**Diary Entry – 12th March**
Polly stopped by the corner shop after work, just picking up a few bits. She was already at the till when she spotted Aunt Margaret—an old friend of her mum’s. Polly always made time for her, so she paid and waited by the exit.
“Hello, love,” Aunt Margaret said, pulling her aside. “Been poorly, hardly left the house. Need to tell you something, though.”
Polly’s stomach dropped. Was it about the kids? Lily, barely thirteen, already boy-crazy, and Will, sixteen and full of attitude. She gripped her shopping bag tighter, the handles digging into her palm. Maybe she could excuse herself—but Aunt Margaret leaned in, voice low.
“Don’t think I’m gossiping, but I saw your Andrew. Going into that house across the way—the young woman there. Every time he visits, she draws the curtains.”
Polly went cold, then hot. Andrew? Reliable, steady Andrew? Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the eggs.
“I had to warn you,” Aunt Margaret pressed. “Think of the children. What if it’s serious?”
Polly mumbled thanks and hurried off, forgetting they lived on the same street. At home, she fumbled the key, sank onto the stool. The bag slipped, tins rolling across the floor. Lily came running, scooping them up.
“Put them away, sweetheart,” Polly said thinly, sending her off.
*How could he?* She stared at the wall. *And what if the kids find out?*
“Mum, you alright?” Lily hovered.
“Just need a minute.”
Polly forced herself to cook, but the spaghetti kept slipping from her fingers. She kept glancing out the window—where *was* that house?
The key turned. Andrew’s cheerful “Smells good!” made her flinch.
“Wash up,” she said, voice tight.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Polly swallowed. “Ran into Aunt Margaret. She said… she saw you. Going into that house opposite.”
Andrew’s face shifted. “That old busybody—”
“It’s true, then.” Polly’s whisper cracked. “What if the kids—?”
Will appeared in the doorway. “You shouting?”
Polly forced a smile. “Dinner’s ready.”
Days passed in silence. Polly waited for Andrew to apologise, to promise it was over. Instead, one evening when the kids were out, he cleared his throat.
“We need to talk.”
Polly braced herself.
“It’s not an excuse,” he began. “Her parents died in a car crash. Then her gran passed. She moved into the flat… I just helped at first. But now—she’s pregnant.”
Polly gasped, clutching the chair.
“I haven’t seen her since you found out,” Andrew rushed. “But she stopped me outside—told me about the baby. I can’t just leave her.”
“And *us*?” Polly’s voice shattered. “Get out. *Now*.”
He left.
Will came home to her sweeping up the shattered TV remote. “He’ll come back,” he muttered.
Polly froze. “You *knew*?”
“No. Heard you arguing.” Will’s jaw tightened. “He’s not my dad anymore.”
“Don’t say that!”
But Will vanished into his room.
Andrew didn’t return. Three days later, Polly went to *her* flat. A pretty girl answered, smile fading.
“You’re his wife.” She stepped back. “I didn’t mean for this—my parents died, then Gran—”
Polly cut her off. “You knew he had children.”
The girl nodded, tearful. “I never wanted him to leave you.”
Polly fled, choking on rage.
Winter dragged. Then one night, a knock. Andrew stood there, hollow-eyed.
“She’s gone. The baby came early… but he’s alive.”
Polly let him in. He slumped at the table. “I can’t raise him. I’m leaving—going up north. Maybe volunteer… start over.”
Polly’s heart split. She put him to bed on the sofa, heard him toss all night.
At breakfast, she asked, “Stay?”
He shook his head. “I’ll write.”
Will dodged his hug goodbye; Lily sobbed in his arms.
Time blurred. Will enlisted despite her pleas. Then—a letter to Andrew. She’d bring the baby home.
Andrew wrote back: *Think carefully. It’ll be hard.*
A year later, Will returned from service. Little Alfie toddled over. Will scooped him up, laughing. “Brave lad!”
Polly gaped. “You *knew*?”
“Dad wrote.” Will met her eyes. “You did right, Mum.”
Polly’s breath caught. “You’ve been in touch?”
Will nodded. “He misses you. Every letter says it.”
Polly looked away. “I forgave him long ago.”
Lily burst in then, all hugs and chatter. Later, Will dropped the bombshell. “I’m going to Dad.”
Polly’s heart lurched. “No!”
But his jaw set. “I’m going.”
Now she waits again, scanning every letter, clinging to their calls. Alfie tugs her sleeve, calling her “Mum.” And somehow, despite it all, life stitches itself back together.
**Lesson learned:** Family isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up, even when the seams are frayed. Sometimes forgiveness is the only thread strong enough to hold us together.
