**Diary Entry 15th October**
Im sixty years old and live in York. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that after twenty years of peace and silence, the past would come crashing back into my life so brazenly. And the hardest part? The one stirring it all up is my own son.
At twenty-five, I was hopelessly in love. Edwardtall, charming, full of lifeseemed like the answer to every dream. We married quickly, and within a year, our son Oliver was born. Those early years were like a fairy tale. We lived in a tiny flat, made plans, shared dreams. I worked as a teacher; he was an engineer. Nothing could touch our happinessor so I thought.
But over time, Edward changed. Late nights, lies, distance. I ignored the whispers, the unfamiliar perfume, the excuses. Until the truth was undeniable: he was unfaithful. Not once, but repeatedly. Friends, neighbours, even his parentsthey all knew. And me? I clung to hope, for Olivers sake. I held on far too long, praying hed change. Then one night, waking to an empty bed, I finally understood: it was over.
I packed our things, took five-year-old Oliver by the hand, and moved in with my mother. Edward didnt try to stop us. A month later, he left for work abroadthen remarried and erased us from his life. No letters, no calls. Just silence. And I carried on alone. My parents passed. Oliver and I weathered everythingschool, hobbies, illnesses, A-levels. I worked double shifts so hed want for nothing. There was no time for romance. He was my world.
When Oliver got into university in Cambridge, I supported him however I couldcare packages, money, encouragement. But I couldnt afford a flat for him. He never complained. Said hed manage. I was so proud.
Then, a month ago, he visited with news: he was getting married. My joy didnt last. He was fidgety, avoiding my eyes. Then it came out:
“Mum I need your help. Its about Dad.”
I froze. Hed reconnected with Edward, whod returned to England and offered him the keys to a two-bed flathis grandmothers inheritance. But on one condition: I had to remarry him and let him live in my home.
My breath caught. I stared at Oliver, unable to believe hed ask this. He pressed on:
“Youre alone Youve no one. Why not try again? For me. For my future. Dads changed”
Silent, I walked to the kitchen. Kettle, tea, shaking hands. Everything blurred. Twenty years Id carried us alone. Twenty years without a word from Edward. And now thisthis *bargain*.
I returned and said quietly, “No. I wont do it.”
Oliver erupted. Shouting, blaming. Said Id always been selfish, that Id robbed him of a father, that I was ruining his life now. I stayed silent. Every word cut deeper. He didnt know how Id sold my wedding ring to buy him a winter coat. How Id gone without meat so he could eat. How exhaustion kept me awake at night.
Im not lonely. My lifes been hard, but honest. I have my job, my books, my garden, my friends. I dont need the man who betrayed menow crawling back out of convenience, not love.
Oliver left without a goodbye. He hasnt called since. I know hes hurt. I understand. He wants whats best for him, just as I once did. But I wont trade my self-respect for square footage. The price is too high.
Maybe one day hell see that. Maybe not soon. But Ill wait. Because I love himtruly, without conditions or flats or *what-ifs*. I brought him into this world out of love. And I wont let love become a transaction.
As for Edward? Let him stay in the past. Thats where he belongs.
