**Diary Entry 12th October**
She told me to wait on the bench I didnt see her again for years, years filled with pain.
My name is Oliver, and I grew up in what, to my childish eyes, seemed like an ordinary familyfull of love and warmth, a fragile little haven. My mother, Eleanor, and my father, William, appeared inseparableor so I believed in my innocence. Dad worked as a foreman in a small factory in the quiet village of Ashford, tucked away in the rolling hills of the Cotswolds, while Mum stayed home to look after me. I was their only son, and in those days, I truly believed our tiny world would last forever.
Then, one day, it all came crashing down, as though fate had shattered our lives with one brutal blow. Dad was laid off without warning. I didnt understand what it meant then, but I saw the change in himhis laughter died, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence. He found another job quickly, but money in the house began vanishing like leaves in an autumn gale. At night, Id hear Mum screaming at him, the sound of plates shattering in their furious rows. Their voices thundered through our cramped house, and Id hide under the covers, trembling, praying for the nightmare to end.
Then came the blow that shattered everything. Dad found out Mum had been secretly seeing another man. Our home became a battleground: shouts tore through the air, tears stained the floor, and the door slammed behind Dad as he stormed out, leaving me and Mum in the wreckage. I missed him so much it felt like my heart had split in two. I begged Mum to take me to him, but she snapped, Its his fault, Oliver! He abandoned usa rotten man! Her words cut like blades, but they couldnt kill my longing for my father.
One frosty morning, Mum approached me with a smile I hadnt seen in agesa pale ghost of happier days. Pack your things, lovewere going to the seaside! she announced. My heart leaptthe seaside! It sounded like a fairy tale, something Id hardly dared to dream of. She was already stuffing clothes into an old, battered suitcase. I tried to bring my toy cars, but she stopped me. Well buy you new onesbetter ones. I believed her. How could I not? She was my mother, my safe place.
We reached the bus station, noisy and chaotic. Mum bought tickets, then said we had time to spare and needed to run an errand first. We boarded a rickety old bus that groaned with every bump. I stared out the grimy window, imagining waves and sandcastles. Finally, we stopped outside a derelict block of flats, its walls peeling and windows fogged. Mum pointed to a bench by the entrance. Wait here, Oliver. Ill fetch us some ice creamstay put and dont wander off. I nodded, sitting on the cold wooden bench as she disappeared inside.
Time dragged on. An hour passed, then another. Mum didnt return. The sun dipped low, the wind turned sharp, and fear wrapped around my throat like a vice. I stared at the darkened windows, counting the ones that flickered to life, hoping to see her silhouette with ice creams in hand. But she never came. The night swallowed the courtyard, and Ia lonely little boywas left behind. Tears burned my cheeks as I called for her, but my voice dissolved into the silence. Exhausted, I curled up on the bench and slept.
I woke not outside, but in a warm bed. The room was unfamiliarbare and strange. For a moment, I thought Mum had carried me here. Mum! I cried, but the door opened, and in walked Dad. Behind him stood a woman Id never seen. I shot up, my heart hammering. Dad! Wheres Mum? She went for ice cream and vanished! What happened?
Dad sat beside me, his face grave, etched with unspoken pain. He took my hand and said the words that would haunt me: Oliver, your mother left you. Shes gone, and shes not coming back. The words struck like lightning. Left me? Mothers dont do that! I screamed, cried, swore it was a lieshed promised me the seaside! But Dad just held me tighter. Shes not coming back, son. It was the brutal truth, bare and merciless.
Years passed. Dad and I moved to Whitby, a seaside town where waves crashed endlessly against the shore. The woman at his side was named Margaret. She was kind, though I kept my distance at first. Over time, I called her Mumnot the one whod betrayed me, but the real mother who cared for me. A little sister, Emily, was born, and for the first time, I knew what family truly waswarm, steady, without the screams or betrayals.
When I grew older, Dad told me more. Mum had called him that morning after leaving me on the bench, her voice icy as she told him where I was before hanging up. She lost her rights, and I never knew where shed gone. Life moved on: we got a bigger house, I did well in school, graduated with honours, found a good job. As my savings grew, I bought a flat in Whitby.
Then, one stormy evening, I spotted a figure on the bench outside my buildingan eerie echo of my childhood self. She looked up and whispered, Oliver. I froze. Im your mother, she said, her voice trembling. I stared at this aged stranger, thoughts churning. Why now? After all these years? I pulled out my phone and called Dad and Margaret.
They arrived in minutes, their presence steadying me. Dad said, Its your choice, sonwhether she has a place in your life now. I looked at herthe woman whod left me alone in the coldand felt only emptiness. The doorbell rang; Dad answered, and she stepped inside. I couldnt bear it. Youre not my mother. I have a mother and fatherthe ones who raised me, who stayed. I dont know you, and I dont want your excuses. Leave, and dont come back, or Ill call the police. She wept, but I didnt waver. She left, her figure fading into the dark.
I turned to Dad and Margaret and held them tight. I love you, I said, my voice thick. Thank youfor everything. They were my family, my salvation in the ruins. That woman? Just a ghost from a nightmare Id survived.
Never abandon your children. They didnt ask to be bornyou brought them into this world, and you owe them love. I, Oliver, know that better than anyone.
