**Diary Entry – 12th March**
He wasn’t the prince I thought he’d be…
Lucy met James just after he’d returned from service abroad. The man looked like he’d stepped off a magazine cover—tall, athletic, with striking green eyes and dark, wavy hair. Beside him, Lucy felt ordinary, though she was pretty enough: blonde, slim, with a sweet smile. She could hardly believe her luck when, out of all their friends, he chose her.
“What on earth does he see in you?” her girlfriends whispered. “Men like that never stick around. He’ll have his fun and vanish.”
But Lucy just smiled—she believed in their love. They went to the cinema, danced, met up with friends. James wasn’t one for grand gestures, but his presence made her heart race, his touch sending shivers down her spine. When she first brought him home, her mother—Margaret—frowned. Later, in private, she warned softly:
“A handsome husband is often someone else’s, love. Men like that rarely stay faithful. Don’t rush into marriage—test him first. He’s all show, no substance.”
Lucy was hurt. She trusted James, refused to doubt him. But her mother’s words planted a seed of unease.
Slowly, James changed. First, it was the gym, then swimming, then new crowds. Lucy tagged along, joining workouts but feeling out of place next to toned, glamorous women. James eyed them with interest while she left early, blinking back tears.
“You’re weak as a kitten,” he scoffed once when she caught cold after the pool. “Stick to your books.”
The words stung, and Lucy remembered her mother’s warning. She knew—James was pulling away. Days passed without calls, no explanations. Then, silence. He vanished.
“Heard from him?” her mother asked.
“No…” Lucy whispered, turning to the wall.
“Up you get! Hairdresser’s, now!” Margaret ordered. “New look, new start. Then we’ll pick fabric—you’ve got skill with a needle.”
They bought cloth; Lucy sketched designs, forcing herself to move on. Whispers about James’s new flings reached her, but she held firm. Weeks later, at the local dance in a fresh style—glowing, confident—she turned heads.
One man, Thomas—quiet, unassuming—started courting her. No heartthrob, but his eyes never strayed from hers: warm, earnest. Within a month, he proposed.
“Now *that’s* a proper man,” her mother said. “Sees what he wants and commits. Well?”
“Yes,” Lucy murmured.
“Do you love him?”
“How couldn’t I? He’s kind, hardworking, true. He wants *me*—just me.”
Their wedding was full of laughter and heart. They built their life from scratch: first stool, first plate. A daughter came a year later, a son three years after. A family, warmth, contentment.
Lucy seldom thought of James. If his name came up—another failed marriage, another affair—she’d simply say:
“What was he to me? A youthful folly. Let him find happiness, if he can.”
At home, her children and Thomas waited. And her mother—wise, steady, irreplaceable. The woman who’d saved her from ruin. The reason Lucy found her quiet, real joy.
Mum… stay awhile longer. The world’s dimmer without you.
