Author: Harlan Covington

30June2026 Dear Diary, Im about to turn seventy, three children now grown, a wife gone three decades ago.

The family verdict came from the elder daughter, Eleanor. Because of her troublesome temperament and

My mother was strikingly beautiful, yet that seemed to be her only merit, as my father used to say.

Dear Diary, Tonight I finally put pen to paper about the past few months, hoping the act of writing will

Dont come around here any more, Dad, she whispered, eyes brimming. Whenever you leave, Mum starts crying

George Turner wasnt hated at the depot, he was simply avoided. He was a sensible man, an experienced

Mary Reynolds, an eightyfouryearold grandmother, was perched on the bus shelter just a stones throw from

Emily, dont rush. Think it over once more, urged Aunt Liz, her voice echoing like a faded lullaby in

The blast was deafening. A cloud of blackness swallowed the ward, then, slowly, the shadows began to

Tom, its a girl, 7.7pounds! Emily shouted into the phone, her voice trembling with joy. I stood beneath