**Diary Entry – 15th March**
Natalie turned fifteen when her parents dropped the news—another sibling was on the way. She stomped her feet, shrieking.
“Mum, why do we need another kid? Decided to have a late-in-life baby, did you? Am I not enough?” She seethed, already picturing a rival stealing her parents’ attention—and their money.
Till then, Mum and Dad had indulged her every whim. Now, suddenly, it was all cots, prams, and baby baths. Prams? Baby baths? She needed new boots!
Natalie wasn’t pretty—broad-faced, heavy-set—but she reckoned fine clothes might mask it. She dressed to hide flaws, badgering her parents for more. They always gave in. Now a sister would ruin everything.
Little Lily arrived—blue-eyed, golden-curled, already toddling toward Natalie, who swatted her away.
“Mum, take your Lily. She’s in my way.”
Years passed. Lily bloomed into a beauty; Natalie stayed plain, unmarried. After school, she became a postwoman in their village while Lily, at nineteen, fell for Anthony, a trainee visiting from the city. He vanished after getting her pregnant.
“Keep it,” Mum said. “We’ll manage.”
Lily had a son, Lucas. Natalie sneered.
“You’ve always been daft, Lily. Love? Doesn’t exist. Look at me—I never fell for that rubbish. Now you’re stuck with that—” She jabbed a thumb at the baby. “No one to blame but yourself.”
She needled Lily daily—quietly, so their parents wouldn’t hear—even suggesting she should’ve left Lucas at the hospital. Lily wept but stayed.
Then Natalie announced she was leaving for London.
“Had enough of you lot. I’ll live alone.”
No skills, but she was sick of Lucas and Lily hogging attention. Past thirty, she hoped to snag a man—any man—in the city.
She found construction work—hard labour, but it paid. Greedy for cash, she took side jobs, hoarded every penny. Asked about her family, she scoffed:
“They wronged me. Let them rot. I won’t lift a finger for them.”
“Natalie, you’re heartless,” friends said.
She didn’t care.
Men came and went. She demanded, “What’ll you give me if I love you?” They fled. One, George, snapped, “You don’t even know what love *is*.”
“Should I study the Kama Sutra for you?” she shot back.
Another, John, warned, “Your parents might leave the house to Lily.”
That struck a nerve. She visited home—casually, like no years had passed.
“Thought about the house?” she asked.
Dad saw through her. “Bit early to bury us, isn’t it?”
She played innocent but started visiting more—bringing Lucas toys, books.
Colleagues suggested, “Bring Lily and the boy to London. You’ll get a council flat.”
She did, manipulating her way up the housing list. Lily cooked, cleaned, endured Natalie’s jabs in private while Natalie played the saint publicly.
Then fate smiled on Lily. At a clinic, she met Oliver, a divorced doctor. He proposed—properly, after courting. Soon, Lily and Lucas moved in with him.
Natalie, alone and bitter, demanded payment for “her kindness.” Oliver threw her out but later handed her cash, warning, “Stay away.”
Ten years on, Lily and Oliver had a daughter, a house. Natalie had a stroke.
Lily took her in, nursed her, bought special mattresses, spent freely on rehab.
One day, Natalie saw her reflection—a twisted, aged face—and wept. Shame swallowed her.
“Could’ve dumped me in a home,” she muttered. “I would’ve.”
She cries silently now, her hardened soul softening. Maybe too late, but still—better than never.
**Lesson Learnt:** Bitterness starves the soul. Kindness, even delayed, is the only thing that truly nourishes it.
