Harlan Covington

Recently, my daughter got divorced and moved back into our cramped flat with her little one.

The door remained shut. “Mum, open the door! Mum, please!” The boy’s fists hammered

“Dont look at me like that! I dont need this child. Take it!” a stranger shoved a baby carrier

Long ago, in the quiet countryside of Sussex, a tale unfolded that still brings a smile to my lips whenever

**Diary Entry** Emily stood in the middle of the living room, the holiday ticket tucked inside her handbag.

He was cast out on New Years Eve; years later, he opened the door for them, but not to the place they

John waited for his bride. The guests had gathered, the day meticulously planned, yet Gretaalways so

I wiped my damp hands, wincing at the ache in my back, and shuffled to answer the door. The knocking

**Diary Entry** *Thursday, 12th October* “Dont call me again! Why waste time on something you dont

**Diary Entry 12th June** I wanted to surprise my husband today. I decided to visit him at work and bring