**Diary Entry:**
The bitter wind howled around our cottage in the Yorkshire Dales, rattling the old wooden beams as I sat by the fireplace, waiting—again—for a visit that would never come. My husband, Edward, glanced at me, his expression tight.
“Looks like he’s not coming,” I murmured, staring into the flames. “We should be used to it by now. Doesn’t even hurt as much.”
“What’s the excuse this time? His wife?” Edward scowled. “She’s never liked us.”
“It’s always her,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “But James never used to be like this. He visited more often before. Now? She’s always got some reason to keep him away. We’ll have to hire someone to fix the roof. Our own son can’t spare a single day.”
I spoke of James, our forty-year-old son, with a dull ache in my chest. Twelve years ago, he left our village for Manchester, trained as a mechanic, built his own business. Back then, he did everything with his own hands—now he just oversees. He married Claire, bought a flat, and slowly, she became a wall between us.
“He renovated their place himself,” I recalled. “Claire just stood there, telling him what to do. They married late—she was already in her thirties. Never been married before, and now I see why. That temper of hers? Not many could handle it. We never got along.”
“No wonder she stayed single so long,” Edward muttered. “Remember when you tried talking to her? A complete disaster. What does James even see in her?”
Claire barely spoke to us. Only once a year did she “allow” James to visit. This time, he’d promised to take leave in May—our roof had been leaking for months. But of course, Claire had other plans.
“She’s pregnant,” I said bitterly. “Claims she can’t be left alone. A grown woman, a nurse—what could possibly happen? Two weeks before his leave, she started nagging. Tickets already bought, but no, she had to interfere.”
“Why does she do this?” Edward asked, though he knew.
“First, it was fear of being alone. Then—” My voice cracked.
“Then what? Is she dragging him to work by the hand? Her own parents dote on her!” Edward snapped.
“I think they’re the ones whispering in her ear,” I said. “They told her never to let a husband visit his family alone. Their son-in-law used to do just that—ended up divorcing their other daughter. Now they’ve convinced Claire James will do the same.”
“Not everyone’s the same!” Edward burst out. “James has never given them reason to think that! And why couldn’t she come with him?”
“Come here?” I laughed hollowly. “She’d never set foot in this house. You know how she feels about us. I’ve tried talking to her—it’s pointless.”
I remembered when Edward had phoned Claire, hoping to smooth things over. It had been a disaster.
“What did she say?” he asked, though he already knew.
“That we’re always demanding things, that we’re pulling James away from his *real* family,” I whispered. “Said she’s tired of fighting us. That a husband should think of his wife and child, not his parents’ ‘whims.’ If he takes leave, it should be for *them.* And she made it clear—this house means nothing to her.”
“What a piece of work!” Edward’s hands clenched. “And James? What did he say?”
“He made excuses, but we know it’s not his fault,” I sighed. “Probably delaying the trip to keep her happy. Worried about the baby, about her.”
Edward lost his temper. He called James and let years of frustration pour out.
“That’s it!” he shouted into the phone. “I won’t wait for you anymore! I’ll hire someone! You just stay under your wife’s thumb!”
I stayed silent, but my heart split in two. I understood Edward’s anger, but the words—“wives come and go, but you only have one set of parents”—cut deep. James was our only son, our pride. Now there was a wall between us, built brick by brick by Claire. She kept him on a tight leash, and he, afraid of her outbursts, obeyed.
I gazed at the roof, its patches barely holding against the rain, and felt hope slipping away like the water through the cracks. We’d worked our whole lives to give James everything. Now we’d have to pay strangers to fix what he once would have done himself. The resentment choked me, but worse was the thought that he was drifting further away. Claire had made it clear—*her* family was all that mattered. We were just a burden.
I didn’t know how to reach him anymore. I dreamed of him walking through the door, hugging me like he used to, fixing the roof while we laughed over old stories. Instead, there was only silence, cold and heavy. The family we’d built with love was crumbling, and I feared the cracks would never mend.
