**Diary Entry**
“Olivia! There’s a stranger bothering little Charlotte at the playground!”
“Bothering? What do you mean, Emma? Where is he? Who is he?”
“How should I know? I went over to ask, but he bolted as soon as he saw me!”
This didn’t sit right with me. “Charlotte! Sweetheart, come here!”
My five-year-old bounded over, her pigtails bouncing wildly, grinning as always.
“Mummy! I saw puppies! Three of them—two black and one with white spots!”
I studied her face, searching for any sign of distress, but she seemed her usual cheerful self. Still, my gut twisted.
“Where did you see them? Who showed them to you?”
Charlotte shrugged, confused. “No one showed me. I saw them myself! Come, I’ll show you!”
I gripped her hand. “Did a man talk to you? What did he say?”
Her little face scrunched up. “Mummy, you’re acting weird. No one was mean! Just a nice man who asked if I knew Olivia Thompson. He was friendly!”
My heart lurched. Who would know my full name?
“What did he look like?”
Before she could answer, my phone buzzed—James, my husband. I couldn’t ignore him.
“Yes, love?”
But my mind stayed fixed on that stranger. I wouldn’t tell James—no need to worry him. I warned Charlotte not to mention it either.
That night, sleep wouldn’t come. By morning, I was exhausted, my head pounding. James suggested dinner out—a rare treat. Our marriage was nothing like my first. With James, I felt safe, cherished.
As we left, I spotted a familiar figure near the neighbour’s porch. My breath hitched. Was it really him?
“Liv, come on!” James called from the car.
I climbed in slowly, eyes locked on the stranger. The car rolled away, but unease clung to me.
At the restaurant, Charlotte piped up, “Mummy, I saw that nice man again—near our house!”
My stomach dropped. After ten years, the man who’d cut me out of his life was back.
Later, James noticed my distraction. “What’s wrong?”
I swallowed. “James… Ethan’s here.”
He stiffened. “Ethan? He called you?”
“No. I saw him near our house. Twice.”
Charlotte chirped, “Who’s Ethan?”
“An old friend,” I lied.
Silence hung heavy in the car until we pulled up. And there he was—Ethan, waiting.
“Shall I take Charlotte for a drive?” James offered gently.
Grateful, I stepped out.
Ethan’s smirk was sharp. “Found you. Married James, huh? Even had a daughter.”
I kept my voice steady. “Why are you here?”
“I need money.”
Disgust curled in my chest. Ten years ago, he’d packed his bags and spat, “You destroyed our family. You’re dead to me.” Now he was back, just like his father—demanding, bitter.
“It’s your fault Dad drank himself to death,” he sneered.
I didn’t bother explaining how his father had beaten me, how I’d escaped. Let Ethan keep his illusions.
“Give me the money,” he pressed.
“You walked away. That was your choice.”
His laugh was hollow. “Broke our family, then played happy house with Dad’s best mate? You owe me.”
I met his gaze. “You said I was dead to you. Stay dead.”
His glare was pure hatred. “I wish it’d been you who died.”
A chill ran through me. “But it wasn’t. And you can’t change the past. Leave.”
As he stalked off, I realised I felt nothing. Perhaps the mother in me had died long ago.
**Lesson:** Some wounds never heal. And sometimes, walking away is the only peace you’ll ever get.
