**A Heart Broken by Hope: The Path to New Happiness**
*Diary Entry*
“Emma, it’s over between us,” Daniel said coldly. “I want a proper family—children. You can’t give me that. I’ve filed for divorce. You’ve got three days to pack. Call me when you’re gone. I’ll stay at my mum’s until the flat’s ready for the baby and its mother. Oh, don’t look surprised—my new girlfriend is pregnant. Three days, Emma.”
I stood there in silence, feeling the ground slip away beneath me. What could I say? For five years, we’d tried for a child, but three pregnancies ended in heartbreak. The doctors insisted I was healthy, yet something always went wrong. I took care of myself, especially during those times. The last time, I collapsed at work—the ambulance didn’t make it in time.
The door slammed behind him, and I collapsed onto the sofa, drained. The thought of packing felt impossible. Where would I go? Before marriage, I lived with my aunt, but she’d passed, and her son sold the flat. Back to the village of Willowbrook, to Gran’s old house? Rent a place? And my job? Questions swarmed, but time was running out.
Morning came, and in walked my mother-in-law, Margaret.
“Not asleep? Good,” she said curtly. “I’m here to make sure you don’t take anything that isn’t yours.”
“I’ve no interest in your son’s old socks,” I snapped. “Are we inventorying *my* things too?”
“So sharp-tongued now! You used to be so sweet, so meek. I told Daniel after the first time—you’d never carry a child.”
“Is that why you’re here? Then keep quiet and watch.”
“Where are you taking the china?” she demanded.
“It’s mine—from my aunt. A keepsake.”
“The flat will look bare without it!”
“Not my problem. At least you’ll have a grandchild.”
“Take *only* what’s yours!”
“The laptop, coffee machine, and microwave were gifts from colleagues. The car was mine before the wedding. Your son has his own.”
“You have everything—except the ability to give him a child!”
“That’s not your concern. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.”
“No remorse, then? Did you do it on purpose?”
“Don’t be absurd. Just thinking about it pains me.”
I scanned the flat—my things were gone. Toothbrush, makeup, slippers… something important was missing. Margaret’s glares made it hard to focus. Then I remembered—the porcelain cat figurine, Gran’s gift. Inside was a hidden compartment with earrings and a ring—not valuable, but precious to me. Daniel called it junk. Had he thrown it out? I stepped onto the balcony.
“What are you doing out there?” Margaret barked. “Hurry up and leave!”
The cat was there, untouched. Now I could go.
“Here are the keys. Goodbye. Let’s not meet again.”
I stopped by the office. I was on sick leave but asked for holiday.
“We’re all sorry for you,” my manager said. “But it’s chaos without you. Three weeks enough? Stay reachable—half the projects stall without you.”
“Fine. It’ll distract me. Thanks.”
“Need any help?”
“No.”
“I’ll sort your holiday pay and bonus.”
“Appreciate that.”
I didn’t bother house-hunting—I drove straight to Willowbrook. Gran’s house had stood empty since her death three years ago. I never knew my mother—she died in childbirth. Now I couldn’t be one either…
An hour later, I pulled into the overgrown driveway. The old maple, the wild daisies. The last time Daniel and I were here, we barbecued in autumn. I parked, remembering the shed key was inside. Pushing the door open, I froze. Silence. Dirty mugs and plates littered the table—but I’d cleaned up last time. Someone had been here.
Two mugs, empty juice cartons, bottles of Daniel’s favourite sparkling wine. Not from autumn. So he’d visited. With whom?
“Doesn’t matter,” I muttered. New locks first. A fresh start—cleaning, a hot bath. I’d wash away the past.
Then—a knock at the door, then the window.
“Who’s there?”
“Everything alright?” A stranger’s voice.
I stepped outside. A man stood there.
“Sorry if I startled you,” he said. “I’m your neighbour. Saw you busying about earlier, then smoke from the chimney. Wanted to check.”
“All fine, thanks.”
“You related to Daniel? He was here recently with a woman… Sister?”
“No. Almost-ex-wife. Divorce pending.”
“The house is yours?”
“Yes.”
“I’m staying nearby—my mate’s place. Also divorcing. Free tomorrow if you need help. I’m James.”
“Emma. Wait—could you change the locks?”
“Sure. Just say when.”
“As soon as possible. I’ll buy supplies tomorrow.”
“Let me handle it—you might get the wrong type. I’m heading into town anyway.”
“Cheers.”
Two weeks passed. One week of leave remained, but I didn’t want to return to London. Daniel stayed silent—only sending divorce paperwork. Just as well. Seeing him was unthinkable.
On Saturday, James invited me to walk by the river. I wasn’t looking for romance, but a stroll seemed harmless. We had a lovely time, returning by lunch—only to find Daniel’s car parked outside. He’d just arrived, helping a pregnant woman out.
James and I approached the gate. Daniel fiddled with the lock, failing to open it.
“What’s this?” he snapped.
“And what are *we* doing?” I called. “Breaking into someone’s home?”
He paled.
“This is *our* house!” his companion shrilled.
“Is it? Did Daniel tell you that? This is *my* home—leave.”
“Mike, what’s she on about? Who is she? Your ex? Get rid of her!”
James and I laughed. Wordlessly, Daniel bundled her into the car and drove off.
“He’s in for a fun life,” James remarked.
“At least she’ll give him a child. I couldn’t. Three times. Sorry.”
“My wife left *because* she didn’t want kids…”
Four years later, I bumped into Margaret at the supermarket.
“Emma, I barely recognised you! You’re… pregnant?”
“Yes.” I smiled, resting a hand on my bump.
“Daniel’s had such misfortune. His son was born frail—something hereditary. His wife left him with the baby. Are you… on your own?”
“No, I’ve a family waiting. Must go.”
“I’m sorry for everything…”
“Wishing you strength.”
She watched as I walked away—James beside me, holding my hand, our little girl clutching the other, the spitting image of her mother.
