**Diary Entry – June 12th**
Lucy’s father was a hard man. Even her mother feared him, too timid to speak out of turn. Yet with other children, he was different—smiling, gentle. With Lucy and her mother, he only ever barked. For years, she couldn’t understand why he didn’t love her. The answer came much later, in secondary school.
Lucy worked tirelessly to excel in her studies, hoping to avoid his scolding. Since Year 7, she’d dreamed of scoring high enough on her A-Levels to get into one of the universities in Edinburgh.
Whenever relatives visited, they’d gush over the clever, pretty girl and ask about her plans. Lucy would glance nervously at her father and say she hadn’t decided yet. She kept her dreams quiet.
“Eleven years of school’s enough. I’m not funding her till retirement. She’s grown—let her work. Everyone wants to be a scholar or a boss, but who’ll do the real labour?” her father scoffed.
Her mother pleaded, “Oh, come on, Patrick. Lucy’s bright—straight A’s! With marks like that, she’d be wasted behind a till. These days, you need a degree to get anywhere. A good job means meeting a decent husband too.”
Patrick wouldn’t hear it. “Don’t chatter nonsense,” he sneered, shooting his wife a look. “What’s a girl need education for? Cooking and scrubbing don’t require diplomas. She’ll manage motherhood without one. Knowledge just causes trouble. Look at you—what good’s yours done?”
Her mother shrank under his glare. The guests shifted uncomfortably but stayed silent, unwilling to challenge the head of the household.
Lucy kept her mouth shut, hiding her ambitions. But when her A-Level results came in—top marks—she resolved to announce her decision: Edinburgh. She was grown now. Nothing would stop her. She wouldn’t live off him. She’d prove her worth.
At the sight of his stormy face, her courage faltered. Still, she spoke: “I want to study in Edinburgh.”
“You’re going nowhere. I fed you, clothed you. Now it’s your turn to support us in our old age. What do you think you’d do there?” His gaze flicked to her mother. “I know all about *studying*.”
Her mother looked away.
“You. Aren’t. Going.” His fist slammed the table—plates jumped, soup sloshed.
“And don’t defend her,” he snapped at his wife. “Your past’s no secret. You should thank me for marrying you, saving your reputation, raising this ungrateful brat.”
“Patrick, not in front of her,” her mother begged.
“Why not? Let her learn. Maybe she’ll avoid your mistakes. Though—” He waved a hand. “The apple never falls far.”
“Mum?” Lucy’s eyes welled.
“She’s working. Final word.” He scooped a noisy spoonful of soup.
Lucy fled. Later, her mother slipped into her room.
“Mum, why does he hate me?”
Then the truth came out.
“So that’s why. But you know what? I’m glad he’s not my real father,” Lucy said, wiping her tears.
“I’ll try talking to him again. Here.” Her mother pressed folded banknotes into her hand. “It’s not much, but it’ll help. Hide it well. I saved in secret. I can’t promise more—he tracks every penny.”
“Thank you, Mum. I’ll figure something out. But he’ll hurt you.”
“He won’t kill me. A shout, maybe a slap. It’s his right. Go to Edinburgh. Don’t let me down.”
Lucy hugged her. Three days later, while Patrick was at work, she left.
University went well—she got a place in halls. But her mother’s money ran out fast. Lucy took a job as a cleaner at a nearby office, working evenings when the place was empty.
Her roommate, Martha, was glamorous and carefree—rarely studying, always out. She’d met an older man, Richard, at a club.
“Why him? He’s married, isn’t he?” Lucy asked once.
“You wouldn’t understand. Yes, and older, but he’s got money. What can a broke student offer? Where d’you think these clothes come from? My parents can’t afford it. Richard rented me a flat. Help me move?”
The flat was spacious, elegantly furnished. Lucy visited often, even stayed over when Richard was busy.
She missed her mother, calling when her father wasn’t home. She’d already ruled out summer visits—until Martha invited her to Brighton.
“I can’t afford it.”
“Richard’s paying. He’s *insisted*—thinks I’ll run off with someone younger.” Martha laughed. “You’re my chaperone.”
“Do you even love him?”
“So, you coming?” Martha’s smile faded.
“I’ll go. I’ve only been to the coast once—barely remember it.”
On the train, the landscape shifted—golden fields gave way to rolling hills, the air sweet with salt. The sea was just as Lucy recalled: vast, cool, whispering.
They woke early for the beach, lounged by day, strolled at dusk. Men noticed them—tanned, young, laughing.
One evening, two lads invited them to a café. Lucy watched, startled, as Martha flirted.
“Relax. It’s harmless. You won’t tell Richard, will you?” Martha squeezed her arm.
“I won’t.”
After, they split up. Martha vanished with her admirer; Lucy walked the promenade with James. He had kind eyes, an easy smile. She liked him.
Martha stumbled in at dawn.
“Richard would kill you!”
“*Richard’s* with his *wife*. How’d it go with James?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Seriously? God, you’re dull.”
“I promised Mum I wouldn’t repeat her mistakes. We’re leaving—what’s the point?”
Lucy met James daily. They kissed, but she held firm. He sulked—but she couldn’t bend.
Back home, the lads stayed another week. James called, texted, promised to visit at Christmas. Lucy began to doubt her resolve.
Autumn term started. Richard divorced his wife—Martha planned to marry him.
“I’m dropping out after New Year’s,” she announced.
“You’re ill?”
“Pregnant,” Martha grinned.
“From Brighton?” Lucy gasped.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s Richard’s. I was already pregnant on holiday. He’s over the moon—his ex couldn’t have kids.”
James never came for Christmas. The calls stopped.
Martha had a girl in January, never returned to uni. Lucy graduated alone.
A translation job at a top firm—found through her cleaning boss—changed everything. Good pay, travel abroad. She saved, bought a studio flat, then a car. A decade passed before she visited home.
Her mother wept. Her father glowered.
“Back for good?” he grunted.
“I missed you,” Lucy said, hugging her mum.
“Bought a car, eh? Where’d you get that money? Some sugar daddy?”
“I earned it. I’m a translator—good pay. I also do literary work.”
“*Earned* it?” He scoffed. “No one buys a car honestly. ‘Translator’—sounds like escort work.”
Lucy bit back tears. After all she’d achieved, he still belittled her.
“Thanks, Dad. If I were really yours, you’d be proud, wouldn’t you?”
He fell silent. No shouting. For Lucy, that was victory.
Years later, at a London business event, a man approached. James.
“You’re lovelier than ever,” he said.
“You’re here?”
“Our firms partner. Married?” He eyed her ringless hand.
“No. You?”
“Divorced. Why didn’t we work? I thought you liked me.”
“You thought wrong. You promised to visit. You vanished.”
“You were so guarded. I figured you saw me as beneath you. Where are you staying? Not pushing—just to walk you.”
As they wandered, Lucy shared her mother’s story—how Patrick married her, resentful she carried another man’s child. How Lucy spent years seeking his approval.
“James, I swore I’d never be like Mum. I wanted my kids to know their father. That’s why I held back.”
“Tell me sooner, and I’d have waited. I married for money—lasted months. I thought of you but feared you’d reject me.”
“We barely knew each other. Love doesn’t strike in days.”
“Yet I never forgot you. There’s a mystery to you—men like the chase. Give me another chance?”
“Are you sure? I won’t bend my principles. Will you wait?”
“I’ve waited years. Makes the prize sweeter.”As the years passed, Lucy learned that some wounds never fully heal, but love—the right kind—could make the scars easier to bear.
