hed stay.
“I dont know, love. Maybe hell call today.”
As if summoned, my phone rang. James.
“Hello,” I answered, forcing calm into my voice.
“Hey. Hows Emily?”
“Shes fine. She asks about you.”
“Right. Listen, I need to talk to you. Seriously.”
His voice was cold, businesslike. My stomach clenched.
“About what?”
“Not over the phone. Im coming over. Now.”
“Emilys here.”
“This involves her too.”
He hung up before I could reply. I looked at Emily, still by the window.
“Sweetheart, Dads coming over.”
Her face lit up.
“Really? Is he staying for dinner?”
“I dont know. He just wants to talk.”
She dashed off to change into her best dress. I stayed in the kitchen, nerves twisting. Something in his tone unsettled me. He usually just called to arrange visitsnot “serious” talks.
I tidied myself up quickly, smoothing my hair and changing into a clean blouse. Not for himfor me. Whatever happened, I wouldnt let him see me unravel.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. Emily burst out in her special-occasion dress.
“Dads here!” she squealed.
I opened the door and froze. James stood there in an expensive suit, smelling of unfamiliar cologne, andworst of allhappy. Beside him was a young woman, mid-twenties, in a stylish coat and *those* glossy heels Emily had admired.
“Hi,” James said, as if bringing his new girlfriend was completely normal.
Heat rushed to my face. Emily peeked out from behind me, staring at the stranger.
“Dad, whos that?”
“Emily, this is Sophie,” James said, ruffling her hair. “My… girlfriend.”
Sophie smiled, but it didnt reach her eyes.
“Hi, Emily. Your dad talks about you all the time.”
“Can we come in?” James asked. “We really need to talk.”
I stepped aside, letting them into our small flat. Sophie scanned the living room with thinly veiled distastethe worn sofa, the peeling wallpaper, the drawings stuck to the fridge.
“Have a seat,” I said, keeping my voice steady.
They sat at the table. Emily clung to Jamess side, eyeing Sophie warily. I sat across from them, hands folded.
“So. What did you want to talk about?”
James cleared his throat. “Sophie and I are serious. Were moving in together.”
“Congratulations,” I said flatly. “But whats that to me?”
“We want Emily to live with us.”
The room tilted. Emily frowned.
“Live where, Dad?”
“With us, princess. Weve got a big flat now. Youll love it.”
“And Mum?”
James and Sophie exchanged glances. Sophie spoke first.
“Mum would stay here. Youd live with Dad and me. Id be like a new mum to you.”
Emily scowled.
“I already have a mum. I dont want another one.”
“Emily, dont be difficult,” James said softly. “You wanted us to live together, didnt you?”
“Not without Mum!”
I dug my nails into my palms. “James, can we talk privately?”
“No point hiding anything now,” he said. “Sophies part of the family.”
“*Our* family?” I nearly laughed. “James, we have a daughter. You cant just take her like shes aa *thing*.”
“No one said that,” Sophie cut in. “But be honestshed have a better life with James. We can afford good schools, holidays, proper clothes.”
“And I cant?”
“Well…” Sophie glanced around. “Look at this place. Its not exactly ideal, is it?”
I stood. “Emily, go to your room.”
“But Mum”
“Now.”
She shuffled out, casting nervous looks over her shoulder. Once her door clicked shut, I turned on James.
“Have you lost your *mind*? You bring your fling here and announce youre taking our child?”
“Be reasonable, Lucy,” James said, attempting a conciliatory tone. “Look at the facts. Youre working two jobs just to scrape by. Emily deserves stability.”
“I give her everything she needs!”
“The *bare minimum*, yes. We can give her *more*.”
Sophie nodded. “And she needs a fathers influence.”
“Influence?” I scoffed. “You walked out on us for a younger woman, and now youre lecturing me on parenting?”
“Hey, cool it,” James snapped. “I didnt *walk out*. We grew apart.”
“FunnyI didnt notice.”
Sophie bristled. “I wont be insulted like this. I love James, and he loves me. And as for Emily, Ill be a good mother to her.”
“A good mother?” I stepped closer. “Do you know she hates custard but loves pancakes? That shes terrified of thunderstorms and needs a nightlight? That strawberries make her rash? Do you know how to calm her when she cries?”
Sophie faltered.
“I… Ill learn.”
“You *will*. But I *know*. Because Im her mother. I was there for every fever, every nightmare, every scraped knee. And you think you can just *replace* me?”
“Lucy, calm down,” James said. “No ones replacing you. But Emily has a right to live with her father.”
“And her *mother*! Or did you forget that part?”
“Lets be real. Can you give her what we can?”
The truth hit like a punch. Yes, I worked at a supermarket and cleaned offices at night. Yes, money was tight. But I loved my daughter more than anything.
“Money isnt everything, James,” I said quietly.
“Love doesnt pay the bills.”
“Emilys fed and clothed!”
“In second-hand jumpers,” Sophie muttered.
My face burned. Yes, most of Emilys clothes came from charity shops. But I made sure they were clean, neat, presentable.
“Second-hand doesnt mean second-rate,” I said.
“Of course not,” Sophie said patronizingly. “But new is better.”
“And glossy heels matter more than a mothers love?”
“Whats that got to do with?”
“Everything,” I interrupted. “This morning, Emily asked why other women dont wear scuffed shoes like mine. And I felt *ashamed*. Ashamed I couldnt give her more. But I give her everything I *can*.”
James sighed. “Were not trying to hurt you. We just want whats best for Emily.”
“And if you get bored of Sophie in a year? What then?”
“That wont happen,” Sophie said firmly.
“You said the same about us.”
Silence. Thensoft sobs from Emilys room.
“Happy now?” I said, heading for the door.
I found Emily curled up on her bed, crying into her pillow.
“Mum, I dont want to go with Dad,” she whispered. “I dont like that lady.”
“Why not?”
“Her eyes are mean. And she looked at our flat like its *ugly*.”
I sat beside her, stroking her hair.
