**Diary Entry – July 15th**
It’s all because of you…
This July heat is unbearable. The air hangs thick, heavy with humidity and dust. Emily’s breath came in short gasps, her nostrils flaring. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, begging for relief.
Her mother-in-law’s birthday was Saturday, and she and her husband would drive down to the countryside. Emily missed her son terribly, but he was better off there than in the sweltering city. She imagined sitting under the shade of sprawling apple trees, sipping cool spring water, breathing fresh air… But she still had to survive until then. And the heat mocked her, refusing to relent. You longed for summer? Dreamed of sunshine? Well, here you go—don’t complain.
Rush-hour buses were packed with sticky, sweating bodies, the cramped space above them like a ticking bomb—one spark away from explosion. Walking was no better, but at least she could duck into shops, stealing moments of cool air under the blasting AC before trudging the next stretch home.
A shopping centre loomed ahead, and Emily quickened her pace, desperate for the chill. Finally inside, she took a deep breath. Her heart steadied in gratitude.
She strolled past boutique windows, pausing occasionally to browse for a gift. Her mother-in-law always insisted she didn’t need anything—just her family’s company was enough. But Emily knew better. She’d seen the quiet delight in her eyes whenever she gave her something unique.
Finding nothing, she turned toward the exit when a small kiosk caught her eye. It sold trinkets—pens, hair clips, even gold jewellery. She lingered, delaying her return to the scorching street. Her gaze slid over glass trays and landed on an unusual vase, its long, narrow neck inlaid with what looked like mosaic. She’d never seen anything like it.
“May I see that?” she asked the young shopgirl.
The vase was heavy, made of metal, with thick wire dividing its surface into uneven cells filled with muted enamel, as if dusted with age. Amidst the cheap glitter of the stall, it stood out—foreign, elegant, expensive.
“How much?”
The price made her eyes widen.
“Handmade. One of a kind,” the girl said proudly.
“Is it part of a collection?”
“Done by a disabled man. Beautiful, but hardly anyone buys them—too pricey.”
“I’ll take it,” Emily said on impulse. She pictured a long-stemmed rose inside, how it would elevate any room. Her mother-in-law loved unusual pieces—she’d appreciate this.
“Could you gift-wrap it?”
The girl rummaged under the counter. While waiting, Emily absently surveyed the display. A woman approached—pale, exhausted, though in this heat, most people looked that way.
“Natasha, hello. I see the vase sold?”
“Yeah.” The girl glanced at Emily. The woman didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll transfer the money when I’m done here.”
“Good. Then I’ll bring more tomorrow.” The woman turned to leave.
Something tugged at Emily’s memory. She knew her—not just in passing, but *knew* her. Sarah… That was Sarah!
“Will this do?” The shopgirl held up an elegant package with a red silk bow. “An extra twenty quid.”
Emily swiped her card, grabbed the gift, and, without waiting for the receipt, hurried after the woman.
Sarah moved slowly, head down, lost in thought.
“Sarah!”
She turned. A beat passed between them.
“Don’t you recognise me? It’s Emily.”
“Of course I do,” Sarah said flatly. “You haven’t changed. Unlike me.” She smirked. “You bought the vase?” She nodded at the package.
“Yes. It’s beautiful. My mother-in-law’s birthday’s Saturday. The girl said a disabled man made it.”
“My husband.”
They walked together, Emily matching Sarah’s sluggish pace.
“I thought it was vintage. Is he an artist?”
“That too. Don’t pretend you don’t know. Where’ve you been—under a rock? But you always were out of touch. Alex makes them.”
“Alex? She said it was made by a disabled man.”
“He *is* disabled. After the accident, he never walked again. At least this pays for bread. We have to live somehow. Let’s get tea. I’m not ready to face the heat.”
They took the last free table near the door, crammed with others avoiding the sun. A waitress handed them menus.
“Green tea and vanilla ice cream for two,” Sarah ordered.
The waitress left.
“Odd. I was just thinking about you lately. And then you walk in buying Alex’s vase,” Sarah said, staring past her.
“You knew it was me. Why not say so?”
Sarah shrugged. “I don’t socialise much. Nothing to boast about. But you—look at you, buying luxuries. Husband doing well?” she added bitterly.
“It’s not a luxury, it’s art.”
“Art.” Sarah scoffed. “Our flat’s a workshop. He spends all day carving, painting. Can’t breathe for the mess. But fine—better than drinking. After the accident, some bloke in hospital taught him. At first it was rubbish, but he got better. Pays the bills.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“‘Sorry’ doesn’t cover it. I’m his maid, nurse, cook, masseuse. Some days I don’t want to live. And it’s all because of you.” Sarah’s eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean?”
“Still playing naïve? Back then, I thought you were faking it—this wide-eyed act. But no, you really are one of those rare creatures who sees only good. Girls threw themselves at Alex. He chose *you*.”
Sarah exhaled sharply. “I envied you. Thought, ‘Who is she? Nothing special, yet she lands *him*.’ So I made sure he wouldn’t be yours. Remember that weekend you went home? He came to the dorm. I got him drunk, took him to bed. Got pregnant. But luck wasn’t on my side—the baby was stillborn.”
Her voice lowered. “I stole him from you but got no happiness. No love, no child. Full punishment.”
Emily sat frozen. The tea cooled, the ice cream melted. Sarah needed to confess; Emily reeled from the betrayal.
“I used to think—if he’d married you, the accident wouldn’t have happened. I’d have found some ordinary bloke, had kids, been happy. If only…”
A pause. Then, bitterly: “At first, I was glad. He’s mine. Needs me. Would never cheat.”
Emily reached for Sarah’s hand. Sarah yanked it away.
“Spare me the saint act. I don’t want your pity. He’s mine.”
“Sarah, if there’s anything—”
Sarah stood abruptly, chair screeching. Heads turned.
“Live your life. Stay out of ours. Or visit. See what became of the man whose voice ‘gave you chills.’ Wasn’t that what you said? Maybe I’ll even hand him back—for old times’ sake. You’d make a good nurse.”
“Why are you—”
“Just *go*.” Sarah stormed out.
Emily paid for the untouched order, nearly leaving the vase behind. The walk home passed in a daze, the heat forgotten, her mind replaying university days—when they’d shared a dorm room…
***
“Still studying? Come on, Laura and Beth have Alex over with his guitar. He sings like an angel. Should be on stage, not studying chemistry,” Sarah said, swapping her robe for a dress.
“One doesn’t rule out the other,” Emily said.
“Oh, please. Have you *heard* him?”
“No.”
“Come on, then. But fair warning—every girl’s in love with him. Don’t get ideas.”
Emily set aside her textbook.
“Wait—you’re going in *that*? Change.”
Jeans, a black jumper, hair in a ponytail—no makeup. Her mother had raised her strictly. In the city, Emily avoided clubs, didn’t smoke, buried herself in books.
Alex sat on a bed, guitar in hand, singing. The girls watched adoringly. Emily stood aside, mesmerised. A song ended; he set the guitar down.
“Alex, another?”
“Throat’s dry. Fancy some tea?” He grinned.
The girls scurried to the kitchen.
“Like it?” He looked straight at Emily.
“Amazing. Did you write it?”
Sarah snorted. Alex smirked.
“Where’ve you *been*? Never heard Dylan or Bowie?”
“I know them. But that wasn’t their song. Too shy to admit it’s yours?”
Alex reddened. “Sharp, aren’t you? Then how about this one?” He played again, singing only to her.
Her heart raced, lost in the music. She fell in love. And him? No man looked at a woman likeAnd years later, standing in her sunlit kitchen with her husband’s laugh echoing down the hall, Emily realized sometimes the heart finds its way to where it truly belongs.
