**Diary Entry 12th April**
I never thought it would come to this. The tension in our little flat has been unbearable lately.
*”Arent you ashamed, begging my son for scraps?”* My mother-in-laws voice was sharp as a knife when she heard me mention food.
*”Emma, did you buy this cream?”* Susan asked, turning the small jar over in her hands. *”It looks expensive.”*
*”No, Daniel brought it,”* I replied, drying my hands on a tea towel. *”Says it helps with wrinkles.”*
Susan set it back on the shelf with a disapproving click of her tongue. *”Wrinkles,”* she muttered. *”He spends on nonsense while we scrape by.”*
It was true. Just this morning, Daniel had called, apologisingagainfor delaying the food shop till tomorrow.
*”What are we making for lunch?”* Susan pressed, arms crossed. *”Theres only potatoes and carrots in the fridge.”*
I shrugged. *”Soup, maybe?”*
*”Soup? With what? No meat, no chickenjust veg?”*
*”Vegetable soup, then,”* I said, pulling out an onion and half a cabbage. *”Itll do.”*
Susan shook her head. In her day, women planned meals a week ahead. No empty cupboards, no last-minute scrambling.
*”What about Lily?”* she asked, nodding toward the living room where my four-year-old was watching cartoons. *”She wont eat just soup.”*
*”Ill make porridge. Or pasta with butter. Kids love that.”*
*”Is there even any butter left?”*
I checked the fridge. *”Barely fifty grams.”*
Susan sighed deeply. *”Living hand to mouth, and he buys face cream.”*
The air thickened. She perched on a stool, her fingers drumming the counter. *”Emma, love maybe pop to the shop? Just bread and milk for Lily?”*
*”With what money?”* I turned to face her. *”Ive got nothing till payday.”*
*”Nothing? But you work!”*
*”And my wages come Friday. Right now, my purse is empty.”*
Susan paced, her slippers scuffing the linoleum. The silence was heavy. Daniel was late with money, I had none, and Lily needed feeding.
*”My pensions gone on pills,”* she admitted quietly. *”Blood pressures been dreadful. Had to get the expensive ones.”*
*”Well manage till tomorrow,”* I said, though my hands trembled as I peeled potatoes.
*”Manage? The childs starving!”*
*”What do you want me to do? Fry air?”*
*”Think of something! Youre her mother!”*
Lily wandered in then, pyjamas wrinkled, rubbing her eyes. *”Grandma, whens dinner?”*
*”Soon, darling,”* Susan cooed, scooping her up. *”Mummys cooking now.”*
I stirred the pot, watching the sad, pale chunks of potato bob in the water.
*”Mum, can I have biscuits?”* Lily asked, peering into the cupboard.
*”Only crumbs left,”* I said. *”After soup, okay?”*
*”What kind of soup?”*
*”Potato.”*
She pulled a face. *”I want meat, like at Auntie Claires.”*
Susan exhaled sharply. Lily wasnt wrongkids need proper meals, not watery veg.
The phone call to Daniel changed nothing. *”Hell bring food tomorrow,”* Susan said, hanging up. *”Swears it.”*
Lily licked biscuit crumbs from her palm. Susans jaw tightened.
*”Emma, call someone. Friends, family. Just for Lilys sake.”*
*”No.”*
*”Why? Pride?”*
*”Decency. I wont beg.”*
Susans voice rose. *”Its not begging! Its survival!”*
Lily cried. Susan rocked her, whispering promises. *”Grandmall sort it.”*
In the end, it was Mrs. Thompson next door who saved usmilk, yoghurts, even sausages. *”Neighbours help neighbours,”* shed said kindly.
Lily devoured the food, grinning. I sat there, throat tight, realising: sometimes, swallowing your pride is the only way to keep someone else fed.
