Walton Merritt

I’m 69 now, and I reckon I’ve earned the right to talk about my life—secrets I can’t keep bottled up

In a quiet village near Salisbury, where the River Avon meandered lazily through the countryside, my

**Diary Entry** Yesterday, they came to me again—both of them: my mother and my mother-in-law.

My world shattered the day my husband, William, left me. He took all our savings to buy himself a flat

**A Diary Entry** “You have one month to leave my house!” declared my mother-in-law.

Our grandad, Alfred “Alfie” Thompson, was the rock of our big family at seventy.

My mother-in-law decided it was her right to set the rules in **my** house. I reminded her exactly who

I showed up at my son’s door with homemade food at seven in the morning, and he slammed it right in my face.

The mother-in-law comes over, plays with the child for a bit—then leaves, perfectly satisfied.

I’m 62, he’s 68. We’re getting divorced… After 35 years of marriage My name’s Margaret Elizabeth, and