**Diary Entry A Change of Plans**
Life has a funny way of making you reconsider everything.
I grew up in a modest familymy parents were ordinary engineers, scraping by in an old council flat, always counting pennies. I used to envy the other girls at school, with their pretty clothes, while I had nothing but my uniform and a couple of faded dresses.
So, when I finished school and got into university, I made myself a promise: *My home will be different. My life will be different.*
And I made it happen. Not right away, of course. For a while, I taught English and literature, then even moved to the local education office. But then I bumped into an old classmate who offered me a job at her firmforeign investments, good money.
“Come on, Emma, you’ve got nothing to lose,” she said, mentioning her salary. My jaw nearly hit the floor. “Youre sharp, capableyoud fit right in.”
“Thanks, love, Ill take it,” I laughed. “Moneys money, after all.”
By then, I was married to James, and our little boy, Alfie, was four. We lived with James parentscrowded, always tiptoeing around them. He worked as a dental technician, steady but not glamorous.
The new job? Better than Id imagined. I loved it, earned well, and soon we bought our own placea big flashy flat on a mortgage, then a posh car. My bosses noticed my work quicklybonuses, promotions. Before I knew it, I was deputy director.
It went to my head, Ill admit. Especially around James family. We were doing *far* better than his sister, Lucy, and her lot.
“Emma, come on, were going to be late,” James nudged me as we got ready for Lucys birthday. “Just try to be nice, yeah? Lets keep things pleasant.”
I nodded. I *meant* to behave. James was antsyhe knew how long I took getting ready. Meanwhile, I took my time with my makeup, not exactly thrilled about visiting Lucy and Simon.
*Everything about them is so drab.* I frowned at my reflection. *Basic salads, cheap wine, that cramped little flat with the peeling wallpaper. Three kids, a struggling greengrocershardly thriving, are they?*
Finally done, I swept out in a designer dress, looking every inch the successful woman. James and Alfie sprang up from the sofa. “About time!”
Walking five flights up (no lift, of course), squeezing into their narrow hallwaymy mood soured fast. The place was packed, kids shrieking, elbows knocking at the table. Lucy wore faded jeans and a checked shirt.
*Couldnt even dress up for her own birthday.* I forced a smile, handed her an expensive perfume.
“Thanks, Em,” she beamed. “You always know what to pick.”
I scanned the roomscuffed furniture, old bookshelves, wallpaper begging for an update. Simon, Lucys husband, smirked at me like always. Probably jealous.
“Hows work, Emma? Almost CEO yet?”
“Fine, nearly,” I said through gritted teeth. “Busy crowd tonight.”
“People love Lucy,” he said, shooting her a fond look.
The evening dragged. Back home, James and I sipped Spanish wine on our plush sofa.
“Went alright, I suppose,” he said.
“Mm. You know I dont like them, they dont like me. Lets drop it.”
Then, the bombshell. At work, redundancies were coming. Our director was outand everyone assumed Id take his place.
“Emma, its got to be you,” a colleague said over coffee.
But when the CEO called me in, it wasnt a promotion.
“Emma youre excellent at what you do. But the entire teams being let go. Its not personaljust cuts.”
I walked out in a daze. No job. No purpose. That night, I sobbed into James shoulder.
“Dont worry. Youll find something else,” he said.
“*What* job pays like that?!”
“Maybe not as much, but well manage. Weve got savings.”
I scoured job listings, sent CVsnothing. A month passed. No calls. No offers.
“James we need to cut back,” I admitted. “No more meals out. Ill have to learn to cook.”
He grinned. “Home-cookeds better anyway.”
Then, a call. An interview. The recruiterpolished, crisp shirtasked bluntly:
“Youve got experience, but no top roles. And no more kids planned, I hope?”
I bristled. “Thats hardly relevant.”
He scoffed at my salary expectations. “You wont find that *anywhere* now.”
I left fuming.
Winter dragged. We sold the MercedesI mourned it like a pet.
“Its just a car,” James said. “Well get a smaller one.”
ThenLucy called.
“Emma, can I come over?”
We sat at my kitchen table.
“Come work at the shop. Simons starting a tiling businessI cant run it alone. Stock, deliveries, shelf stacking its a lot. I trust you.”
I gaped. “*Me?* Stacking carrots?”
“Just till you get the hang of it.”
I didnt insult herbut I ranted to James later.
“How *dare* she offer me that? Its humiliating!”
He snapped. “Enough. Youre miserable at home, turning down work*this* is pride talking. If life changes your plans, you adapt.”
Two days of silence. Then
“James Ill do it.”
He hugged me. “Thats my girl.”
The first month, I cried over my rough hands, my ruined nails. Rude customers tested my patience. But by month three, Id learned the trade.
Then Lucy broke her legsuddenly, *I* was driving the van, hauling stock, managing everything. We renovated the shop, invested savings. I drafted a business plan, strategised against the supermarketsand profits grew.
Now? I caught my reflectionjeans, checked shirt, trainers instead of heels. No Mercedes, fewer salon trips. But I was smiling. *Happy.*
Were even planning a second shop.
Life didnt go how Id imagined. But somehow its better.
