**Diary Entry A Second Chance**
“Your mums here to pick you up. Get your things.”
They say every kid in care dreams of hearing those words. But Emily flinched as if shed been slapped.
“Come on, hurry up, what are you waiting for?”
Mrs. Wilson stared at her, baffled. Life in a childrens home was no picnicsome kids even ran away to the streets. Yet here was Emily, being taken back to her own home, and she wasnt the least bit happy.
“I dont want to,” she muttered, turning to the window. Her friend Lily shot her a sideways glance but stayed silent. Even she couldnt understand. Lily wouldve given anything to go home, but no one wanted her there.
“Emily, love, whats wrong?” Mrs. Wilson pressed. “Your mums waiting.”
“I dont want to see her. I dont want to go back.”
The other girls had stopped to listen, so Mrs. Wilson ushered Emily into an office, sympathy in her eyes.
“Your mums made mistakes, yes, but shes trying. They wouldnt let her take you otherwise.”
“You think this is the first time?” Emily scoffed. “Ive been here twice. Last time, she hid the bottles, cleaned the flat, even got a jobjust long enough for the social workers to leave. The second she got me back, it all fell apart. She only wants me for the benefits.”
“Emily, I cant change that. And home *has* to be better than here.”
“Better?” Emilys voice cracked. “Do you know what its like to go hungry? Or wear threadbare trainers in the snow? Or hide in your room, praying her drunk mates dont come knocking? Why hasnt she lost custody already?”
Tears welled up. The home wasnt perfect, but at least she was fed and safe.
Mrs. Wilson sighed. “I wish I could help.”
And she meant it. Emily was sharptoo sharp for a care home kid. Maybe her mum had been clever once, before the bottle took over. In seven years, Mrs. Wilson had never met a child who *didnt* want to go home.
“Cant I live on my own? Get a job, rent a room?”
“Not till youre eighteen.”
“Im nearly sixteen! I can handle it!”
Mrs. Wilson knew she could. But the law was the law. “Is there anyone else who could take you in? Maybe petition for custody?”
“Theres no one. Nan kept things bearable, but shes gone. And Dad?” Emily shrugged. “Dead. Drunk himself to death.”
She said it so casuallybecause to her, it *was* normal.
“Any other family?”
Emily paused. “Dads mum might be alive. Never met her. She cut him off. Cant blame her.”
“Listen,” Mrs. Wilson leaned in, “try living with your mum a bit longer. Ill look into your nan. Deal?”
Emily nodded. What choice did she have?
Her mum put on a showsobbing, begging forgiveness, clinging to her. Emily stayed blank. She knew the act would drop the second they got home.
It did. Day one, her mum pretended. Day two, she came back with vodka.
And just like that, hell returned.
When a drunk man staggered into her room months later, Emily fought him off and called Mrs. Wilson.
“I found your nan,” Mrs. Wilson said. “Ill talk to her. If she agrees, she can get custody.”
Emily insisted on going. She didnt know her nan, but she prayed she wouldnt turn her away. Just two more years, then shed be free.
A woman in her sixties opened the doorelegant, stern.
“Yes?”
“Margaret Whitmore?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
“Yes.”
“Im your granddaughter,” Emily blurted. No point dancing around it.
Margarets composure didnt waver. “What do you want?”
Mrs. Wilson explained. “She cant stay with her mum. You could take her in.”
“Why would I?”
“Shes your family.”
“I dont know her. And frankly, Id rather forget my son ever existed.”
Emily cut in. “Look, I dont know you either, and Im not keen to. I just need a roof till Im eighteen. Ill buy my own food, get a job after GCSEs. The state moneys yours. I just need the paperwork.”
Mrs. Wilson shot her a warning look. But Margaret almost smiled.
“Sharp, arent you? So, two years, then youre gone?”
“Promise.”
“Fine. Rules: dont call me Nan, dont touch my things, no friends over.”
“Deal.”
The courts stripped Emilys mum of custody. Margaret signed the forms.
Emily played tough, but she was terrified. Two months till exams, no moneywhat if Margaret really let her starve?
That first night, Margaret called her to dinner. Proper foodreal, homemade. Emily hadnt eaten like that in years.
Next day, Margaret eyed her battered trainers. “After school, were buying you decent clothes.”
“I cant pay”
“My treat. I wont have you looking like a stray.”
She bought her *everything*, even asked her opinion.
A week later: “Hows school?”
“Fine.”
“Show me your grades.”
Emily logged into the school portal. Shed always worked hardno one would hand her a future.
Margaret nodded. “Good. Youre staying for A-Levels. Then university.”
“With what money?”
“Youll live here. No arguments.”
Emily couldve cried.
Slowly, the wall between them crumbled. Margaret asked about her lifesometimes, fleetingly, about her son.
Emily aced her A-Levels, got into uni. Margaret even hired tutors.
That summer, Emily found a job. Shed move into hallstheir deal was over.
Then Margaret collapsed. A heart attack.
Emily found her on the floor, pale, still. For one awful moment, she thought she was dead.
At the hospital, she burst in. “Nan! I mean, Margaret, are you okay?”
Margaret smiled weakly, stroking her hair. “Call me Nan. Its nice. Ill recover. Slowly.”
“Ill take care of you. However long it takes.”
“I wont be a burden.”
“You put up with me for two years. Let me do this.”
Margaret exhaled shakily. “Fine. One condition.”
“What?”
“No student halls. Youre staying home.”
Emily hugged her tight. Shed wanted to do that for ages.
“Deal.”
