**Diary Entry – 3rd November**
Emily sat at the small kitchen table in her modest flat in Manchester, staring out at the relentless rain soaking the courtyard below. Her chest ached bitterly each time she recalled the words of her former mother-in-law, Margaret Holloway. That woman carried herself with unbearable pride, boasting to anyone who’d listen about how her son, William, had been so noble. *”He left everything to Emily—the flat, the car, even the furniture! Walked out with just one suitcase, like a true gentleman!”* she’d proclaim, chin high. To an outsider, it might’ve sounded like an act of honour. But Emily knew the truth, and the deceit burned inside her like acid.
The flat she lived in now had been her grandmother’s long before she’d ever met William. She remembered clutching those keys as if they were gold, this little sanctuary where every scuff on the skirting board held memories. The car? She’d bought it herself, saving every pound from years of office work, long before William drifted into her life. He hadn’t contributed a single penny—not to the home, not to anything. When Margaret spun her tale of William *”leaving it all behind,”* Emily would just press her lips together. What *could* he have taken? Every stick of furniture, down to the kettle, had either been bought by her or gifted by her parents. William? He’d been a lodger in their marriage, not a partner.
Four years they’d been married—four years of battle. William had worked a mere two of them, if that. The rest of the time, he was *”finding himself.”* Office job? Too much commute. Retail pay? Beneath him. Cafè supervisor? Far too small-scale for a man of his *supposed* potential. He dreamt grandly but did nothing. Meanwhile, Emily rose at six each morning, dragging herself to work while he snoozed past noon. She covered the bills, stocked the fridge, cooked dinners while he *”pursued his passions.”* Sometimes, in the dark, she’d wonder bitterly: *”What did I do to deserve this?”*
When the divorce came, she felt both relief and hollowness. She was tired of being the only grown-up in the house. William left as promised, with his single suitcase—just as his mother loved to remind everyone. He’d slammed the door on his way out, as though *he* were the wounded party. And now Margaret had turned that moment into legend. *”My boy’s a proper knight! Left his ex-wife everything and started fresh!”* Her voice carried across the neighbourhood, and Emily would dig her nails into her palms to keep from shouting. She imagined grabbing Margaret by the shoulders and hissing the truth: *”He didn’t leave anything because he never brought anything! He walked away because there was nothing to take!”*
But Emily stayed silent. Gossip wasn’t worth her dignity. Her real friends—her family—knew the truth. They’d seen her buckling under the weight of it all, crying alone at night, wondering if she’d failed him somehow. They’d held her up when she finally filed for divorce. As for the rest? Let them believe Margaret’s fairytales. Anyone who swallowed those lies wasn’t worth her breath.
Still, whenever snippets of those conversations reached her, anger coiled in her ribs. *”Left her everything!”* It stung like mockery. He hadn’t left a thing—she’d *kept* what was always hers. She hadn’t let him wreck her life the way he’d wrecked their marriage. Emily glanced around the flat—at the photos on the wall, the little potted herbs on the windowsill—and thought fiercely: *”This is mine. I earned it. And no one steals my truth.”*
Now, with the divorce behind her, she was learning to live again. She’d signed up for pottery classes, taken up jogging, even dug out her old sketchbook. She smiled more these days, and the dullness in her eyes had finally lifted. But deep down, the hurt lingered. Not for love of William—that had died long ago. But for the injustice. That *his* lie got to be the story while *hers* stayed untold.
Still, she’d survive. She always did.
**Lesson learnt:** A man’s pride often rewrites history, but silence doesn’t mean surrender. Some battles are won by walking away.
