**Diary Entry**
“Do you know how he looks at you? With love and admiration,” my daughter said, clearly pleased with herself.
Daniel stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Droplets of water glistened on the contours of his toned chest. Not just a man—a dream. My heart ached sweetly in my chest.
He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for me, intending to kiss me. I turned my face away.
“Don’t, or I’ll never leave. I have to go. Emily’s probably home already,” I murmured, pressing my cheek briefly against his shoulder.
He sighed.
“Val, how much longer? When are you going to tell your daughter about us?”
“Three months ago, you didn’t even know I existed, and you were doing just fine.” I stood and began dressing.
“I wasn’t living—just waiting for you. I can’t go a day without—”
“Don’t make this harder. Don’t walk me out,” I said, slipping quickly from the room.
The streets were busy, and I kept my eyes down, certain everyone knew where I’d come from. Men glanced with curiosity; women—with judgment.
Hardly surprising. Everything about me stood out—my figure, my poise, my face with its expressive eyes and full lips. Dark curls had escaped my hairclip at the nape. I wished, just this once, to be invisible.
***
I had married young, at twenty, deeply in love. I got pregnant almost immediately. My husband tried to persuade me to terminate—too soon, he said, we needed to get settled first, there’d be time later. But I refused, and our daughter was born healthy. I thought he might change, but he never warmed to her. Then again, many men aren’t cut out for fatherhood.
One day, a woman called and gave me an address where my husband often spent his evenings. I didn’t rush to check. I waited, confronted him directly. He denied it at first, then made excuses, then exploded:
“Some crazy woman says something, and you believe it? You’re not much better. I’m leaving—you’ll regret this!”
The door slammed behind him. I didn’t want to live, but Emily needed me, so I forced myself through. Two weeks later, I couldn’t stand it. I went to that address, hid behind a tree, and waited. Soon, he walked past, arm in arm with a younger woman. They disappeared into the building.
The next day, I filed for divorce. I knew I could never forgive him—that wasn’t my nature. I enrolled Emily in nursery and went back to work.
Men drifted in and out of my life, but none made me want to risk my heart again. Until Daniel, years later. Tall, handsome, a perfect match. Our affair was fierce and passionate. Once, Emily asked why I was dressing up so carefully.
“Got a date,” I half-joked.
“Mmm,” she said knowingly. She never asked again.
Emily had my figure but not my face. People often wondered how two attractive parents had such an ordinary-looking daughter. I was glad. Beauty wasn’t everything—it came with its own problems.
I never had close girlfriends. Not because of me, but their envy. No one wanted to stand in my shadow. Maybe that’s why I married so young—hoping a husband could be my friend.
“He’s a bit ordinary for you, even if he is handsome,” Mum had said.
***
“Emily, I’m home,” I called as I stepped inside.
“Doing homework,” she replied from her room.
I changed, then headed to the kitchen. Emily joined me shortly after, tearing off a piece of bread.
“Don’t spoil your appetite—dinner’s almost ready,” I said, setting plates on the table. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Alright, go on,” she said between bites.
“My birthday’s coming up.”
“I remember, Mum.”
“I wanted to invite… someone.”
“Someone you’re sleeping with?” Emily looked at me coolly.
“We’re *dating*. And watch your tone,” I chided.
“What’s the difference? At your age, dating *is* sleeping together.”
“So, can I invite him? You don’t mind?”
“Whatever. Is Gran coming?”
I exhaled in relief. Fifteen—such a tricky age. But she seemed fine with it.
“Gran’s visiting Sunday. I just want you two to get along.”
“Sure, whatever. Invite him.”
Saturday morning, I cooked frantically, determined to impress Daniel with my skills. He arrived with a massive bouquet of roses and a ring. I was stunned—his intensity overwhelmed me.
He tried too hard with Emily—loud, joking, telling stories. She stayed quiet, reserved. After he left, I cleared the table and found her in her room. I tried to hug her, but she pulled away.
“You don’t like him?” I asked.
“No,” she said flatly.
“Why?” I couldn’t hide my disappointment.
“Just don’t.” She paused. “Mum, you’re still young, I get it. But he’s using you. How can’t you see it?”
“Did Gran put you up to this?”
“What’s Gran got to do with it? I’ve got eyes.” She looked at me desperately.
I stood, heading for the door.
“Mum… do you love him?” she whispered. Without turning, I nodded. “Then keep seeing him. Just don’t move him in here.”
“Explain why.”
“I just don’t like him.”
That was all I could get from her.
Strangely, I felt relieved. Things with Daniel had moved too fast. The ring… and yet, he barely spoke about himself—just our future together. Emily mattered only because she was part of my life.
The next day, he called, saying he missed me. He never asked if Emily liked him. Did he not care, or was he that sure of himself?
“Mum’s coming tonight—no time,” I said.
“Tomorrow then?”
“Tomorrow,” I agreed, relieved.
With Gran, Emily was lively—nothing like last night. No one mentioned Daniel. *Maybe she sees what love blinded me to*, I thought, watching her.
Life carried on. We met at his place for hours. Once, he brought up living together again. When I asked for patience, he snapped, calling Emily selfish for keeping me from happiness.
“In a few years, she’ll fall in love herself, and you’ll be alone!” he shouted when I refused to go against her wishes.
“Ready to break up, then?” I asked.
“No, I just—it slipped out.”
We argued, parted coldly for the first time.
Two days later, Emily came home late.
“Where were you? Homework?” I demanded.
“Done already. There’s something I need to tell you.” She followed me to the kitchen.
“Wash up. Dinner’s ready.” I eyed her excitement. “You look pleased.”
“I am. But you might not like it.”
“School trip fundraiser again?”
“Actually… Jack and I found out about your Daniel.”
“What do you mean? He wasn’t *lost*.”
“But you don’t know the truth. He doesn’t live where he says—he’s on Chestnut Street, with a wife or girlfriend and a little boy.”
I refused to believe it. A sister? Ex? But Emily insisted—they’d watched him enter the building, seen him shirtless at the window.
I fled to the bathroom, muffling my sobs. When I emerged, Emily had eaten and retreated to her room. I stepped onto the balcony, staring at the city lights.
She was right. His flat had always felt empty—no photos, barely any food. Had I ignored the signs?
“Mum!” Emily grabbed me from behind, pulling me back.
“You scared me!”
“I thought—”
“It’s fine. Just… no more spying.”
The next day, I went to Daniel’s, opened his wardrobe. Two shirts. Nothing else.
“You rent this place just for me? You don’t live alone.”
He paled, then lashed out.
“I thought you weren’t like other women—paranoid, suspicious—”
“Next you’ll call me crazy,” I said wryly. “Are you married?”
He turned away. I left the ring on the table and walked out.
I wandered for hours. Cutting out love was like amputating a limb to stop gangrene—necessary but painful. I’d survived before. I would again.
Three weeks later, school ended. Emily’s class was leaving for Edinburgh overnight. Before she left, she asked,
“Mum… what about Peter? From downstairs?”
“What about him?”
“He likes you. A *lot*.”
I remembered the quiet, bearded man in our building.
“He looks at you with love and admiration,” Emily said smugly.
“Kindness isn’t enough. I need love.”
As we waited for her ride, she nudged me. “Think about Peter.”
And I did.She opened the door when Peter knocked, his clean-shaven face a surprise, and in his steady gaze, she finally recognized the love that had been waiting for her all along.
