Author: Emily Taylor

**Diary Entry** I’ve been wrestling with how to begin this, but only two words keep circling my mind

**Diary Entry** Divorce at sixty-eight isn’t a romantic gesture or a midlife crisis. It’s admitting you’ve

It was a quiet Saturday morning. The kettle hummed on the stove, and sunlight crept lazily through the curtains.

Divorcing at sixty-eight isn’t a romantic gesture or a midlife crisis. It’s admitting defeat.

It was just an ordinary evening. I’d finally managed to get my little one to sleep, and I collapsed onto

The evening was ordinary, painfully familiar. I’d just managed to lull my daughter to sleep and sank

It was a typical Saturday morning. The kettle whistled on the stove, and sunlight filtered lazily through

*”Why have kids if you don’t have time for them?”* — I won’t babysit my grandchildren and

It was just an ordinary evening. I’d finally managed to put my baby girl to sleep and sank into the sofa

**Diary Entry – 22nd December** I’m sixty years old. Living alone. Somehow, I never imagined old age