**Diary Entry**
Emily stood in the middle of the living room, the holiday ticket tucked inside her handbag. Jamess eyes were red with anger, his voice bouncing off the walls like a hollow echo. She could feel it allthe years of sacrifice, the dreams buried under the weight of their mortgage, the unfulfilled promisesrising inside her like a tide, threatening to drown her.
James, she said softly, almost pleading, do you remember when we signed the loan agreement? You said wed be a team, that wed fight for our future together. I did my part. I carried the weight. For seven years! And now, just as we could finally breathe youre telling me your mums bathroom is more important than my soul?
Her husband turned sharply away, avoiding her gaze.
You dont understand, Emily. Shes my mum. If we dont help her, who will?
And what am I? Emily snapped, raising her voice for the first time. Arent I your family? The woman who paid every instalment, who gave up clothes, holidays, friendsjust so we could keep going? Your mums lived her life. Im still waiting for mine!
James fell silent, torn between two loyalties.
The days that followed were heavy with silence. Margaret called daily, asking when the bathroom renovation would start. James answered in half-truths or avoided the conversation altogether. An invisible wall grew between themcold, unspoken. She slept turned away; he spent evenings scrolling mindlessly on his phone.
But Emily had a plan.
One morning, she packed her suitcasetwo summer dresses, a swimsuit shed never worn, sandals, and her passport. On the nightstand, she left a short note:
*James, Ive dreamed of the sea for seven years. Im going, whether you like it or not. You can choose to come with me or stay. Its your decision. E.*
She closed the door behind her without looking back.
On the plane, ticket to Malta in her bag, she felt some of the weight shed carried for years slip from her shoulders. She stared out at the clouds, remembering childhood trips to Brighton with her parentsthe smell of salt, the crash of waves, hot sand underfoot. For the first time in years, she felt hope.
At the hotel, she sat on the balcony, gazing at the deep blue of the Mediterranean. Her heart raced as if she were reclaiming her life. That evening, she walked down to the beach, let the waves wash over her feet, and criednot from sadness, but relief.
Back home, James found the note. He read it over and over, each word burning into him. He pictured Emily on the shore, her eyes bright with a smile he hadnt seen in years. And then it hit himhed stolen her best years, and now he might lose her forever.
That night, when Margaret called again, his voice was cold.
Mum, the bathroom can wait. Emily cant.
For the first time, his mother had no reply.
Three days later, James landed at Malta International Airport. He searched for her on the beach, in flower-lined streets, in the hotel restaurant. Finally, he saw heralone at a table, a glass of white wine in hand.
Emily, he whispered. Im here.
She looked at him a long time. In her eyes, he saw hurt, exhaustion and a flicker of longing.
I dont know, James, she said slowly. I dont know if I have the strength to believe in us anymore.
I swear, this time Ill stand by you, he said. I wont make you choose between us and my mum. Shes had her life. Youre my life now.
Simple words, but they reached her. She let him sit beside hernot forgiveness, but a beginning.
That holiday wasnt just about the sea, the sun, the sand. It was about finding herself again. Emily swam for hours, laughed like she used to, devoured seafood with relish. James watched her as if rediscovering the woman hed once fallen for.
On their last day, stretched out on sun loungers, she said, If were going to move forward, James, we have to learn to live for ourselves. We cant spend our lives serving other peoples needs.
He nodded. He knew it wouldnt be easybut he understood what theyd almost lost.
Back home, Margaret tried once more to push for the renovation. This time, James was firm.
Mum, well help where we can, but we wont carry your whole life on our shoulders. Emily and I need to live for ourselves too.
Emily looked at him, surprised and relieved. For the first time in years, she didnt feel alone in the fight.
The years that followed were different. Not perfect, but different. Every summer, they escaped to the coast, even if just for a weekend. Emily allowed herself small joysa new dress, perfume, candlelit dinners. And when she remembered those seven years of sacrifice, she thought it had been worth itbecause now, she knew how to fight for her dreams.
Because true freedom doesnt begin when you pay off the last mortgage instalment. It begins when you can say no to those whod take your soul.
