**Diary Entry: A Family’s Tangled Love**
“Mum, why on earth would you think that?”
“Because you know how he is! He’s still just a boy!” Julia’s voice trembled, thick with tears.
“He’s twenty-five. In a month. Hardly a boy.” Lisa bit her lip, exhaling slowly to keep from shouting into the phone. “Fine. I’ll call him.”
She ended the call and clenched her jaw.
*Arthur, Arthur… Always Arthur. And me? Just background noise, an extra in someone else’s drama. ‘Lisa’s grown, Lisa’s independent, Lisa doesn’t cry—so she must be fine.’ Never once does Mum ask—how am I? What’s happening in my life?*
“It started after Dad died,” Lisa muttered to her friend Emma, stirring her tea absentmindedly.
“Grief, stress, loneliness,” Emma nodded. “But it’s been two years…”
“Exactly! Yet she clings to Arthur like he’s her last lifeline. Her whole world revolves around him now, as if the rest of her just… reset.”
“And you?”
“Me?” Lisa smirked bitterly. “I’m here, but I don’t count. She and Arthur have this… bond. Fine, if it weren’t so suffocating. He’s only two years younger, yet she treats him like a toddler—feeding him, fussing, reading his mind…”
“Maybe he takes after your dad?”
“They *all* did—Arthur, Dad’s old school photos. Must’ve skipped me.”
At twenty-seven, Lisa worked at a law firm, renting a tiny flat in an ageing building near King’s Cross. Romantically—well, it was… stagnant. After two failed relationships, she’d decided to focus on herself.
Arthur was different. Lazy, dreamy, allergic to effort. He’d barely scraped through school, picked a degree “with no maths.” Dad, before he died, had given him *the talk*, and Arthur had grudgingly settled on something.
Then—the funeral. Sudden, brutal. Mum shattered. Doctor visits, pills, prayers. Her career nearly collapsed. And Arthur? Her only comfort.
Her *boy*. Never mind that he was a grown man.
He got a job—barely contributed financially, but showed up for dinner before vanishing into his gaming chair. Then came Alina.
At Christmas, Lisa noticed it—Arthur glued to his phone, grinning at the screen. She *knew*. And oddly, she was happy for him.
Mum wasn’t.
“You should see him!” Julia wailed later, clutching her wine. “Used to sleep till noon—now he’s working overtime, weekends, saving for *her*. Rings, dinners, ‘the future’…”
“Mum, isn’t this what you wanted? For him to grow up?”
“Not like *this*! They’re *always* off—hiking, kayaking, God knows what! What if he gets hurt? What’ll I do?”
“You can’t wrap him in cotton wool forever,” Lisa sighed.
Months passed. A call during lunch:
“He didn’t come home, Lisa! He stayed at *hers*!”
“He’s twenty-five. It’s normal.”
“Not to *me*! Talk to him—please. He listens to you.”
Lisa agreed—but wondered: *Should I? Maybe he doesn’t need a lecture. Maybe he just needs space.*
Then—new crises. Horseback riding (“He’ll break his neck!”), camping (“Bears! Ticks!”).
“I’m not his sister anymore,” Lisa groaned to Emma. “I’m a bloody switchboard. ‘Tell Mum this.’ ‘Tell Arthur that.’”
“Maybe he’ll move out soon?”
“I told him: *Marry her. Leave. For your sanity.*”
Then—silence. No calls, no panic. Lisa worried. Dialled herself.
“How are you, Mum?”
“Fine, love. Arthur and Alina… split. She’s moved on. He’s… home. Gaming. But at least he’s not drinking. And he’s *here*.” A shaky breath. “Selfish, but—I sleep easier. He’s like his dad. I still love him, Lisa. I still cry.”
Three months later, Arthur called.
“Can Nat and I pop round? Want you to meet her.”
Lisa laughed. “Sure.”
*And here we go again. Mum will spiral. Cry. Obsess. And how am I meant to introduce Sergei?*
Next month, she and Sergei were hiking in Snowdonia. The thought of Mum finding out made her queasy.
*What if she starts panicking about me? What if I fall? Freeze? What if—God—we have a child, and she latches onto them instead?*
Lisa sank onto the bed, whispering:
“Christ, this is exhausting.”
She punched her knee—once—then cried. Because she loved them too much. Mum. Arthur. And just wanted them… to stop being so afraid. To love without losing themselves.
Maybe that was the answer. Not talking to *him*, or *her*. But herself. Giving *herself* permission—to be happy.
