Margaret Clarke was sitting on a bench in the little garden by St. Mary’s Hospital, wiping away tears.
**A Note on Me-Time** The other day, my mate Tom came round for a cuppa. We were sat in the kitchen
Nineteen years later, my mother showed up out of the bluenow she wants money and a roof over her head.
I stepped into the hallway of the flat where my son lived with his family, my heart thumping with a mixture
**Diary Entry 14th December** *”Leave her here, let her die!”* I heard them say as they dumped
**Diary Entry** It took me nineteen years to realise that the people who bring you into the world arent
“Leave her here, let her die!” they muttered, dumping the old woman into the snowdrift.
My mum pretends to be ill so she doesnt have to work and lives off us. Shes never had the slightest desire to work.
The biting November wind cut through the skin like knives, while a damp, bone-chilling cold rolled in