**Diary Entry 12th March**
*”What the hell are you doing in my laptop?”* Alex snapped, towering over Emily. Shed never seen him like this before.
Emily had just come home from school and immediately caught the heavy stench of alcohol in the hallway. From the living room, loud snoring echoed. Her father was drunk again. She slipped straight into the kitchen.
Her mum stood at the sink, peeling potatoes. Hearing footsteps, she turned. Emilys sharp eyes took in the swollen, reddened cheek.
*”Mum, we have to leave him. How much more can we take? Hell kill you one day,”* Emily hissed.
*”And go where? Whod take us in? Weve no money for rent. Dont worry, lovehe wont kill me. Hes a coward. Only dares raise a hand to me.”*
The next morning, strange noises woke Emily. She crept to the kitchen and froze. Her father leaned over the stove, gulping straight from the kettle, his Adams apple bobbing. The sound of the liquid sliding down his throat made her sick. *”Choke. Please, God, let him choke,”* she thought bitterly.
But he didnt. He set the kettle down with a satisfied sigh, gave her a bleary stare, and staggered past her to the bathroom.
Emily scowled, knowing her mum would refill that kettle without washing it. She scrubbed it furiously with a brush, vowing never to drink from it unwashed again.
That winter, Emilys class went on a three-day trip to Manchester. When she returned, her mum was in hospital.
*”Did he do this?”* Emily demanded, staring at the bandages.
*”No, love. Slipped on ice.”*
But Emily knew she was lying.
Years of blows to the head had left her mum with high blood pressure. Six months later, she had a stroke and died. At the funeral, her father wept drunkenlysometimes mourning his *”beloved Margaret,”* other times cursing her.
He warned Emily she was just like her mother, threatening to kill her if she ever tried to leave. Emily counted the days until graduation. She skipped prom, collected her diploma in secret, and packed her things while he was at work.
He gave her money for foodshe saved most of it. Sometimes, she even pinched a few quid from his pocket while he slept. It wasnt much, but enough to get by. Shed decided long ago: shed work, study part-time.
She wasnt afraid hed find her. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew his habitsno one would help him. She moved to London, rented a cheap flat on the outskirts, and got a job at a fast-food chain. They helped with her medical certificate, gave her free meals.
She enrolled in a vocational school for accounting. When her bosses found out, they put her on tills.
Boys tried flirting. *”Theyre all sweet at first,”* her mum used to say. *”Then they start drinking or cheating. Dont be fooled, love. I was pretty once too. Your dad didnt drink when we met. We were in love. What happened?”*
Emily remembered her words and ignored their advances. Shed seen where that road led.
Payday meant stocking uppasta, tins, cereal, anything long-lasting. Her dad spent his wages on booze, but there was always food, even if it was plain. Now, Emily did the same.
One evening, struggling with a heavy bag, she collided with a bloke glued to his phone.
*”Sorry,”* he said, looking up.
She meant to snap, but his warm smile disarmed her. *”Salright. Wasnt looking either.”*
He offered to help. Reluctantly, she handed over the bag. No one that kind could be bad. His name was Alex. He walked her homethough she wouldnt let him near her door.
The next day, he *”happened”* to visit her work. They started seeing each other.
Alex was upfrontdivorced, with a little girl he adored. Hed left the flat to his ex, crashing at a mates. *”Married too young. We had nothing in common. Days would pass without speaking.”*
He talked endlessly about his daughter. Emily thought maybe she could trust a man who loved his child. A month later, he suggested moving in together.
*”Lets get a nicer place, closer to town. Easier sharing bills.”*
Emily agreed, dizzy with hope. A proper family at last. They found a spacious flat, toasted their new life. She didnt dream of weddingsbut Alex did. *”Two kids,”* hed say. *”A boy and a girl.”* And she believed him.
He paid two months rent upfront. By the third, his tone turned sheepish.
Emily took one last look at the flat where shed thought shed found happiness, then shut the door firmly, whispering a promise to her son in the NICU: *”Well be alright, love. Well be far from all this.”*
**Lesson learned:** Some scars run too deep to trust the first kind face. But hope? Thats harder to kill than fear.
