**Diary Entry 18th October, 2023**
Visiting my daughter at the cemetery, I saw a little girl I didnt recognise sitting on a bench, whispering to the portrait on the gravestone. My heart stopped.
The last streaks of evening light seeped through the heavy curtains, spilling tired, dull stripes across the expensive Persian rug. The air in the lounge, usually thick with the scent of rare flowers and expensive perfume, felt heavy todaycharged, like the moment before a storm.
“Sophie again? Edward, do you honestly expect me to babysit her?” Christinas voice, usually soft and coaxing, trembled with suppressed rage. She stood in the middle of the room, flawless in her silk robe, porcelain-pale, and fixed him with a defiant glare. “She has a nanny! And a grandmotheryour ex-wife! Why must I drop everything *again*?”
Edward, a man with silver streaks at his temples and the unshakable posture of authority, didnt look up from his papers. His calm was deceptive, like the quiet before thunder.
“Weve discussed this, Christina. Twice a month. Two Saturday evenings. Its not a requestits the bare minimum you accepted when you married me. Margaret needs a break. And my *ex-wife*, as you insist on calling her, lives in another city and rarely sees Sophie. Shes my blood. And, incidentally, Olivias daughter.”
The last words carried a faint edge, but Christina felt it like a slap. That connection*that* was what infuriated her most.
“Olivia” She let out a bitter laugh. “The same Olivia who ran off and had a child with some nobody, leaving you to clean up the mess?”
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Christina froze, biting her lip. A chill ran down her spine. She watched as Edward slowly set down his papers and looked at herhis gaze heavy, utterly emotionless. Her mind flashed back to six months ago: Sophie had spilled juice on the sofa, and Christina had grabbed her wrist, screaming in her faceuntil *he* appeared. No shouting, no gestures. Just his hand closing over hers, his voice lethally calm:
“If you lay a finger on her again if anything happens to her because of you I will break every one of your fingers. Slowly. Do you understand?”
Shed understood. Then, as now, she knew: this man, whod given her luxury and saved her from poverty, didnt love her. He tolerated her. And she feared himdeeply, to the point of shaking. There was no escape. The thought of returning to that cramped flat, to her drunken parents, was worse than any punishment. Shed locked herself in this gilded prison, and now her jailer was a five-year-old girl.
Christina forced a change in tone. Tears welled in her eyes; her voice dripped honey.
“Eddie, darling, Im sorry I didnt mean it. Im just so *tired* I have a doctors appointment, waited weeksI cant miss it.”
But Edward wasnt listening. He waved her off like a bothersome insect, his attention fixed on the doorway where a childs laughter rang out. In the playroom, Sophie sat on the floor with Nanny Margaret, stacking blocks into a tower. Edwards face transformedthe sternness melted away, his eyes warm with something like reverence. He scooped Sophie up, spinning her until she shrieked with laughter, clinging to his neck.
Christina watched from the lounge. Her heart clenched with icy, seething hatred. She was an outsider here. Superfluous. A decorative piece in a lavish flat. And as long as Sophie existed, it would always be this way. In her hardened mind, forged by years of survival instinct, a cold resolve took shape. *Dont worry*, she thought, addressing the girl silently. *Tonight, we say goodbye, little obstacle.*
From youth, shed known what she wanted. Beauty was her only weapon and currency. While her friend Olivia had daydreamed of love and scribbled poetry, Christina had studied lists of wealthy men. EdwardOlivias father, twenty-five years older but powerful, rich, influentialhad been her choice.
Betrayal? The word meant nothing to her. Shed seduced her best friends father without hesitation. For Olivia, it had been the end. Shed left, vanished. A year later, Edward learned shed had a daughter. Four years after thatshe was gone. An accident.
Grief-stricken and guilt-ridden, Edward poured all his love into the granddaughter hed tracked down and brought home. Sophie became his world. And Christina, the young, beautiful wife, was sidelined. The child was a living reminder of her treachery and the one obstacle to total control over Edward and his fortune. The obstacle had to go.
The plan was simple. First, preparation. Under a plausible pretext, Christina dismissed vigilant Margaret, replacing her with a scatterbrained student, Emilyalways glued to her phone. Exactly as intended.
That Saturday, while Edward was at a meeting, Christina watched from the window as Emily took Sophie to the playground. She waited. And thenEmilys phone rang. The girl wandered off, absorbed in conversation, leaving Sophie alone. Christina stepped outside, all smiles.
“Sophie, darling, your grandad asked me to take you somewhere special. Shall we go?”
The girl, trusting “Auntie Chris,” nodded eagerly. A minute later, they were in the car. In the mirror, Christina saw Emily panicking, darting across the playground. Her smile turned vicious.
The drive was long. At first, Sophie peered excitedly out the window. Then she whimpered. Then she wailed.
“I want Grandad! I want to go *home*!”
Christina turned up the radio, drowning out the cries. She drove for hours, deep into the countryside, until the city was far behind them. Finally, she stopped at the rusted gate of an abandoned churchyard. Ancient trees cast long, eerie shadows over the overgrown graves.
She hauled the sobbing girl from the car. The air was damp, smelling of rotting leaves.
“Were here,” Christina said. “This is your new home. Grandad wont find you. Goodbye.”
Sophie screamed, lunging for the car, but Christina shoved her back. The girl fell, howling. To silence her, Christina slapped herhard. Sophie went still, staring up with wide, tear-filled eyes. Christina got back in the car, started the engine, and drove away without a glance. In the mirror, a tiny figure waved desperately from the path. Thena bend in the road. Silence. Christina pressed the accelerator.
For Evelyn, Saturdays were sacred. Every week, she visited the cemetery. Dressed simply in a dark dress and headscarf, she walked through the village, avoiding sympathetic glances. She needed no pity, no empty words. This path was hers alone.
Twelve years ago, shed moved here. Her daughter, Lily, had been diagnosed with a rare bone disease. Doctors prescribed quiet and clean air. Her husband hadnt coped; hed left. Evelyn stayed.
At first, it was unbearable. Shed shut herself away, caring for her dying child. But the village wouldnt let her. Neighboursbrisk Martha and quiet, kind Agnesbrought food, made her rest. Slowly, the ice in her heart thawed. She learned to accept help. Then, to give it. She realised: shared pain is lighter.
Seven years ago, Lily died. Many expected Evelyn to leavereturn to the city, put this place behind her. But she stayed. The village had become her home; its people, her family. Grief didnt vanishit settled inside her, a quiet, constant companion. She tended her garden, helped neighbours, passed evenings in stillness. She expected nothing moreonly solace in caring for others.
Today, as usual, she walked to the cemetery. Martha called out from her doorstep.
“Evie, off to the churchyard again? Its right to remember, but must you torture yourself every week? Youll disturb Lilys peaceand your own.”
“Ill just sit awhile, Martha,” Evelyn replied softly. “Not long.”
She nodded and continued down the narrow path to the old graveyard, where beneath a sprawling oak lay her Lily.
Approaching the grave, Evelyn froze. On the bench by the fence sat a little girlfilthy, trembling, in a thin dress, as if lost to the world. A fresh bruise bloomed on her cheek. She wasnt crying, just whispering to Lilys photo on the headstone. Evelyn listened.
“…Ill sit with you, okay?” the girl murmured. “Youre Lily, right? Auntie Chris said this is my new home. But its scary alone. With you, its less scary. You wont hit me, will you?”
Evelyns heart clenched. This frightened child, abandoned here, had found comfort in her daughters image. In a childs logic: a girl in a photo would understand, protect, not hurt.
Carefully, Evelyn stepped forward.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
