**Diary Entry June 12th, 2024**
“Lets settle this now, shall we?” my new husband, Edward, said with a measured look. “Ill provide for you, but in return, you claim nothing. Everything goes to my children. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” I sighed.
That was five years ago.
I never wanted to marry. I was content on my owngood job, a flat in London, my best friend Emily, and my cat, Whiskers. What more could I want? But time passed, and suddenly everyone around me had husbands and children. Even Emily moved to France with her family. Every time I met an old acquaintance, the question was the same: “So, have you settled down yet?” What was I meant to say? That I *had* and it ended? Or that I was still waiting?
Then I met a manJames. Decent chap. Quiet, obliging, even cooked well. But I didnt love him. Couldnt force myself to, no matter how hard he tried. Three years we lasted before his heart gave out one day. He wasnt even forty. Guilt ate at me. I swore off marriage for good.
Emily rang occasionally, boasting of her life in Paris. Eventually, she persuaded me to visit. Everything there was new, dazzling. “Charlotte,” she gushed one evening, “were invited to my husbands bosss birthday. Come with us! Ive already told Edward about youhes *dying* to meet you!”
“Have you gone mad? Why on earth would I want some Frenchman?” I scoffed.
“Youre being ridiculous! Edwards brilliantdivorced, two grown sons, and *loaded*. Dont waste this!”
Reluctantly, I agreed. Little did I know Id owe Emily for it later.
That evening, Edward greeted ustall, distinguished, kissing my hand like some Regency hero. I was smitten. We exchanged glances all night, laughing over wine. Surprisingly, he spoke decent Englishhis grandmother was from York. We swapped numbers, just in case.
Back in London, I couldnt stop thinking of him. When he proposed, I flew to Paris without hesitation. He met me at the airport, roses in hand, dropping to one knee as strangers cheered. Three days of reckless passion followed.
Then came the “meet the family” ordeal. His sonsboth marriedscowled at me like Id come to steal the silver. His mother, a formidable woman of ninety-three, sat regally in her wheelchair, eyeing me with polite suspicion. None spoke English. Edward, sensing my discomfort, hurried us to dinner. Thank God they all lived elsewhere.
Once married, Edward laid down his terms: his estate went to his sons. My only guaranteea proper funeral. I agreed. But his sons didnt trust me. Weekly visits to them in Lyon, his mother in a retirement homeit was exhausting. Still, I bore it. I loved him.
Four years passed before Edward fell ill. Bedridden, his care fell to me. His sons arrived the moment they heard hed changed his will in my favour. “Wives come and go,” they spat. “Blood is forever.”
I stayed quiet until Edward grew weary. Then, in shaky French, I said, “I want nothing but your fathers health. Keep your inheritance.”
Their wives, waiting outside, were summoned. After a tense nod from their husbands, Edward asked them to leave. “Charlotte, why refuse it all?” he asked, bewildered.
“Because *youre* what matters.”
And I meant it.
When I told him I was pregnant, he rallied. Our daughter, Victorianamed for his motherwas born soon after. His sons despised her, so I urged Edward to give them their shares then and there. Only the house remained ours.
Peace, after all, is priceless.
**Lesson learned:** Love isnt about what you gainits what youre willing to let go.