Emily Taylor

**Diary Entry – September 12th** My daughter stood in the doorway of our cramped kitchen, gripping

Margaret absentmindedly traced the petals of the exquisite bouquet delivered half an hour earlier.

Emily flinched as the phone rang sharply. The screen flashed “Margaret Hayes” – her mother-in-law

**The Daughter Returns** “Dad, I’m leaving,” Emily’s voice trembled, but her eyes burned with stubbornness.

Emily wiped the dust in her husband’s study when her cloth brushed against a stack of papers on the edge

Emily flinched as her phone shrieked with that familiar shrill ringtone. “Margaret Harrington”

Emma dusted her husband’s study when her cloth brushed a pile of papers at the edge of his desk.

“No, no, absolutely not! Margaret, surely you must see this is impossible! We’ve got a tiny

**Diary Entry – A Lesson Too Late** The phone rang early that morning—a hospital number flashing on the screen.

“No, no, and absolutely not! Dorothy, you must understand—it’s impossible! We’ve got a tiny