28April2025
Dear Diary,
For as long as I can remember my mother, Elizabeth, has stood by my stepfather Martin. I used to think that was just how families worked, until one day I could no longer swallow the silence. I decided it was time to put an end to it.
I grew up with my mum and my little sister, Poppy, in a terraced house on the outskirts of Birmingham. Our grandmother, Agnes, lived just a short bus ride away and she dropped in every week with a tin of biscuits and a chat. I have no memory of my biological father at all, but Poppy still speaks of her dad with a wistful tone.
At first Martin seemed decent enough, but after I moved in he and my mother soon forgot that I existed. He would raise his hand against me, and I would cry in the night, too scared to tell Mum. It wasnt until she saw the bruises with her own eyes that she finally understood.
The next day she confronted him. Their argument was fierce, and Martin left our lives for good. From that moment on the three of usMum, Poppy and Iwere finally free to breathe. Agnes looked after Poppy whenever Mum had to work late, and after I finished my Alevels I chose to stay in Birmingham for university rather than head abroad, because I could not bear to leave my family behind.
A few months later Mum suggested that we sell both our little house and the one Agnes owned, and use the money to buy a threebedroom flat in the city centre. The idea appealed to us; we would all be under the same roof and still have our own space. The sale went through, and we moved into the new flat. I got my own bedroom, Poppy stayed with Grandma Agnes in the spare room, and Mum took the third. It felt like a fresh start, and everyone seemed content.
It was there that Mum met our neighbour, George, an older gentleman who had been divorced for years. He was about Mums age and, after a few weeks, began to pay her extra attention. She started to smile more, and I could see a light returning to her eyes.
Later, Mum invited my Uncle Robert to stay with us. He decided to let out his own flat and move in temporarily. At first everything seemed fine, but soon Robert began to hurl insults, especially at me. He made his contempt obvious, and whenever we disagreed he always sided with him, leaving Mum to pick his side too.
I felt increasingly out of place, so I resolved to move to another cityLeedsto continue my studies. Mum didnt object; in fact, I could see the relief in her expression, as if a weight had been lifted and she no longer had to choose between me and Uncle Robert. Yet the relief did little to soothe the ache inside me. How could a mother trade her own child for the comfort of another man?
Im left pondering that question as I pack my suitcase, wondering whether the price of peace is ever truly worth paying.
Emma
