**Diary Entry**
*You know how he looks at you? With love and pure admiration,* my daughter said, clearly pleased with herself.
James stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his waist. Droplets of water shimmered against his toned chest. Not just a man—an absolute dream. My heart ached sweetly, that familiar flutter I couldn’t ignore.
He perched on the edge of the bed, reaching to kiss me, but I turned my face away.
*No, or I’ll never leave. I have to go. Emily’s probably home.* I brushed my cheek against his shoulder.
He sighed. *Claire, how much longer? When will you tell her about us?*
*Three months ago, you didn’t even know I existed. You were perfectly fine without me.* I stood, pulling on my clothes.
*I wasn’t fine. I wasn’t living—just waiting.*
*Don’t break my heart,* I whispered. *Don’t walk me out.* Then I slipped away before he could argue.
Outside, I kept my head down, convinced every passerby knew exactly where I’d been. The men glanced with interest, the women—with judgement.
Of course they did. My figure, my posture, the thick dark hair escaping its clip, lips men fantasised about. I just wanted to disappear.
***
I married young, at twenty, madly in love. Almost immediately, I fell pregnant. My husband begged me to reconsider—too soon, we weren’t ready. But I refused. Emily was born healthy, and I hoped, foolishly, that he’d grow to love her too. He never did.
Then the phone call came. An unfamiliar woman, an address, the truth I already knew. He denied it at first, then shouted at me—*You believe some madwoman over your own husband?*—before slamming the door on us both.
For weeks, I barely functioned. But Emily needed me. Then one evening, I stood beneath a tree outside that wretched flat and watched him walk in, arm-in-arm with her.
The divorce was swift. I returned to work, raised Emily alone. There were other men, of course, but none ever felt right—until James. Tall, charming, everything I thought I wanted. Our affair burned bright. One night, Emily caught me dressing up.
*Going on a date?* she asked, half-joking.
*Mhm.*
She never asked again.
She’d inherited my silhouette but not my sharp, striking features. People marvelled how two beautiful parents had such an ordinary-looking child. I was relieved. Beauty brought nothing but trouble.
I’d never had close girlfriends—not because of me, but their envy. No one wanted to stand beside me and fade. Maybe that’s why I married so young, desperate for companionship.
*He’s sweet, but a bit plain for you,* my mother had warned.
***
*Emily, I’m home!* I called, stepping into the flat.
*Doing homework,* she replied from her room.
I changed, then started dinner. Emily wandered in, tore off a piece of bread.
*Don’t spoil your appetite,* I scolded lightly, setting plates down. *I need to talk to you.*
*So talk,* she said between bites.
*My birthday’s coming.*
*I remember.*
*I’d like to invite… someone.* The words stuck.
*The guy you’re sleeping with?* She didn’t even look up.
*Dating. And mind your tone.*
*Same thing at your age.*
*So, can I invite him?*
*Whatever. Is Gran coming?*
I exhaled. Fifteen was a brutal age, but she seemed… fine with it.
*Gran’s visiting Sunday. I just want you both to get along.*
*Sure, Mum. Invite him.*
Saturday morning, I cooked obsessively, determined to impress. James arrived with roses, a ring. It was too much, too fast.
At dinner, he was loud, cracking jokes, trying too hard. Emily stayed quiet, watchful. After he left, I found her in her room.
*You didn’t like him?*
*Nope.*
*Why?*
*He’s using you. How can’t you see it?*
*Is this Gran’s influence?*
*I have eyes, Mum.* Her stare was pure frustration.
*Do you love him?* she whispered later. I nodded without turning. *Then date him. Just don’t move him in here.*
I spun around. *Why?*
*Because I don’t like him.*
That was that.
Oddly, I felt lighter. Things with James had moved too fast. That ring. The way he never spoke of himself, only *our* future. How little he asked about Emily.
The next day, he called, eager to meet. Didn’t even ask how Emily felt—arrogance or ignorance?
*Gran’s coming tonight. No time.*
*Tomorrow, then?*
*Tomorrow.* Relief flooded me.
With Gran, Emily was cheerful, chatty. No mention of James. *She sees what I’m blind to,* I realised, watching her laugh.
Weeks passed. We still met at his place. Then one night, he called Emily selfish for keeping us apart.
*She’ll fall in love one day, and you’ll be alone!*
*Are you breaking up with me?*
He backtracked instantly. But we parted coldly.
Two days later, Emily came home late.
*Where were you? Your homework—*
*Done. Listen, Mum… Nikita and I found your James.*
*Found him?*
*He lives on Kensington Road—with a wife. And a little boy.*
My stomach dropped. *You followed him? It could be his sister—*
*No. We waited. Saw him at the window—shirtless. He lives there, Mum.*
I locked myself in the bathroom, muffling sobs. When I emerged, Emily had eaten, cleared her plate, vanished into her room. I stood on the balcony, staring at London’s glittering skyline, replaying every red flag—his sterile flat, the empty fridge, the hollow wardrobe. A love nest, nothing more.
*Mum!* Emily’s arms wrapped around me, hauling me back. *You scared me!*
*I’m fine,* I lied. *Just… don’t spy on him again.*
The next day, I confronted James. Opened his wardrobe—two shirts. Nothing else.
*You rent this place just for me. You’re married.*
*I thought you weren’t like other women—paranoid, petty—*
*Call me crazy again. I dare you. Are you married?*
Silence. I left the ring on the table.
I walked for hours. Letting go of love is like cutting off a gangrenous limb—agonising, necessary. I’d survived before. I would again.
Three weeks later, Emily left for a school trip.
*Mum… what about Peter?*
*Who?*
*From downstairs.*
I pictured the unremarkable, bearded man in our building.
*He’s in love with you,* she said. *You know how he looks at you?*
*How?*
*Like you’re the moon.*
I laughed. *He’s kind. But I need more than that.*
*Just think about it.*
Later, I did. The way he’d *happened* to bump into me years ago, always offered help, never took payment. The day he changed our locks after my ex tried to steal from us.
*Just in case.*
I’d never noticed.
Next evening, I knocked on his door. He answered immediately, as if waiting.
*My lock’s stuck. Could you…?*
*Be right up.*
Fifteen minutes later, I barely recognised him. Clean-shaven, in a suit and tie, he looked… younger. Handsome.
*You’re fixing locks in a suit?*
*Seems to be working fine.* His smile crinkled his eyes.
I’d set the table for two. *Emily’s away… wine?*
*I don’t drink. Sit.*
And just like that, I realised—love had been here all along, patient, unnoticed. Waiting.
