Author: Mria McNillan

Veronica Whitmore carried a quiet ache in her chest, a relentless echo that never faded. In 1979, as

I remember the day Matthew first stepped into our home. He was fivesmall, with wary eyes that seemed

It so happened that he was raised by his grandmother, though his mother was still alive.Such was the

**Diary Entry** It was a quiet Monday evening, just past seven, at *The Ivy*, one of the poshest restaurants

Before her divorce, Emily took care of her child on her own, but later she found a nannyher ex-husbands mum.

In the heart of London, where the tangled wires above the streets pulsed like the veins of the city

My name is Edward Whitmore. I’m twenty-eight years old, and Im a solicitor. Yes, I have Downs syndrome.

Six years alonethats how long it had been since Emilys husband left her. Her daughter had married last

I never imagined my old age would smell of antiseptic and lukewarm soup. I pictured myself at seventy

**Diary Entry 18th June** The morning found us on a dusty road leading away from the village.