**Diary Entry**
“Mum, have you completely lost your mind?” Edward’s voice shook with anger. “How could you trust that snake?”
“Don’t you dare speak about Emily that way!” Margaret snapped. “She’s like a daughter to me!”
“A daughter?” Edward let out a bitter laugh. “Mum, she robbed you blind! Took every penny you had!”
“She stole nothing! I gave her the money willingly!” Margaret slammed her fist on the table. “And it’s none of your business how I spend my savings!”
“*My* savings, Mum! That was Granny’s inheritance! Your pension, *my* help—and she vanished with all of it!”
Margaret turned to the window. Rain streaked the glass like tears, though she wasn’t crying. She’d run out of those yesterday, when she realised Emily had played her for a fool.
“She hasn’t vanished,” she whispered. “She’s gone to visit her sister in Manchester. Said she’d be back in a month.”
“Mum, wake up! What sister? You know she’s got no family—she told you she was an orphan!”
“Maybe she found someone. Maybe—”
Edward gripped her shoulders. “Mum, look at me. Emily Harrow is a con artist. She preyed on you deliberately. There are *dozens* of women like you she’s tricked.”
“How do you know?”
“I hired a private investigator. Here.” He pulled a folder from his briefcase—police records, photographs. “Emily Harrow, thirty-eight. Convicted fraudster. Specialises in lonely elderly women. Look—here she is with her other victims.”
Margaret’s hands trembled as she flipped through the pictures. Emily, arm in arm with women her age, all smiling, all oblivious.
“This can’t be real,” she breathed.
“Mum, she took *twenty thousand pounds* from you. Claimed her daughter needed surgery. She doesn’t even *have* children!”
Margaret sank into a chair, the room swaying.
“But she—we were friends for a *year*. She helped me with shopping, hospital visits…”
“She was grooming you, Mum. Earning your trust. Then she struck when you least expected it.”
Margaret remembered their first meeting—a queue at the GP’s. Emily had struck up a conversation. Said she was widowed, her daughter lived abroad. Just as lonely as she was.
Then the coincidental run-ins at the shops, the pharmacy. Emily always cheerful, always *helpful*. Soon, she was coming round for tea, swapping stories.
“You remember me warning you?” Edward said. “Told you to be careful with strangers?”
“I remember,” she muttered. “But you suspect *everyone*. Think the worst of people.”
“Not everyone. Just the ones who become ‘best friends’ too fast.”
Margaret closed her eyes. She recalled the day Emily had shown up in tears. Said her daughter, Lily, was ill—needed an urgent operation. The NHS waitlist was too long, private care too costly.
“Margaret, you’re the only one I can turn to,” she’d sobbed.
And Margaret had handed over every penny. No hesitation. How could she *not* help a friend in need?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Edward asked. “I’d have stopped you.”
“Because I knew you’d say no. You never liked her.”
“I *knew* she was fake. Too much laughter, too many compliments. Real friends don’t act like that.”
Margaret stood, marching to the display cabinet. A framed photo sat there—her and Emily by the fountain in Hyde Park, arms linked, grinning. She snatched it up and hurled it to the floor. Glass exploded.
“Mum!” Edward gasped.
“Stupid old cow!” Margaret screamed. “How could I be so *gullible*?”
She crumpled. Edward pulled her into his arms.
“Don’t blame yourself. She’s a professional. Knows exactly how to manipulate people.”
“But why *me*?”
“Because you’re kind. Because you trust. Because you’re lonely.”
Margaret pushed him away, wiping her eyes.
“I’m reporting her to the police.”
“It’s too late, Mum. She’s gone. They’ll never find her.”
“They *will*.”
Edward sighed. “Even if they do, the money’s spent. You won’t get it back.”
“Then at least she won’t cheat another old woman.”
Margaret straightened. Determination hardened her voice.
“I’ll go to the station tomorrow. File a report.”
“Fine. I’ll come with you.”
“No. I’ll handle it myself.”
As Edward packed the folder away, he frowned. “Why didn’t you call me? I *worried*.”
“I was ashamed. Knew you’d scold me.”
“I’m not scolding. I’m *terrified* for you.”
“I know. Forgive me, Ed.”
He kissed her forehead.
“Move in with me. Just for a while.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I’ve always managed on my own.”
“But after this—”
“*Especially* after this. Running away now would mean I’ll never forgive myself.”
Edward wanted to argue, but he knew better. His mother had always been stubborn.
“Fine. But I’ll check on you daily.”
“Once a week is enough.”
“Mum—”
“I’ll be *fine*.”
After he left, Margaret swept up the shattered glass. The photo she tore to pieces, dumping it in the bin.
Then she sat by the window, thinking. How had she been so blind? Trusted a stranger over her own son?
Her phone rang. *Emily.*
She stared at the screen, breath caught. Finally, she answered.
“Margaret! *God*, I’ve missed you!” Emily chirped. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine,” Margaret said flatly.
“Listen, brilliant news! Lily’s surgery went *perfectly*! She’s recovering now!”
“How nice.”
“Margaret? You sound… off.”
“Just tired.”
“Right. Well, I’ll be back next week! *So* much to tell you! We’ll have lunch, yes?”
“Emily,” Margaret said slowly, “show me a photo of your daughter.”
“A… photo?”
“Any one. I’d like to see her.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“Curious. You talked about her so much.”
“I don’t *have* any on me. Dropped my phone last week—lost everything.”
“I see.”
“Margaret, what’s *wrong*?”
She took a deep breath.
“I know everything.”
“What?”
“You’ve no daughter. You’re a fraud. You played me.”
Another pause. Then Emily laughed—sharp, nervous.
“Margaret, what rubbish is this? Are you feeling alright?”
“Perfectly. But *you’re* not.”
The line went cold. Emily’s voice turned to steel.
“So what? Running to the police?”
“Yes.”
“Waste of time. I’m long gone. You’ll just humiliate yourself.”
“Perhaps. But I’ll try.”
“*Margaret*,” Emily hissed, “you *gave* me that money. I’ve got your signed note.”
“A note for a *fake* child’s surgery?”
“Prove it.”
“We’ll see.”
Margaret moved to hang up, but Emily cut in.
“Wait. You *enjoyed* our time, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“You weren’t lonely. Had someone to talk to. *Admit it*—those months were the happiest you’d had in years.”
Margaret’s chest tightened. She was *right*.
“Tell you what,” Emily purred. “I’ll return half.”
“All or nothing.”
“I *can’t*. It’s spent.”
“Then *nothing*.”
“Margaret, *think*. Half’s better than empty hands.”
“You never wanted *me*,” Margaret whispered. “Just my money.”
“Not *true*. I *cared*.”
“Liar. You’d not have lied if you did.”
“Fine.” Emily’s tone turned brisk. “I’ll come back. WeAs the line went dead, Margaret set the phone down, finally free of the illusion that had cost her everything but her pride.
