13October2025
Dear Diary,
Mum has never been shy about her opinions, and today she laid it on me plain as day. Emily, I simply dont like your boyfriend, Mark, she said after meeting him for the first time, her tone firm and unyielding. I tried to keep my cool, but her words struck a chord. I wondered what she saw that I had missedperhaps it was just a gut feeling, or maybe there were genuine warning signs that a lovestruck girl like me could overlook. If I had asked her what exactly unsettled her about Mark, perhaps the whole story would have taken a different turn.
Instead, I brushed her off with what I thought were perfectly reasonable arguments. You never seem happy with anyone, she snapped. Thats why youre alone, even though you could have married a man like me I could have been your complete package. I shot back, You think I dont understand anything? She scoffed, And why would you think I dont? Just because Im younger?
I wasnt blind; Id seen the attention Mark was getting, and the men who liked me seemed decent enough. Yet I turned them down without a second thought. Without looking? Mum mused philosophically, then cut the debate short. Lets drop it, Emily. Ive said my piece, now you decide whether to heed my warning or choose for yourself who truly deserves you.
I told her, Mum, its a bit late for advice now. Im pregnant with Marks child, and my baby wont grow up without a father. Part of the resentment I felt towards Mum stemmed from the absence of a father figure in my own life. At school I was the only girl whose dad wasnt around for a legitimate reason. Two other girls had lost their fathers, but thats not the same as never having one at all.
My own father was present until I was three, then my parents split and he simply vanished from our lives. He paid child support dutifully, but never showed any real interest in my upbringing. Ive always blamed Mum for not bringing a stepdad into the picture. Perhaps we would have been a proper family, even if the man didnt love me the way some of my classmates fathers did. Still, I decided that, regardless of his flaws, Mark would be the father of my child. He loved me, and I believed he would love our baby too.
When the paternity test came back positive, Mark was over the moon. He immediately proposed, insisting hed turn the spare bedroom in our flat into a nursery. His enthusiasm melted my heart, and Mums earlier doubts about him seemed harmless in comparison.
But the reality of life with Mark soon revealed its cracks, especially after Lucy turned one. He kept a steady job, but the idea of helping with a toddler was foreign to him. His mother, Evelyn, a whirlwind of multitasking, kept reminding us how she managed two kids, a spotless house, and a job almost straight after giving birth. Yet her own home lacked the modern gadgets that our flat boastedno smart fridge, no voicecontrolled lights. She seemed to forget that in our town, after a few weeks, children are usually placed in a nursery while parents work, and later on they move to a preschool with afterschool clubs that also feed them. Evelyns contribution to household chores boiled down to making breakfast and doing the laundry, even though we already owned a modest washing machine.
Our local council didnt even have a nursery. Mothers with babies under three were left to juggle everything alone, 24hours a day. Some were lucky to have supportive husbands or grandmothers, but my own motherinlaw lived in another city and hadnt retired yet, so it fell to me to manage Lucy on my own.
Everything held togetheruntil the day the fire alarm blared while I was in the shower. It was the third false alarm that year, and Mark didnt seem to react. I wrapped a towel around me, slipped out of the bathroom, and found the front door ajar, smoke pouring in from the stairwell. I grabbed Lucy, wrapped her in a blanket, and bolted for the bedroom, then scrambled up to the attic and out onto the roof, climbing down to the neighbouring block.
Outside I saw Mark, pale and trembling, clutching his brandnew gaming PC. Around his neck dangled a professional video camera hed bought six months ago, and his jacket pocket was stuffed with a tablet and a phone. You idiot, I snarled. If Lucy hadnt been in my arms, I might have lost my temper completely. I kicked what I could into his shin, shouting like a dockyard porter, but the worst part was how he tried to justify his actions. He accused me of being irrational, saying hed simply forgotten about his wife and child in the heat of the momentsomething anyone could do, he claimed.
His reflexes were clearly set on saving his precious equipment, not his family. That realization cut deeper than any bruise. Within weeks we were divorced, and for half a year Evelyn kept trying to meddle, urging us to reconcile for the sake of the family. Thankfully Mum welcomed me and Lucy back without judgment.
Now, looking back, I understand Mums earlier warnings. She wasnt wrong to worry about Marks priorities, and she was right that a fathers presence isnt a guarantee of a happy home. Ive learned that sometimes its better to raise a child alone than to stay with someone just for the picture of a perfect family.
If Lucy ever asks why her dad isnt around, Ill tell her the truth: in a crisis, he chose his laptop, tablet, phone, and camera over his own wife and child. I doubt shell ever forgive that, and I certainly wont. But at least I now know that a fathers love isnt measured by his presence alone; its measured by the choices he makes when it truly counts.
