**Diary Entry – A New Beginning**
I couldn’t bear his anger any longer, but life gave me another chance.
That evening in our flat in Manchester was like any other: me, Eleanor, cleaning up after dinner, my husband Oliver glued to the telly, and our son Daniel studying for his A-levels. But then, everything changed. A simple chat about visiting my parents turned into a blazing row—the final straw. My life with Oliver, filled with his temper and indifference, had shattered, but fate surprised me with a fresh chance at happiness. Now, here I stand, heart trembling with fear and hope, on the brink of a new chapter.
I walked into the lounge, twisting the hem of my apron. Oliver, as usual, sprawled on the sofa, eyes locked on the screen.
“Oliver, Mum called,” I ventured. “Dad’s poorly. I need to go down to their village—help with the farm, the hay…”
Oliver shot up, hurling the remote across the room. His face burned red.
“I couldn’t care less about your parents’ hay!” he bellowed. “We’re off to my mum’s next week, end of!”
“I can’t ignore my parents,” I said softly. “I’ll go alone, then join you at your mum’s.”
He choked on his fury, speechless. I turned and walked to the bedroom, but inside, I was boiling. The next morning, my life turned upside down.
Years ago, young and naive, I fell for Oliver. We met at a uni party—me studying education, him engineering. Back then, his sharp tongue seemed like strength, and I, smitten, smoothed over his outbursts. My mates warned me, “Ellie, he’s harsh, never satisfied—think twice!” But I didn’t listen, believing my love would fix him. We married, moved to Manchester, had Daniel, and for a while, life was nearly happy. But with each passing year, Oliver grew more bitter.
I became a primary school teacher, adored by my pupils—they loved their “Miss Eleanor.” Oliver, an engineer at a factory, griped constantly about work. “They don’t appreciate me, Ellie,” he’d rant. “I suggest ideas, and they laugh!” I tried soothing him, but he’d snap, “Oh, you too? Sitting with kids all day—no brain needed!” His words cut deep, but I stayed quiet to avoid rows.
Then he was sacked. He found another job, but a year later, history repeated—arguments, another dismissal. At home, he became intolerable: shouting, blaming me for not backing him. I endured it for Daniel, not wanting him fatherless. But my love had long faded. I’d mistaken infatuation for something real. Oliver loved only himself—criticism was his enemy.
As Daniel grew, he said one day after a row, “Mum, why do you put up with him? You should’ve left ages ago.” I was stunned he noticed. “Love, I didn’t want you without a dad,” I replied. But he shook his head. “Mum, he’s unfair to you—barely notices me.” That hit home.
That fateful evening began with my call to Mum. Hearing Dad was ill, I insisted on visiting. Oliver erupted, his rage like a storm. Next morning, as I packed, he stormed in, hurling insults. I cried but held firm. When he slammed the door, I called a cab and left. Mum hugged me as I spilled my heart, begging her not to upset Dad.
“Ellie, this isn’t living,” she said softly. “You deserve better.”
Two months later, Oliver and I divorced. He threatened, but I moved away. Daniel stayed at uni, cutting ties with his dad. I found a teaching job in a small town, rented a flat, and buried myself in work. My pupils saved me—their smiles dulled the pain.
Before Christmas, walking home, I saw a man stumble from his car and collapse. I rushed over, laid him down, cushioned his head with my bag, and dialled 999.
“Are you family? Coming with us?” the paramedic asked.
“I just walked past—I’m a teacher. I don’t know him.”
“Leave your number, just in case.” he said.
On January 2nd, an unknown number flashed. Thinking it was Daniel, I answered—but a man’s voice spoke.
“Hello, Eleanor. Happy New Year. It’s Geoffrey. You saved my life. Fancy visiting me in hospital?”
I hesitated—I’d nearly forgotten. Kindness often led me to help, but this call felt different.
“Alright, I’ll come.”
In his ward, a man in his fifties, silver-haired but warm-eyed, beamed at me like I was a miracle.
“Hello, I’m Eleanor. How are you?”
“Thanks to you—brilliant,” he smiled. “You’ve no idea how grateful I am.”
Geoffrey was here on business. During his stay, I visited often. We chatted about everything, and I felt a connection. Before discharge, he said,
“Ellie, I won’t leave without you. What’s keeping you here? I’ve a home, work—good schools nearby. Daniel’s welcome too. Live with my dad—he’d be chuffed.”
He’d lost his wife and daughter in a crash seven years ago—alone until meeting me. His words stirred something deep. This wasn’t pity—it was real, strong, like a love I’d never known.
“I think I’d like that,” I smiled. “There’s nothing left for me here.”
At forty-two, I stand at a new beginning. Geoffrey’s given me hope, and at last, I’ve a shot at happiness. My battered soul is healing—I’m certain brighter days await. **Lesson:** Sometimes, the bravest thing is walking away—for love shouldn’t leave you broken.
