*Diary Entry*
“Do you know how he looks at you? With love and admiration,” my daughter said, smug with satisfaction.
Daniel stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his waist. Droplets of water gleamed on his toned chest. Not just a man—an absolute dream. My heart gave a sweet, aching throb.
He perched on the edge of the bed and leaned in for a kiss. I turned my face away.
“Don’t. If you do, I’ll never leave. I have to go. Emily’s probably home already.” I nuzzled my cheek against his shoulder.
He sighed. “Val, how much longer? When are you telling your daughter about us?”
“Three months ago, you didn’t even know I existed, and you were perfectly fine.” I stood and began dressing.
“I don’t think I was truly living until I met you. I can’t go a single day without—”
“Don’t break my heart. Don’t walk me out,” I said and slipped from the room.
Outside, I kept my gaze forward, ignoring passersby. It felt like they all knew where I’d been. The men stared with curiosity, the women with judgment.
Hardly surprising—I had the figure, the poise, the face with expressive eyes and full lips. My dark hair had slipped loose from its clip. Right then, I wished I could disappear.
* * *
I married young, at twenty, madly in love. Almost immediately, I fell pregnant. My husband urged me to terminate—too soon, he said, we needed to get on our feet first. But I refused, and our healthy little girl arrived. I’d hoped he’d soften, but he never warmed to her. Well, many men are indifferent to children.
One day, a woman called, giving an address where my husband often spent evenings. I didn’t rush to check. When he came home, I confronted him. He denied it at first, then made excuses, then shouted:
“Some madwoman says something, and you believe her? You’re not much better. I’m leaving, and you’ll regret it!”
The door slammed behind him. I didn’t want to live, but my daughter needed me. Two weeks later, I went to that address, hid behind a tree, and waited. Soon, my husband strolled past, arm in arm with a younger woman. They disappeared inside.
The next day, I filed for divorce. I knew myself—I could never forgive. I put Emily in nursery and found a job.
Men came and went, but none mattered enough to risk my heart again. Then Daniel appeared—tall, handsome, my match in every way. Our affair burned fast and fierce. One evening, Emily asked why I was dressing up.
“A date,” I answered, half-joking.
“Ah,” she drawled knowingly. She never asked again.
Emily took after me in figure but not in face. People wondered how such striking parents had such an ordinary-looking daughter. But I was glad. Beauty brings more trouble than it’s worth.
I never had close girlfriends. It wasn’t me—it was their envy. Afraid of fading beside me. Maybe that’s why I married so young, hoping for a partner, a friend.
“A bit simple for you, though handsome,” Mum had said.
* * *
“Emily, I’m home,” I called, stepping inside.
“Doing homework,” she answered from her room.
I changed and headed to the kitchen. Emily joined me, tearing off a piece of bread.
“Don’t spoil your appetite. Dinner’s almost ready,” I said, setting plates on the table. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Then talk,” she said between bites.
“My birthday’s coming up.”
“I remember, Mum.”
“I’d like to invite… a friend.” The words stuck in my throat.
“The one you’re sleeping with?” Emily’s stare was unflinching.
“We’re dating. And watch your tone.”
“What’s the difference? At your age, dating and sleeping are the same.”
“So, can I invite him? You don’t mind?”
“Whatever. Is Gran coming?”
Relief washed over me. Fifteen was a tricky age, but she seemed unfazed.
“Gran’s visiting Sunday. I want you two to get along.”
“Fine, invite him.” She waved a hand.
That Saturday, I cooked all morning, eager to impress Daniel. He arrived with roses, a ring in hand. I was stunned by his intensity.
Trying to win Emily over, he laughed loudly, told stories, joked. She remained quiet, serious. After he left, I tidied up and found her in her room.
“You didn’t like him?” I asked.
“No,” she said flatly.
“Why?” I couldn’t hide my disappointment.
“Just didn’t.” A pause. “Mum, you’re still young, I get it. But he’s using you. How can’t you see it?”
“Did Gran put you up to this?”
“This isn’t about Gran. I’ve got eyes.” Her gaze was desperate.
I stood.
“Mum, do you love him?” she whispered. I nodded without turning. “Then keep seeing him. Just don’t let him move in.”
“Why?” I spun around.
“I just don’t like him.”
That was all she’d say.
Strangely, I felt relief. Things with Daniel had moved too fast. That ring… And yet, he’d shared so little about himself, only ever talking about *our* future. Emily was an afterthought.
The next day, he called, missing me. He never asked if she’d liked him. Either he didn’t care or was that arrogant.
“Mum’s coming tonight. No time,” I said.
“Tomorrow then?”
“Tomorrow.” Relief again.
With Gran, Emily was lively, chatting away. No mention of Daniel. *Maybe she sees what love blinds me to,* I thought.
Things continued as before—hours at Daniel’s flat. One evening, he brought up living together again. When I asked for patience, he snapped, calling Emily selfish for “stealing” my happiness.
“In a few years, she’ll fall in love, and you’ll be alone!” he shouted when I refused to override her wishes.
“So you’re ready to leave me?”
“No, I just—it slipped out.”
We fought, parting coldly for the first time.
Two days later, Emily came home late.
“Where were you? What about homework?”
“Done at school. Listen—I’ve got something to tell you.” She followed me to the kitchen.
“Wash up. Dinner’s ready.” I noticed her excitement. “You’re buzzing. What is it?”
“You might not like it.”
“School trip? Need money?”
“Me and Jake found out about your Daniel.”
“Found out what? He wasn’t lost.”
“You don’t know the truth.” Her eyes burned.
“Then tell me.”
“He doesn’t live on Victoria Street.”
“So?”
“He lives on Park Lane. With a woman. And a little boy, about four.”
“What? Since when do you stalk people? Maybe it’s his sister, his ex—”
“No, Mum. We followed them. He didn’t leave. We saw him smoking by the window, shirtless—” She stopped at the look on my face.
I fled to the bathroom, muffling a scream. Tears streamed down.
When I emerged, Emily had eaten, cleaned up, and retreated to her room. I didn’t follow. Instead, I stood on the balcony, staring at the city lights, thinking.
She was right. His flat had always felt staged—no clutter, no photos. Once, while he showered, I’d peeked in the fridge. Not even bread or beer. A love nest, nothing more.
*How long did he plan to lie? I was blind, stupid.* My chest heaved; I couldn’t breathe.
“Mum!” Emily yanked me back.
“What’s wrong?” I turned.
“You scared me! I’m sorry—I didn’t think you’d—”
“Be *happy* about it?” I pulled her close. “It’s fine. Just don’t follow him again.”
The next day, I went to Daniel’s. I flung open the wardrobe—two shirts, empty shelves.
“You rent this place for me. You don’t live here alone.”
He paled, then attacked.
“I thought you were different, not some paranoid—”
“Going to call me crazy now?” I smirked. “I’ve heard that before. Are you married?”
Silence. I left the ring on the table and walked out.
For hours, I wandered. Love doesn’t vanish overnight. But when gangrene sets in, you amputate to save the rest. I’d survive, like I did fourteen years ago.
Three weeks later, term ended. Emily left for a weekend trip to Edinburgh. Before she went, we talked.
“Mum… what about Peter? From downstairs?”
“Who?”
“Peter Wilson. First floor.”
I pictured the unShe looked at Peter—really looked—and for the first time, saw the quiet devotion in his eyes, the kindness that had always been there, waiting.
