**Diary Entry**
My name is Katherine. My family’s story is tangled with pain and loss. When I was five, my parents divorced. Mum left Dad after falling for another man and remarried soon after. But Dad never forgot me—he paid child support, took me to his home in the countryside near Manchester on weekends. His love kept me steady in those dark years.
Later, Dad married a widow named Margaret, who had two children from her first marriage—Oliver and Charlotte. I quickly bonded with them. Weekends with Dad became the highlight of my life—I felt wanted, part of their warm world. Returning to Mum’s house was the last thing I wanted—it was never the same there.
Mum had two more children with her new husband—a boy and a girl. They started a business, but it failed. Debt piled up. They sold their spacious city flat in London and moved into a cramped two-bedroom house on the outskirts. Five people in such tight quarters made life unbearable.
Her husband turned to drink. Mum threw herself into work, and I, still a teenager, was left raising my half-siblings. It broke me. One day, I packed my things and moved in with Dad. I never saw Mum again—only heard later that my half-siblings were taken into care, and she lost custody. Her husband vanished from their lives.
With Dad, I came alive. Margaret and her mother, Grandma Rose, treated me like their own. The years flew by, and now I’m 34—married with two children. Oliver and Charlotte have families of their own. We’ve become a true family, bound not just by blood but by love.
When Grandma Edith—Mum’s mother—passed, she left me her cottage in a quiet village outside Manchester. A year later, Dad died. He left his city flat to Oliver and Charlotte and his car to me. There was also an unfinished holiday home. We decided to renovate it instead of selling, a place for our family to gather.
Then, when I least expected it—she appeared. My mother. Twenty years since we last met, she tracked me down and showed up at my door as if no time had passed.
“Heard Grandma left you the cottage,” she began without greeting. “What did your father leave you? You have a brother and sister! Where’s the fairness in that? That inheritance isn’t just yours—it belongs to all of us. Sell everything, and we’ll split the money three ways.”
I froze, not believing my ears. This woman, who abandoned me, now wanted a share of what was mine?
“I won’t be splitting anything,” I told her. “Leave.”
Maybe it’s harsh, but I feel no guilt. She’s a stranger to me now—her other children too. My real family is Oliver, Charlotte, and Margaret. They stood by me all these years, through joy and sorrow.
We finished the holiday home. Now it’s our little haven, where we gather with the kids, Oliver, Charlotte, and Margaret. We laugh, remember Dad and Grandma, make plans. And Mum? She’s stayed in the past—along with her demands and grudges. I owe her nothing, and my heart is at peace.
**Lesson learned:** Family isn’t just about blood—it’s about who stands by you when life gets rough. Hold tightly to those who do, and let go of those who don’t.
