**Diary Entry**
Sometimes, life throws such unexpected twists that even the most careful planners are left stunned.
Emily and James have been married nearly ten years. They adore each other and raise their two sons together. Emily studied education and once taught history at a secondary school, but after their youngest, Oliver, was born with health complications, she had to leave her job. As his mum, she needed to be there for him.
“Weve got Olivers hospital appointment today,” Emily mentioned over breakfast as James got ready for work. “Its at eleven. Any chance you could drive us?”
“Of course,” James replied. “Ill pop into the office for a quick meeting, then head to the branchIll ring when Im on my way.”
“You could always take the bus with the boy. Not like youre some delicate flower,” muttered Margaret, Jamess mother, pursing her lips.
Emily stayed quiet. James grabbed the car keys, nodded, and left. They lived in Margarets flata comfortable enough arrangement, if not for her commanding presence. As the daughter of a retired colonel, she ruled the household with an iron will. Crossing her? Not worth the trouble. Emily learned that lesson the hard way when Margaret once snapped, “This is *my* home. I wont tolerate another woman in *my* kitchen. Am I clear? I wont repeat myself.”
And so, Emily never argued. Margaret had been widowed young and clung fiercely to her son, insisting they all live together. Youd think shed be gratefula loving son, grandsons, a daughter-in-law who never caused a fuss. But no. That military discipline ran deep. All her warmth went to James and the boys, while Emily might as well have been invisible.
“Dont touch the laundryyoull ruin it. Cant cook, cant clean, cant even look after my son properly,” Margaret would snipe, though Emily scrubbed every floorboard and dusted every shelf.
Nothing ever pleased her. The criticisms worsened after Olivers birth, when Emily had to quit work. She cried in secret, sometimes venting to James.
“James, I respect your mum, but wouldnt it be better if we had our own place?”
“Whats wrong with how things are? The house is spotless, meals are cooked, clothes are ironed. You dont even workyou should be thanking her!”
“I *want* to do those things myselfcare for the boys, cook, cleanbut Margaret”
“We cant afford a place yet,” he cut in sharply. “Im the only one bringing in money. Dont forget that.”
So, Emily accepted her fate.
“Emily, meet me downstairsIm nearly there,” James called later as she waited for him.
“Margaret, could we stop by the shops after the hospital?” she asked hesitantly.
“Certainly not. Ill handle the shoppingyoud only pick the wrong things,” Margaret sniffed, turning away.
*If only I could please her just once,* Emily thought. *Nothings ever good enough. And James refuses to see it.*
After Olivers check-up, they strolled through the park, swung on the playground, and shared an ice cream. The autumn air was crisp, the sky clear. Oliver, now six, would start primary school next year. The doctor had reassured her: “Hes doing brilliantlyno progression in his condition. Youve done wonderfully with him.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, smiling. “That means everything.”
Still, she knew Margaret wouldnt care.
“How was the appointment, Oliver?” Margaret asked later.
“Great! The doctor said Im clever, and Mummy takes good care of me!”
“Well, of course. *Someone* had to make sure of that…”
March brought Margarets 60th birthday. Emily and James agonised over a gift.
“What if we take her to a restaurant?” James suggested. “Give her a break from cooking.”
Emily hesitated. “Shell find fault no matter what.”
But James was set. “Well tell her the night beforekeep it a surprise.”
Emily liked the idea, though she doubted Margaret would.
“Mum, were celebrating your birthday at The Rose & Crown,” James announced the evening before.
For once, Margaret didnt arguethough she hardly looked thrilled.
At the restaurant, the children beamed, James relaxed, but Margaret sat stiffly.
“Honestly, James, wasting money on this? We couldve eaten at home. And *you*,” she glared at Emily, “shouldve talked him out of it.”
Emily stayed silent.
A man at the next table kept glancing over. James bristled. “Stop looking at him.”
“I wasnt”
“Dont lie.” His jaw tightened.
Then the stranger stood. “May I have this dance?”
Margarets eyes lit up as she took his hand.
They swayed gracefully, chatting and laughing.
“This is Edward,” Margaret announced later. “We were at school together. Hes a widower too.” She gazed at him adoringly. “What a birthday gift youve given me.”
That night, Margaret didnt come home.
The next afternoon, she returnedwith Edward.
“Ive come for my things,” she said brightly.
James and Emily stared.
“Well? Were moving in together!”
Soon, they married.
Finally, Emily was the lady of the house.
“Love, I never knew you could cook like this,” James marvelled.
“I *told* you,” she laughed.
Margaret visited often, showering Emily with praise. “One house, one mistressyoure wonderful, darling.”
James squeezed Emilys hand.
And Margaret, gazing at Edward, would sigh, “Some people are just lucky.”
Emily and James would exchange a smileand say nothing.
