**Diary Entry 18th June**
The morning found us on a dusty road leading away from the village. In one hand, I held little Sophies small fingers; in the other, a light suitcase packed not so much with clothes but with shattered hopes. The bus rattled off from the stop, carrying us far from the place where, just hours before, Id still believed in somethinganything. I left without even saying goodbye to Mark. Hed gone fishing at dawn, just as hed excitedly described the night before. Through the grimy window, I watched the fields roll by and realised a bitter truth: Id never met a man whose love was worth fighting for. And yet, it had all begun so beautifully, so blindingly romantic it stole my breath.
Mark had burst into my life during his final year at university. He wouldnt leave me alone, showering me with compliments, gazing at me with lovesick eyes that melted my doubts. He swore he loved me, couldnt imagine life without me or my four-year-old Sophie. His persistence, his boyish earnestness, chipped away at the ice around my heartstill fragile after losing my first husband. Within three months, he moved into my flat, brimming with plans and promises.
Alice, love, hed say, eyes shining like two deep lakes, once I graduate, well visit my village. Ill introduce you to my parents, my whole family! Ill tell them youre my future wifewhat dyou say? Hed pull me close, and the world felt simple.
Alright, Id reply, a timid hope warming my chest. He spoke so often of his motherkind, welcoming, the sort who made guests feel at home. I wanted to believe him.
The village where Mark grew up greeted us under a quiet sunset. His family all lived close, practically side by side. I didnt know then about the local beauty, Emily, whod loved him since childhoodeveryones idea of the perfect bride. Nor did I know about Grandad Thomas, his fathers father, who lived nearby in a creaky old house. Grandad Thomas spent his days in quiet reflection, often staring at the hill where his wife lay buried. Hed known we were coming.
The night before, Grandad Thomas had visited his son and found his daughter-in-law, Helen, simmering with resentment.
Falling out with Stephen again? hed asked.
But Helen spat out her grievances first:
Did you know Marks bringing his city girl tomorrow? Some widow with a child.
Grandad sighed. Let the lad marry. Hes finished uni, got a job. Time to settle.
Helens face twisted. Shes older, dragging another mans child. Why not our Emily? A nurse, hardworkingwhats he thinking?
Helen, dont meddle, Grandad muttered, but she was already lost in her bitterness.
When we arrived, Helen swung the door open. Mark rushed in, beaming, while Sophie and I lingered awkwardly.
Mark, darling! Helen embraced him like shed never let go. Her glance at us was cold, assessing. Our graduates home! The emphasis on *our* was deliberate, pointed.
Then, saccharine but barbed: So this is Alice? With the child? Her eyes raked me up and down.
Mark seemed oblivious, guiding me inside. His father, Stephen, gruff but sincere, and Grandad Thomas, warm-eyed, hugged us all with genuine warmth. But the table was set thinlynothing like the feasts Mark had described. I barely ate, a knot of humiliation tightening in my throat.
The toasts were all for Mark. No mention of us. Even Grandad Thomas shot Helen disapproving looks, but Mark just laughed, drank, stayed silent.
Later, Helen showed us to a narrow bed in a cramped room. Sleep here, she snapped, slamming the door.
I lay beside Sophie, tears hot on my cheeks. *Wheres the kind woman he promised? Why wont he speak up?*
Mark crept in later, whispering, Come to my room. Sorry about todayjust caught up with family. Well talk tomorrow.
I didnt sleep.
Breakfast was a pantomime of family storiesMarks childhood pranks, laughter. Stephen slipped Sophie sweets; Helen glared. Then, faux-sorrowful: Ah, Mark, no more carefree days. Now youll have to work hard feed others. Her eyes flicked to Sophie.
Mark just grinned, clueless.
Id had enough.
When we stepped outside, I laid it bare: the hurt, the disrespect. He brushed it off. Youre overreacting. Mums just adjusting.
At dawn, he left to fish.
Helen cornered me in the hall, venomous: Mark says youre leaving. Youll keep him tied to your apron strings, wont you? Feeding you and your brat
I cut in, calm, smiling.
Helen, my late husband was an officer. Honest, brave. He *loved* meproved it with actions. His mother still treats me like a daughter. She bought my flat, left Sophie another. I speak three languages, run two shops. Mark couldnt match my earnings if he tried.
Her shock was palpable.
Thank you, I said softly. You showed me the truth. I dont need a man who wont defend us.
I packed our things, woke Sophie, and walked out without looking back.
The bus pulled away. Eyes closed, I felt only lightness. Ahead lay home, real lovethe kind that would find me when I was ready. Because now I knew my worth. And Sophies.
Thats what matters.
