**Diary Entry – 12th March**
My mother was always a woman with a heart too big for her own good. She gave everything to me and my sister, working as a schoolteacher by day and tutoring in the evenings to make sure we never went without. We lost our father early—he left when I was six and my sister just three. Mum carried the weight alone, never complaining, just pushing on the best she could.
We grew up in her inherited flat in Manchester, a modest but cosy home. After school, my sister and I went off to university, married, had children of our own. We visited often, and Mum doted on her grandchildren, baking her famous apple crumble, laughing. We thought she was happy—that our love was enough. But it wasn’t.
Last year, for her birthday, we planned a surprise. We pretended work kept us away, then turned up unannounced with balloons, flowers, and a cake. When she opened the door, there was no joy—only flustered panic. She mumbled something about a tutoring session. We exchanged glances, then stepped inside.
At the kitchen table sat a man—just in his boxers, a cigarette hanging from his lips, a pint of beer in hand. This was no student unless forty-something, balding blokes counted. He jumped up, muttered something about a work emergency, and bolted.
Mum, though, was furious. She accused us of invading her privacy. For six months, she shut us out—ignoring calls, leaving messages unanswered. I waited, hoping she’d calm down before finally going alone to mend things.
He opened the door. Before I could speak, he snapped, *”She’s not here. And you shouldn’t come back.”* I tried to explain—then he shoved me. I hit the pavement hard, ending up with a concussion. When my husband confronted Mum, she took *his* side—claimed I’d started the fight.
We tried tracking him down, but he’d vanished. Then one of Mum’s former students messaged me, desperate for money. I warned the family—*don’t send her a penny.* But I had no clue what was really happening.
Almost a year later, Mum called. Sobbing. She’d discovered the truth—her “gentleman caller” had been conspiring with his real girlfriend. They’d targeted her for the flat. He’d poisoned her against us, nearly tricked her into signing it over. Then she found their messages and threw him out. Broken, ashamed, she finally remembered us.
We went to her that night. Held her as she wept, apologising. Of course we forgave her. She’s still our mum—just a lonely woman who wanted love and got betrayal instead.
Now she’s back baking, playing with the grandkids. But sometimes, she glances out the window, as if checking the street. And we pray he never walks down it again.
**Lesson learned:** Love blinds even the wisest. And some hearts are too tender for this world’s cruelty.
