*Diary Entry – 8th May*
“You decided to have a child without a husband? Aren’t you ashamed, Mum?” Emily asked, her voice sharp with accusation.
The day after her prom, Emily sent off her university applications. She had no doubts she’d get in—her A-level results were solid, even better than last year’s entry requirements.
That summer was blistering. Her best mate, Sophie, suggested a trip to her aunt’s place in Brighton. Two or three weeks by the sea, no parents hovering, a taste of grown-up freedom—it sounded perfect. But the night before leaving, Emily’s stomach twisted. Not because it was her first time travelling alone, but because she’d be away from Daniel for weeks.
Emma, Emily’s mum, had just turned thirty-seven. She’d split with her husband when Emily was three. Emily had no memories of him—not that there was much to remember. They’d married young, barely knowing each other, and crumpled under sleepless nights, a crying baby, money troubles, and petty resentments.
As Emily grew up, Emma tried dating. But the men either balked at raising another man’s child or failed Emily’s approval.
Then, two years ago, Daniel came along. He visited often, though he never stayed the night—at least, not that Emily noticed. He was funny, charming, always brought little gifts. Last birthday, he’d handed her a massive bouquet of red roses.
And Emily fell for him. Daniel was two years younger than Emma. Barely a difference, but to Emily, it mattered. She convinced herself she suited him far better than her mum did. Every glance from him became proof of his interest. She was eighteen—half her mum’s age. If he had to choose, it should be her. That’s how she saw it. And she burned with jealousy every time he smiled at Emma.
Two weeks in Brighton could change everything. He might propose. Then Daniel would be lost to her forever.
The night before the trip, Emma bustled in the kitchen while Emily agonised over confessing her feelings.
“Em, pop to the shops, would you? Forgot the cheddar, and we’re out of mayo,” Emma called.
“Mum, I haven’t finished packing,” Emily muttered.
With a sigh, Emma grabbed her keys and left.
Minutes later, the doorbell rang. Daniel. Emily’s pulse raced. Here was her chance—just him and her, no interruptions.
She played the gracious host, settling him on the sofa, filling the air with small talk before flicking the telly on and sitting close. He glanced at her but didn’t shift away.
Their shoulders brushed. Heart pounding, Emily suddenly grabbed his arm, pressing against him. His cheek was inches from her lips. She’d never been this near, breathing in the mix of his cologne and something undeniably male. It intoxicated her.
Before she could stop herself, she kissed his cheek.
Daniel didn’t recoil, just tilted his head and stood. Confusion flashed in his eyes. Shame flooded her. She’d imagined it all—he didn’t see her that way. To him, she was just Emma’s girl.
The key turned in the lock. If Daniel had meant to speak, the moment was gone. Emma hurried in, cheeks flushed. “Daniel! You’re early. Bloody forgot the cheese—remembered the mayo last second. This trip’s got me all scatterbrained. Salad’s nearly done, let’s eat.”
The way they looked at each other—soft, tender—made Emily’s chest ache. He’d never looked at *her* like that. She bolted to her room.
“What’s got into her?” Emma asked, bewildered.
“Starving. What’s for dinner?” Daniel deflected.
Emma laughed, disappearing into the kitchen. “I’ve got news. Later.”
Daniel’s gaze flicked to Emily’s door, uneasy.
Behind it, Emily pressed her palms to her chest, willing him to leave. Facing him now was unbearable.
Dinner was awkward. She barely looked up until Daniel cracked a joke, and Emma giggled. Forcing herself, Emily joined in, laughing like old times—when Daniel was just Mum’s bloke.
But that fleeting closeness still hung between them.
“So, this news?” Daniel asked as Emma cleared the plates.
“Patience,” she teased, batting her lashes.
Emily hated when Mum acted girlish.
“Em’s off to Brighton tomorrow—all grown up. Worries me sick,” Emma mused.
“I’m *not* alone, we’re staying with adults,” Emily snapped.
“She’s sensible. She’ll be fine,” Daniel said, eyes meeting Emily’s. Her stomach flipped. “Besides, summer in London’s deadly dull.”
“Three whole weeks without me cramping your style,” Emily shot back, challenging. *Finally*, she thought, *say something.*
“Emily! What’s got into you?” Emma gasped.
“Nothing.” Chair screeching—a sound Emma loathed—Emily stormed off.
Later, Emma knocked. “Talk to me. You’ve never been like this.”
Emily stayed curled on the bed, facing the wall.
“Packed everything?”
*Obviously. Can’t you see the duffel by the window?*
“Why are you angry?” Emma tried again.
“You act… ridiculous. Giggling, flirting—it’s embarrassing.”
“I’m not acting. Love makes you silly. You’ll understand someday.” Emma touched her shoulder. Emily shrugged her off.
“You came to tell me that?”
“Turn around. I can’t talk to your back.”
Emily flopped onto her back, glaring at the ceiling.
“I wanted you to hear it first. I love you. Always will.” Emma paused. “I’m pregnant.”
Silence.
“Pregnant? Daniel’s?” Emily’s voice cracked. “So you’re getting married?”
“No. He’s married. But it doesn’t matter.”
“*Married?* Mum, listen to yourself! You’re having a baby alone? Aren’t you ashamed?”
“Why should I be? I’m an adult—”
“And if *I* told you this, would you be so calm? Why won’t he leave his wife?”
“It’s complicated. Maybe after the baby—”
“You *haven’t told him?*” Emily sat bolt upright.
Their eyes locked. Emma looked away first.
“I didn’t want to pressure him. Make it seem like… a trap.”
“Mum, you’ll be on maternity leave, I’ll be at uni—how will we live? When this kid finishes school, you’ll be retired! Raising another child alone? Get rid of it. Don’t humiliate us.”
“Never. You’ll marry, have your own life. I’ll be alone unless—”
“You’ll have *grandkids!*” Emily’s voice broke. “Daniel won’t leave her. You know it. It’s *disgusting.* At your age—”
“I didn’t expect this from you.” Emma stood, leaving quietly.
Emily knew she was wrong. Women had babies at forty all the time. But not *her* mum. Not with *Daniel.* The thought of them together made her skin crawl.
Next morning, silence hung thick. Sophie’s dad drove them to the station. At the door, backpack slung over her shoulder, Emily almost begged Emma to rethink—but stayed quiet.
“Bye,” she mumbled, stepping out.
“Call me!” Emma called after her.
The car ride was miserable. She considered texting Emma, but Sophie’s laughter distracted her. By the time they reached Brighton, the guilt faded. Why did parents dictate their kids’ lives but demand no interference in return? If *she* were pregnant, Emma would’ve reacted the same. No way would she encourage keeping it.
Emily swam, sunbathed, laughed. But after two weeks, the sea lost its charm. She missed Emma. Strangely, she didn’t wonder about Daniel once.
Early August, tanned and glowing, she returned. Emma sat on the sofa, staring blankly—should’ve been at work.
“Mum? I’m back.”
No hug. No smile. Emily froze. Emma’s black dress, her hollow eyes—
“Daniel’s dead. Funeral was yesterday. I couldn’t… go.”
Emily’s world tilted.
“Car crash. He’s gone. *I’m* gone.”
“You have *me.*”
Emma nodded absently.
“Where’s he buried?”
“Old cemetery, maybe. Where his parents are.”
“We’ll go tomorrow.”
Emma’s eyes flickered. “Yes. I’ll tell him… He never knew. Stupid. I was scared he’d think I tricked him. Now… he’s just *gone.*”
“You didn’t tell him?” Emily whispered.
Emma shook her head. For a heartbeat, Emily felt relief—then crushing guilt.
“I loved him. This baby… What’s the point without him?”
“Don’t say that. It’s *his* baby. We”She held her brother close, whispering promises she now understood her mother had once made to her, as the sun dipped below the rooftops of London, painting the sky in streaks of gold and scarlet.”
