**Diary Entry 5th November**
That day, a woman I hadnt seen in five years stood at my doorstep. Margaret Whitmore. In our village of Greenhill, folks called her the Duchess behind her back. Not because of any noble bloodno, but for the way she carried herself, her sharp gaze sharper than a surgeons scalpel, and the pride she wore like a fortress wall, high enough to circle our entire village thrice. She always walked straight-backed, chin lifted, as though she trod on palace floors rather than muddy country lanes. Never one for idle chatterjust a curt nod over her shoulder, and that was that.
But here she was, trembling on the threshold of my surgery. Not herself at all. Her spine still stiff from habit, but her eyeshunted, hollow. Shed pulled her floral scarf low over her brow, as if hiding. Hesitated, unable to cross the step.
Come in, Margaret, I said gently. No sense letting the cold in. I doubt youre here for aspirin.
She stepped inside, perched on the stool by the hearth, hands folded on her knees. Always so well-kept, those handsnow dry, cracked, trembling like leaves in the wind. Silent. I didnt push. Poured her teapeppermint and linden blossomand set it before her.
Drink, I said. Warm your soul.
She took the cup, and her eyes glistened. No tears fellpride wouldnt allow itbut they pooled there, still as well-water.
Im all alone, Dr. Ellis, she finally whispered, voice brittle as old parchment. I cant bear it. Twisted my wrist yesterdaythank God its not broken, but it aches like the devil. Cant fetch wood or water. And my backhurts so I cant breathe.
Her complaints spilled out, murky and bitter as a spring brook. I listened, nodding, but my mind wandered five years back. To her grand house, the finest in Greenhill, once full of laughter. Her only son, Edwardhandsome, hardworkinghad brought home a bride. Emily.
A quiet girl, an angel. Edward met her in the city. Clear, trusting eyes. Fair hair in a thick braid. Hands delicate but capable. Anyone could see why Edward loved her. Why Margaret despised herno one understood.
But despise her she did. From day one, Margaret gnawed at her like a fox at a bone. Sitting wrong, looking wrong. The roast wasnt brown enough, the floors never properly scrubbed. Made jam? Wasted sugar, extravagant girl. Weeded the garden? Pulled up the nettles for the soup, useless creature.
Edward defended her at first, then wilted. A mamas boy, always under her thumb. Torn between them like a leaf in the wind. Emily never fought back. Just grew thinner, paler. Once, I found her by the well, eyes brimming.
Why put up with it, love? I asked.
She smiled, bitter as chicory. Where would I go, Dr. Ellis? I love him. Maybe shell soften in time
No softening. The last straw was an heirloom tablecloth, hand-stitched by Margarets mother. Emily washed it carelesslythe pattern faded. Lord, the row that followed.
That night, Emily left. No scene, no wordsjust gone. Edward searched like a madman, then faced his mother, eyes dead.
This is your doing, he said. You killed my happiness.
Then he left too. Rumor said he found Emily in the city, married her, had a daughter. Never returned. Not a letter, not a call. Cut clean off.
Margaret played the martyr. Good riddance, shed snipe to neighbors. Useless daughter-in-law. And my son? No son of mine, choosing a skirt over his mother. But she aged overnight. Withered. Alone in her spotless home, cold as an operating theatre.
Now she sat before me, all that duchesss pride peeled away like onion skin. Just an old, sick, lonely woman. A boomerang doesnt fly out of maliceit just completes its circle.
No one needs me, Dr. Ellis, she whispered, a single tear escaping. Might as well hang myself.
Hush that talk, I said sharply, though pity choked me. Lifes to be lived, not thrown away. Lets see to that back.
I gave her an injection, rubbed her spine with liniment. She straightened a little.
Thank you, she murmured. Never thought Id see kindness again.
She left, but a stone sat in my chest. I could treat her body, but some sicknesses defy medicine. Lonelinessits only cured by another soul.
For days, I wrestled with it. Then I rang Edwardhands shaking. What would I say?
He answered, voice deeper, wearier. Dr. Ellis? Is something wrong?
Silence when I explained. Then Emilys voicegentle but firmtook the phone. Well come. Saturday. Dont tell her.
Such a heart, that girl. After all the bile, no bitterness left. Only pity. Thats the mightiest force, friendspity that outlives rage.
Saturday dawned grey and damp. I found Margaret by the window, staring. House spotless, but lifelessa museum.
Expecting the milkman? I teased.
Expecting no one, she snapped. Though her eyes flicked to the lane. Every mother waits, even if she wont admit it.
Afternoon brought a car. Edward stepped outbroader, older. Opened the door for Emily and their girl, four years old in a pink coat like candy floss.
Edward hesitated, jaw tight. Emily squeezed his arm, whispered, and they walked to the gate. The rusty hinge screamedtime itself shuddered.
I didnt witness their reunion. But an hour later, smoke curled from Margarets chimney. Thick, hearty. By evening, golden light glowed in the window. So warm, so *alive*, I smiled through tears.
Next day, I visited under pretence of checking her blood pressure. The house hummedsmell of pies, childs laughter. Edward chopped wood outside. Emily bustled the kitchen. Little Violet played by the fire with a kitten.
Margaret sat wrapped in a shawl. Not staring*seeing*. Watching Emilys hands, Violets smile, Edwards broad back. The ice-mask gonejust a tired, human face.
She saw me and smiledtruly smiledfor the first time in years.
Come in, Dr. Ellis. Emilys baked.
We sat at the table. No ghosts of old wounds. Just warmth, pastry, and a childs giggle. Edward sat beside his mother, laid his big hand over her frail one. She didnt pull away. Just trembledand stayed.
They stayed a week. Fixed the roof, filled the woodpile, scrubbed years of silence from the walls.
At their leaving, Margaret stood on the step, shrunken. Violet hugged her knees.
Granny, will you visit us?
Margaret broke then. Bent, clutched the girl, wept softly as autumn rain. Forgive me silly old woman
Emily embraced them both. Well come again, Mum. We will.
**Lesson learned:** Pride builds the tallest wallsbut love slips through the cracks.
