Dear Diary,
I never knew my parents. My father walked out when my mother was pregnant, and after that he vanished from my life. My mother died when I was barely a year old, succumbing to a sudden cancer that burned her out like a candle.
I was raised by Gran Doris, my mother’s mother. Her husband had died young, so she devoted every waking hour to my mother and then to me. From the moment I could speak, Gran and I formed an unspoken, almost telepathic bond. She seemed to read my thoughts before I even voiced them, and we always understood each other perfectly.
Everyone loved Gran Dorisfrom the nextdoor neighbours to my teachers at school. She never gossiped, never spoke ill of anyone, and people often came to her for advice. I felt incredibly lucky to have such a grandmother.
My own love life, however, was a mess. School, university, a deadend job, and the constant rush to be somewhere, to do somethingnothing seemed to settle. There were boys, but none of them felt right. Gran would chide me, Whats the matter, Poppy? You flit from one lad to another. Surely theres a decent chap out thereyoure a beauty and a brain, after all. I would laugh it off, yet deep down I knew I was approaching thirty and should perhaps think about a family.
Then, without warning, Gran didnt wake up one morning; her heart stopped in its sleep. I was numb, unable to accept the loss. I kept going to work, to the supermarket, but everything ran on autopilot. At home only my cat, Whiskers, waited for me. The silence was deafening.
One afternoon on the commuter train I was reading a novel when a welldressed man in his forties sat opposite me. He gave me a lingering look that somehow made me feel good. He started chatting about books, a topic I could discuss for hours. Just like in London Has No Tears, I thought, recalling the old film. When it was time to disembark, I didnt want to go home. Alex, as he introduced himself, suggested we continue the conversation over a coffee. I agreed gladly.
From that day on, an exhilarating romance spiralled. We called and texted daily, meeting in person only occasionally because Alex was often swamped with work. He never spoke much about his past, his family, or his job, and I didnt mind. For the first time, I felt genuinely happy with a man.
One weekend Alex invited me to a restaurant, hinting that the evening would be special. I sensed he was about to propose. My heart leapt; finally I could be a wife, a mother, have a proper family like everyone else. I wished Gran could have lived to see it.
That evening, lying on the sofa, I tried to decide what to wear. I usually shop online, so I started scrolling through a fashion app on my phone, getting lost in colours and fabrics until I drifted off to sleep.
In my dream, Gran entered the room in her favourite dress, settled on the sofa, and gently stroked my hair. Gran, youre not supposed to be here! I exclaimed. She smiled, Poppy, Ive never really left. Im always nearby, watching, listening. Dont go ahead with that manhes not good for you. Trust your granny. Then she faded into thin air.
I awoke startled, bewildered. The vision felt real, yet it was only a dream. Still, the warning nagged at me. I had never believed in prophetic dreams, but Gran and I shared that strange connection; maybe she really could see beyond.
The day of the proposal arrived. I still hadnt picked a dress; everything I tried seemed to slip through my fingers while Grans words echoed in my mind. I arrived at the restaurant in a simple dress, feeling none of the excitement Id imagined. Alex noticed immediately. Something wrong, love? he asked. No, everythings fine, I replied, forcing a smile as he tossed jokes my way to lighten the mood.
When dessert was served, Alex knelt, pulling out a tiny box. My head spun, a ringing filled my ears, and suddenly I saw Gran, standing at the window, watching. I understood it was a sign. Im sorry, Alex, I cant, I whispered, tears spilling. Why? What did I do? he snapped, fury flashing. Fine, stay with your cat, Whiskers. No one needs you, he ranted, then stormed out.
I sat there, stunned, the man Id thought was kind, intelligent, caring, turned into a tyrant in seconds. My heart ached, but a strange relief settled over me.
The next morning I visited my old schoolmate, Andy, who now worked for the Metropolitan Police. I asked him to run a background check on Alex, giving him my notes and a photo. Later that day Andy called. Poppy, Im sorry to tell you this. Alex is a conartist. He targets lonely women, marries them, then convinces them to take out huge loans for his business, only to dump them and disappear. Hes been convicted before. You got away just in time. I stared at the phone, halfinshock, halfgrateful. How could Gran have known? Miracles, I thought, and thanked her for watching over me.
I stopped by the corner shop, bought cat food for Whiskers, and walked home with a lighter step, knowing I wasnt truly alone. Grans spirit was still with me, a guardian angel shielding me from harm.
People say the souls of loved ones linger, guiding us after theyre gone. They become our protectors, our unseen guardians. Id like to believe that, and tonight Ill thank Gran Doris for never truly leaving my side.
