**Diary Entry 15th October**
“Shouldnt you be ashamed of begging from my son?” my mother-in-law snapped when the subject of food came up.
“Emma, did you buy this cream?” Kate asked, turning the jar over in her hand. “Seems awfully pricey.”
“No, Oliver brought it,” Emma replied, drying her hands. “Says it helps with wrinkles.”
Katherine set it back with a tight-lipped frown. Her son wasted money on nonsense while essentials ran short. Just this morning, hed called to say he couldnt bring groceries till tomorrow.
“What are we making for lunch?” she pressed. “The fridge has only potatoes and carrots.”
Emma shrugged. “Maybe soup?”
“With what? No meat, no chickenjust vegetables.”
“Then vegetable soup.” Emma opened the fridge. “Theres onion and cabbage too. Itll do.”
Katherine shook her head. In her day, women planned meals a week ahead.
“What about Sophie?” she asked, referring to her four-year-old granddaughter. “She wont eat just soup.”
“Ill make porridge.” Emma pulled out oats. “Or buttered pasta. Kids love that.”
“Do we even have butter?”
Emma checked. “Barely fifty grams left.”
Katherine sighed. They were scraping by, yet Oliver splurged on creams. Priorities all wrong.
“Emma,” she said, sitting heavily, “could you pop to the shops? Just bread and milk for Sophie.”
“With what money? Im skint.”
“How? You work.”
“Paydays not till Friday. My purse is empty.”
Katherine paced the kitchen. Oliver delayed, Emma had nothing, and the child needed feeding.
“My pension went on medicine,” she muttered. “Blood pressures been dreadfulhad to buy expensive pills.”
“Well manage till tomorrow,” Emma said.
“And let Sophie go hungry?” Katherine bristled.
Emma froze, ladle in hand. “What dyou suggest? Frying air?”
“I dont know! Think of something! Youre her mother!”
Little Sophie padded in, rubbing her eyes. “Nana, whens lunch?”
“Soon, love,” Katherine scooped her up. “Mums cooking now.”
Silently, Emma peeled knobby potatoes.
“Mum, can I have biscuits?” Sophie peered at the cupboard.
“Just crumbs left,” Emma said. “After soup.”
“What kind?”
“Potato.”
Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I want meaty soup, like Aunt Lucys.”
Katherines chest ached. The child was rightkids needed proper meals.
As Emma lit the hob, her hands trembled with fatigue.
“Emma,” Katherine ventured, “could you ring someone? Friends, maybe? Borrow a bit?”
“Why?”
“People help in hard times.”
“I dont beg.”
“Your parents, then?”
“Mums in hospital. Dads with her. Medical bills are steep.”
Katherine eyed the watery pot. No aroma, no appeal.
“Let me call Oliver,” she decided.
“He said he cant today.”
“Worth a try.”
She dialled. “Ollie? Its Mum… Yes, fine… Any chance you could drop by? Were proper stuck… What dyou mean, no cash?… Right… Tomorrow, then.”
Hanging up, she sighed. “Says hell come in the morning.”
“So we make do.” Emma stirred the pot.
Sophie, meanwhile, licked biscuit crumbs from her palm. Katherines heart clenched.
“Emma, pleasejust ask someone.”
“Enough! I wont.”
“Sophie needs more than this!”
“And I need dignity!”
“Pride wont feed her!”
Sophie cried at the raised voices. Emma scooped her up and fled.
Alone, Katherine grabbed her coat.
Next door, Mrs. Thompson listened kindly. “Poor lamb! Heremilk, cheese, biscuits. Enough for two days.”
“Thank you,” Katherine whispered, near tears.
“Neighbours stick together.”
Back home, Emma eyed the bag. “Whats that?”
“Mrs. Thompson sent it. For Sophie.”
“I told you not to beg!”
“Would you rather she starve?”
Sophie gasped at the treats. “Whered these come from?”
“Mrs. Thompson, love,” Katherine said.
As Sophie devoured yogurt, Emma murmured, “Thanks.”
“Thank her, not me.”
Emma watched her daughter, stomach twisting. Maybe pride wasnt worth an empty belly.
Sophie beamed. “Mum, can I have another?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
Later, Emma scribbled in her diary: *Sometimes, swallowing your pride feeds more than just hunger.*
