**Diary Entry 28th June**
I never thought betrayal could hollow a man out like this. After my wife and so-called friends showed their true colours, I found myself back in my hometownstanding frozen at my mothers grave. Eight years since her funeral, and Id never once visited. Pathetic, really.
Id pulled the car over near the cemetery, guilt gnawing at me. All those times Id told myself Id come, but work, life, that empty marriagealways something stopped me. Now, with everything collapsed around me, it was the only place left.
Funny how it took losing everything to see the truth. My wife, Evelyn, had been sleeping with my best mate. The others? Theyd known. Not one of them had the decency to tell me. When I filed for divorce, Evelyn screamed that shed hated every second of our marriage. Her face twisted into something uglynothing like the polished society wife Id been so proud of.
Stepping out of the car, I clutched the bouquet of roses. The cemetery was overgrownor so Id assumed. But when I reached Mums plot, the grave was pristine. Fresh flowers, no weeds. Whod been tending it? One of her old friends, probably. Shame burned in my throat.
“Hello, Mum,” I whispered. Then the tears came. MeRobert Whitmore, the unshakable businessmansobbing like a child. But it felt right. Like she was there, smoothing my hair, murmuring, *”There, there. Itll all sort itself out.”*
Shed raised me alone, never coddling me. *”You get used to most things in life,”* shed say. *”But never betrayal.”* God, if only Id listened.
Hours mustve passed before a little voice startled me.
“Mister, could you help?”
A girlseven or eightstood there, an empty bucket in hand. “I need water for the flowers. Mummys poorly, and its so hottheyll wilt.”
I smiled. “Lead the way.”
She chattered nonstop. Her name was Lily. Her mum had caught a chill after drinking icy lemonade. Theyd planted these flowers for her gran*Gran Margaret*, she called her. The grave next to Mums.
Thats when I froze. The headstone bore the name of Margaret Hayesmy neighbour. The one Id paid to look after Mums house. And Lilys mum? That would be Claire.
Claire.
Wed met years ago when Id arranged upkeep for the house. Shed just left her abusive husband. One evening, over whisky, wedwell. Id left before dawn, scribbling instructions about the keys. Never thought of her again. Until now.
Lily skipped ahead, oblivious. “Mummy says I mustnt talk to strangers, but youre nice.”
At the house, everything was unchangedas if Mum had just popped out. Even the garden thrived. Claires doing.
Then I knocked on her door.
Lily answered, grinning. “Shh! Dont tell Mummy we met!”
Claire appeared, pale but alert. “Robert?”
“Hello, Claire.”
We talked awkwardly. Shed taken over caring for the house after Margaret passed. No, she hadnt planned to stayjust a visit. But then
“Wheres your husband?” I asked, though I already knew.
Her face tightened. “Robert, Lily isnt”
“Yours?”
She exhaled sharply. “I didnt tell you because I didnt want anything from you. Weve managed fine.”
My throat closed. All these years, chasing money, statuswhile my real life was here. A daughter. A woman whod loved me enough to let me go.
That night, feverish from Claires cold, I dreamt of Mum. She was smiling. *”Always wanted a granddaughter like Lily.”*
Three days later, I made my decision.
“Ill be back,” I told Claire. “For good. Just let me sort things out in London.”
She hesitated. “And if it doesnt work?”
“Then Ill still be Lilys father. However youll have me.”
Three weeks later, I returned with bags of giftsa bicycle for Lily, a silk dress for Claire.
Lily peered at me. “Hello, Mr. Robert.”
Claire took a breath. “Lily, this is your dad.”
I nearly dropped everything. “Thank you,” I choked out.
We sold both houses. A fresh start. Lily still calls me *Mr. Robert* sometimesbut shell learn. We all will.
Funny, isnt it? Life gives you second chances when you least expect them.
