**Diary Entry**
He called me a wretched maid and walked away. But when he returned, he got an unexpected surprise.
Id always heard the same words from my grandmother and mother: In this family, women never have luck in love. My great-grandmother was widowed at twenty-two, my grandfather died in the factory, and my mother was left alone with a baby before Id even turned three. I didnt believe in curses, but deep down, I feared my love would end in heartbreak too. Still, despite myself, I dreamed of a home, a husband, children warmth.
I met my future husband, Robert, at the packaging factory where I worked. He was in another department, but we shared the canteen. Thats how we fell in love. It all happened fasta few dates, a proposal, marriage. He moved into my two-bed flat, inherited from my grandmother. My mother had already passed. At first, it was peaceful: our first son was born, then the second. I did my bestcooking, cleaning, raising the boys. He worked, brought home the wages, but came home less and spoke even less.
When Robert started returning late, exhausted, smelling of someone elses perfume, I knew. I didnt asktoo afraid of being left with two children. But one day, I snapped.
*”Think of the boys, please. Im begging you.”*
He just stared, cold and silent. No explanations. No shouting. The next morning, I made him breakfast, and he didnt touch it.
*”Youre only good for being a maid,”* he said, full of disgust.
A week later, he was gonepacked his bags and shut the door behind him.
*”Dont leave us!”* I cried down the corridor. *”The boys need their father!”*
*”Youre a wretched maid,”* he repeated, walking out. The boys heard, huddled together on the sofa, bewilderedwhat had they done wrong? Why had he left?
But I refused to crumble. I lived for them. Cleaned offices, scrubbed stairs, carried buckets, taught them to read, hand-washed clothes when the machine broke. The boys grew up fast, helping where they could. I forgot myself, my dreams. But fate has a funny way of surprising you.
One day at the grocers, I dropped a box of tea. A man picked it up and smiled.
*”Need help with your bags?”*
*”Its fine,”* I muttered, distracted.
*”Ill help anyway,”* he said, already lifting them.
His name was James. He started showing up at the shop daily, then walking me home, until one day, he turned up at my building to help with the cleaning. The boys were wary, but he was kind, patient. At our first dinner, he brought cake and white roses. When my eldest teased,
*”Did you play basketball?”*
He laughed. *”Back in school, yeah. Long time ago.”*
Later, he admitted, *”I had an accident. Speak slow, move stiff. My wife left me. If you dont like it, I understand.”*
*”If the boys like you, stay,”* I replied.
He proposed, then asked to speak to them. *”I want to be a real father to you.”*
That night, I explained to the boys. They hugged me tight.
*”Our dad left and forgot us,”* the youngest said. *”Be nice to have one who stays.”*
And just like that, James became family. Taught them football, helped with homework, fixed shelves, laughed with them. The house came alive. Years passed. The boys became men. Thomas fell in love and went to James for advice. Then, the doorbell rang.
There stood Robert.
*”I was a fool. Take me back. Lets start over”*
*”Get out,”* Thomas cut in.
*”Is that how you speak to your father?!”* Robert snarled.
*”Dont talk to my son like that,”* James said firmly.
*”We dont need you,”* my youngest added. *”Weve already got a dad.”*
They shut the door. For good.
I stood there, looking at themmy protectors, my family, built with blood, sweat, and tears. And at last I was happy.
