**Diary Entry**
I’m Emily, not Ellie.
Emily glowed with pride—she’d passed all her exams! Not straight A’s, but good enough to make Mum and Dad proud. Pushing open the front door, she heard her mother’s familiar voice—and then another, rough and distant, like something from the past. She slipped quietly into her room, not wanting to interrupt, but the words followed her.
“I’m telling you for the last time, Margaret,” Mum said sharply.
A thud in the hall—Dad had come home for lunch. Peering out, Emily locked eyes with a woman in a frayed white scarf. Her features tugged at something deep in Emily’s memory. Where had she seen her before? A shadow of recollection pricked at her, sharp and uneasy. That woman with the sticky, piercing gaze. The one who’d once called her “Ellie.”
“Hello, Ellie. Hello, love,” the stranger said.
“Leave it, Margaret,” Dad murmured, his voice tight.
“I’m going, I’m going… See you soon, sis,” the woman tossed back before disappearing.
Emily stood frozen.
“Dad, who was that?”
“Mum’s friend.”
“But she called her sister.”
“Girls say that sometimes… suppose.”
But Mum’s anxious glance and the tense silence in the house told another story. This wasn’t just a friend. This was part of a secret.
Days later, Emily ran into Margaret again.
“Well, hello, Ellie,” the woman said, stepping too close.
“I’m not Ellie. I’m Emily.”
“Do you remember me?”
“I don’t know… You’ve visited Mum.”
“Visited? I’m your mother, Ellie… your real one.”
Margaret grabbed her hands, words spilling out desperate and pleading. Without knowing why, Emily followed her.
“Come in, darling,” the woman led her to a dingy flat. “This was your home until you were two… remember?”
A flood of memories crashed over Emily—filthy floors, cigarette butts, someone screaming, kicking the door. A tiny version of herself, crawling, searching for crumbs. Dirty fingers forcing her jaws open… and her teeth biting down, hard. Fear. Tears. Cold. Ellie. That had been her name once.
A harsh voice ripped her back.
“Marg, you wandering again? Got my money?”
A drunk man stumbled in, eyes glazed.
“Who’s this? A present?” His fingers reached for Emily.
She yanked her purse open, shoving cash at him.
“Here. Don’t come back. Not to us, not to Mum and Dad. I remember everything. You’re nothing to me.”
“Ellie—”
“My name is Emily!”
She ran home, choking on tears. Shivers wracked her; fever spiked. Mum found her sobbing.
“Mum, I went to her… I remembered… the filth… the hands in my mouth… I bit—”
“Oh, my girl…” Mum cradled her like a child.
Then she told her the truth. How two sisters, Margaret and Lucy, were adopted together. Margaret was sweet at first, but then… she changed. Smoking, stealing, running off. She returned pregnant—father unknown. Their parents forgave her. Lucy, then a student, stepped in… and took the baby. Ellie became Emily. Margaret lost her rights, then demanded money to stay away.
From then on, Emily was theirs—by love and by law.
Margaret still came sometimes. Crying. Pleading.
“Ellie, darling—”
“I’m Emily. I’m sorry, Aunt Marg.”
Mum endured it.
“She’s family. Maybe I’m her last chance at a decent life.”
One day, Jack showed up—the man with the filthy hands.
“Marg’s in hospital. It’s bad.”
They went.
“Forgive me, love,” a frail, sober Margaret whispered. “Thank you… for living. For being mine… just for a while.”
“It’ll be alright. Hang on. We’ll help.”
But she didn’t make it.
Later, Emily saw Jack again—clean this time.
“I quit. Because of her… sorry, Ellie—”
“I’m Emily.”
“Thing is… I’m not your dad, but I know where he is. Want to see?”
He took her to a handsome man’s grave. An elderly woman found her there.
“His daughter?”
“I think so…”
“I’m your grandmother.”
Now Emily has two graves. Two lives: one she escaped, one she grew into. She visits those who gave her life. She tells them about herself. Promises to live well—and keeps that promise.
