**Diary Entry**
*Monday, 15th October*
“Wake up, Rob, it’s well past morning—time for work!” Jenny nudged her husband, clutching a charred frying pan in one hand and clinging to the hope he was just teasing with the other.
“I’m not getting up. Leave me be, Jen. I’ve had enough—I’m not going back to the factory,” Robert muttered, keeping his eyes shut as he turned toward the wall.
At first, Jenny laughed it off—just post-holiday grumbles, surely. “Oh, come on, don’t be daft! We’ve had our break after Emily’s wedding—time to get back to it. There’s work to be done!”
“I mean it. I’m done. Handed in my notice before the holiday. Yesterday was my last day.”
“Rob, have you lost your mind?! Where d’you think you’ll find another job like that? You’ve only got two years till retirement! Stick it out!” Her face paled, the pan nearly slipping from her grip.
“I can’t. I’m finished. We raised five kids. Three sons, two daughters. Fed them, schooled them, set them up. Now it’s my turn to rest. My job’s done.”
“You’ve gone barmy if you think you’ll just live off them,” Jenny hissed, voice tight with pain. “Who’s going to feed you? My pension’s a pittance. So you reckon they’ll keep you afloat?”
“Course. They’re my flesh and blood. Five of ’em! Surely one father won’t starve?”
“You selfish old sod!” Jenny snapped, grabbing his sleeve. “They’ve got their own worries—mortgages, grandkids in school, and you wanna loaf about?”
He shoved her off—hard—and she stumbled into the wardrobe. “Back off. It’s decided.”
Tears pricked her eyes. When Rob dug his heels in, there was no changing his mind. She grabbed her shawl and dashed next door to Aunt Mabel, the wise old soul even the local bobbies consulted.
“Auntie, it’s a disaster! Rob’s lost the plot—he’s quit his job, says he can’t go on. What do I do?”
“Love, stop fussing. The man’s knackered. Raising five ain’t like shelling peas. Let him rest. Show him some kindness.”
“Oh, I’ll show him kindness—just wait till the kids are here. Then he’ll get his ‘holiday’!” Jenny spat, eyes flashing.
A week later, the house was packed. Jenny had called them all, laid out a feast so no one left hungry. Laughter, hugs, grandkids tearing about the garden. But once the plates were cleared, the air turned thick.
“Dad,” began the eldest, Thomas, “is it true? You’ve really quit?”
“Aye, son. I’m done.”
“Blimey, Dad,” cut in James, the middle one. “Two more years. Tough it out. It’s daft!”
“I’ve made my choice. Forty-odd years on the clock. Pension’ll see me through. And you—five of you. You’ll manage.”
Behind him, Jenny smirked. The kids stirred. Thomas cleared his throat:
“Well… we’ve just got the car on finance. Bit tricky.”
“And our Lily’s at music school—tutors cost a fortune,” James’s wife added. He stayed quiet.
“I’ve started renovations. Gotta sell by winter. Can’t stretch further,” sighed Paul, the youngest.
The daughters chimed in—one had furniture on instalments, the other’s husband was off on contract work, money tight for months. Jenny rose like a general.
“There you go, Rob. See? They’ve got their own troubles. And you—just dead weight. Not ashamed? You wanna take, not help. Tomorrow—job hunting. No work slip, no entry. Understood?”
Robert stood. Silent. Scanned his children. His wife.
“I raised five of you… and you won’t feed one father.” His voice was hollow as he walked to the bedroom.
Next morning, he went job hunting. Hired—half the pay, but work all the same. Jenny was chuffed—she’d “fixed” him. Two days later, he didn’t come home.
A knock late that night. The hospital rang—Robert was gone. Massive heart attack. Collapsed at work, never made it to A&E. Died in the ambulance.
Now Jenny lives alone. Her pension’s pennies. The kids visit rarely—mostly the girls. The boys call on holidays.
And his last words echo in her ears:
*”I raised five of you… and you won’t feed one father.”*
**Lesson learned:** Pride starves faster than the body.
