**Diary Entry**
*She’ll win you over, Mum. She’s just brilliant!* William beamed. *Won’t you tire of living with brilliance?* Alexandra quipped dryly.
Alexandra stood at the stove, listening. When her husband was alive, she’d always timed dinner for his return. He had passed eight years ago. Now, she did the same, waiting for her son.
The lock clicked, and William’s voice carried from the hall. *Mum, I’m home.*
*I hear you,* Alexandra replied, smiling.
*What’s for dinner? Sausage and mash?* William hugged her, peering over her shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of his favourite fried potatoes with spring onions.
Alexandra turned off the hob, covering the pan. *You’re in good spirits. What’s happened?* She could read his moods like a book.
William stepped back.
*Mum, I’m getting married.*
*About time. Why hasn’t Emily visited lately?* Alexandra turned, studying his darkened expression.
*It’s not Emily. It’s Beatrice.* A chill ran down Alexandra’s spine. Her son had grown up. He only hugged her now in rare, vulnerable moments.
*That’s quite a name. What about Emily?*
*Emily’s wedding is on Saturday. I’d rather not talk about it. Let’s eat.*
*At least her wedding hasn’t spoiled your appetite. Wash your hands.*
She set a plate before him, propping her chin on her hand as she watched him eat.
*This Beatrice—what’s she like?*
*She’s lovely. You’ll see for yourself. I’d like you to meet her—this Saturday, maybe?* William paused, meeting her eyes. *You’ll adore her, Mum. She’s just brilliant!*
He’d said the same about Emily. That she’d chosen a wealthier man—Alexandra had heard from Emily’s mother, an old school friend she’d bumped into at the shops. The woman had apologised for her daughter’s choice.
*Brilliance wears off. Won’t you tire of it?* Alexandra arched a brow.
*That’s not funny.*
*I’m not laughing. Tell me about her. What’s so brilliant?*
*Why fixate on the word?* William hesitated. *She’s a teacher—English and literature, though only her first year. Smart, well-read. We’re happy.*
*And her parents?*
*Her father’s an engineer; her mother stays home.*
*And she’s from…?* Alexandra trailed off, expecting him to fill the silence.
*Does it matter?* William bristled.
*I suppose not. So she’s not local. Will you live here?*
*We’ll rent if you’d prefer.* His gaze was steady.
*No, no. I’d be glad for the company. What would I do alone? Wait for grandchildren. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll move then.*
*Beatrice wants to focus on her career first, gain experience.*
*Beatrice wants this, Beatrice decides that…* Alexandra mimicked lightly. *Fine, invite your brilliance for dinner.* She stood, clearing his empty plate.
*You’re the best mum,* William said, rising too.
*I hope you remember that after the wedding.*
As she washed up, Alexandra mused. *A teacher. Evenings marking papers, weekends on school trips…* She sighed. *He’s grown so fast. Pity his father never saw it.*
Saturday morning, Alexandra was at the stove early. William fussed over shirts and ties before leaving to fetch Beatrice.
Alexandra tried picturing this brilliant teacher, but only imagined Judi Dench in some period drama.
Beatrice was slight, with straight hair and large eyes. Not conventionally pretty—you’d pass her in the street without a second glance. She ate little, politely praised each dish, barely sipped her wine. William mirrored her restraint.
*Don’t be shy, Beatrice,* Alexandra encouraged.
*Nervous, scared of me. First time meeting the mother-in-law,* she thought. *What does he see in her? Or is this just a rebound? Oh, Emily…*
Two months later, they married quietly. Beatrice’s parents came—her mother quiet and subdued, her father jovial, boasting about their generous dowry of linens. He joked that he’d named Beatrice after a character from *Pride and Prejudice*.
*The actress who played her was far more striking. A shame,* Alexandra remarked.
*I told him so,* Beatrice’s mother murmured, casting her eyes down.
*Were you named for a queen?* her father shot back.
*Hardly. My parents wanted a boy—Alex was the name. So I became Alexandra.*
Strange pair. The father drank, praising his “clever, beautiful” daughter. The mother sat stiffly, barely speaking—like she’d swallowed a ruler.
After the wedding, little changed. Beatrice never offered to cook or shop. If asked, she helped reluctantly. Resentment simmered. Alexandra wouldn’t play housemaid to a daughter-in-law.
One breakfast, William mispronounced a word. Beatrice corrected him—twice. Alexandra bit her tongue.
Later, she gently suggested Beatrice save corrections for privacy.
*I can’t stand poor diction,* Beatrice said coolly.
*Your father slurs his words, yet you never correct him.*
Beatrice left without a word. *She’ll complain to William now.*
That evening, he announced they were moving out.
*Is this about my remark? Think carefully, son.*
*Are you upset?* William asked.
*No. I *am* the best mum.* She swallowed her words. Let them learn on their own.
William’s friends stopped calling. He grew thin, humorless. He began visiting for meals—especially when Beatrice was busy.
One day, he returned with his bags.
*Fight?* Alexandra asked.
*Tired. I work, cook, clean. She makes me read Dickens, Hardy—like I’m her student.*
*Had your fill of brilliance?*
*Don’t start.*
*What now?*
*I don’t know.*
Alexandra remembered her own marriage—shared interests, mutual support. William’s was different.
Then life normalized. William joked again, went out evenings. She hoped he was with Beatrice—until an old friend confided: *William’s seeing Emily again.*
*Is Emily divorced?*
*No. Sneaking around. I’ve told her to stop.*
Alexandra’s heart raced. *Emily’s leading him astray.*
William neither confirmed nor denied when she asked. Then, one night, he didn’t come home. His phone was off.
At midnight, Emily called. *Aunt Alexandra, William’s in hospital.*
Her heart stopped.
*He was beaten badly. Come quickly.*
Taxis, corridors, the hammering of heels. *He’s alive. Please…*
Emily, pale, met her. *He’s in surgery. Skull fracture, internal bleeding.*
*Who did this?*
*My husband. His security. I never thought he’d—*
Alexandra couldn’t comfort her. A doctor emerged.
*He’ll live. Still unconscious. We’ll see.*
*He’s alive!* Emily whispered.
*Go home. I’ll stay.*
William woke on the third day. Emily visited once, then vanished. Beatrice arrived—composed, devoted. She brought broth, massaged his legs.
*You’ve changed,* Alexandra said.
*I saw what staying home did to Mum. I feared becoming her. Now I see I nearly lost William.*
They talked till dawn. Later, Alexandra warned William about Emily—gone abroad with her husband.
When he recovered, Beatrice visited daily. One evening, she devoured cake.
*What about your figure?* Alexandra teased.
Beatrice flushed. *It’s the baby.*
*Baby?!*
*Nine weeks.*
*Thank God.* Alexandra wept.
Beatrice had feared becoming her mother—and nearly lost William. Love had won.
Parents forget: children often mirror their own marriages.
**Note:** Adjusted names (William, Alexandra, Emily, Beatrice), cultural references (*Pride and Prejudice*, Dickens), and idioms to fit English context while preserving the story’s essence. Currency and locations implied (e.g., “sausage and mash” for familiarity). Retained emotional beats and character arcs.
