**Diary Entry**
“Who are you looking for?” Margaret Whitmore stepped onto the porch with Nicholas beside her, both eyeing the unexpected visitor.
“Im here for Margaret Whitmore! Im her granddaughterwell, great-granddaughter, to be precise. The granddaughter of Alfred, her eldest son.”
Margaret sat on the sunlit bench, savouring the first warm days of spring. Only God knew how shed made it through the winter.
“One more winter like that, and I wont last,” shed thought, breathing out in relief. She wasnt afraid of death anymorein fact, she welcomed it. The funeral savings were set aside, the burial clothes bought. Nothing held her to this world now.
***
Once, shed had a large familyThomas Whitmore, a tall, broad-shouldered man, and four children: three boys and a girl. Theyd lived happily, helping one another, rarely quarrelling. But one by one, the children grew up and left.
The two eldest sons went to university, then scattered to different cities for work. The middle boy struggled in school but later built a successful business that took him abroad for good. The daughter, too, left their villageflitting off to London and marrying soon after.
At first, the children visited often. Letters turned into phone calls as mobile phones became common. Grandchildren arrived, and Margaret would pack her battered old suitcase to stay with one family or another as a helping hand.
But time passed, and the grandchildren outgrew her care. The calls grew fewer, the invitations rare. Work, families, their own childrenher children forgot to visit. The last time theyd all gathered was for Thomass funeral. Such a strong man, youd think hed live to a hundred, but life had other plans.
After the burial, they drifted away again. Brief calls at first, then silence. Margaret tried ringing them, but it didnt take long to realise they had no time for her. So she lived alone these past ten years. Once a year, someone might remember herand for that week, shed smile to herself.
***
One day, as she sat on her bench lost in thought, a voice called out:
“Hello, Aunt Margaret!” A young man stood at the gate, grinning. “Dont you remember me?”
Margaret squinted.
“Nicholas? Is that you?”
“Yes, Aunt Margaret!” He beamed, stepping into the yard.
Nicholas was the neighbours sonparents who couldnt go a day without a row. As long as shed known him, hed been a hungry child. Pity had moved her to feed him, give him old clothes, let him stay the night when his parents shouting grew too loud.
They didnt last long, those parents. After they died, Nicholas was taken away, and Margaret hadnt seen him sincethough shed missed him terribly.
“Whereve you been all these years?” she asked, delighted.
“Childrens home first, then the army, then college. Now Im backgoing to rebuild the old village!”
“Rebuild what? Everyones gone,” she sighed.
“Doesnt matter. Ill manage!”
And so began a new chapter for Margaret. Nicholas found work with Old Farmer Thompson, the biggest landowner in the village. In his free time, he fixed up his parents tumbledown cottage and helped Margaret with chores. She brightened, calling him “her boy.” Three happy years passed.
Then one day, Nicholas looked sheepish. “Ive got to leave, Aunt Margaret. Thompsons turned meanwants the work but wont pay. Im off to the cities for better wages. Dont be angry.”
“Angry? God bless you, lad. Go on.”
Alone again, loneliness gnawed at her. The days dragged, waiting for the end. Yet something kept her here.
***
“Hello, Aunt Margaret!” A familiar voice rang out. She turned to the gate and gasped.
“Nicholas? Is it really you?”
“Its me!” A tall, well-dressed young man strode into her yard. “Im backfor good!”
“Oh, what joy!” She fussed. “Come in, come in! Ill put the kettle on!”
“Tea sounds perfect,” he laughed. “Let me just pop home firstdidnt expect to find you here, so Ive no gifts!”
Half an hour later, they sat at the table with tea in her best china cups, talking nonstop.
“Id all but given up, Nicholas,” she admitted, wiping a tear.
“Dont even think it!” He wagged a finger. “Ive made good moneystarting my own farm now. Well live well, you and I!”
“Hello? Anyone home?” A bright young voice interrupted. Margaret peered out to see a girl in a short coat and high heels.
“Who are you looking for?” she and Nicholas stepped onto the porch.
“Im here for Margaret Whitmore! Im her great-granddaughterAlfreds granddaughter. I rang, but your phone was off, so I took a chance!”
Margaret and Nicholas exchanged glances.
“Well, come in,” she said, flustered, while Nicholas took the girls suitcase.
Over tea, the girlEmilytold her story.
“I hate the city. Wanted to try village life. Grandad Alfred suggested I stay awhilesaid a few months here would cure me of the idea! He tried calling. So did Dad. So did I. Couldnt get through. Sorry! Ill pay my wayIve got money. And they sent gifts!”
“Stay as long as you like!” Margaret said warmly.
A month passed. Margaret watched from her bench as Emily worked the long-neglected garden, turning it lush under Nicholass guidance. Hed started building a modern farm with his savings, hiring workers to fix Margarets roof and install proper heating.
She was happy. Smiling. No longer alone.
Only one shadow lingeredEmily would leave soon. Shed grown so fond of her. But time flew, and Emily packed for London.
“How will I manage the garden alone?” Margaret sighed, packing cakes for her journey.
“Just keep the water barrel filledNicholas will handle the rest! Ill be back to weed!” Emily grinned.
“Youre coming back?” Margarets heart leapt.
“Of course! I cant stay awayI love you, Gran. And Nicholas proposed! Were marrying in autumn. Cant leave my country boy, can I?”
A year later, Margaret rocked her great-great-grandsons cradle in the sun. Emily and Nicholas were at the thriving farm, their success lifting the whole village.
Gazing at the sleeping baby, Margaret smiled.
“Not ready for the next world yet. The children still need me.”
**Lesson Learned:** Family isnt always bloodits those who choose to stay. And sometimes, life gives you a second chance when you least expect it.
