**Diary Entry**
Eleanor had prepared for this day like it was a holy occasion. She picked out a new dress, baked her husband’s favourite pie—the one with blackberries and crumble topping that always made Edward hum with delight. She bought a bouquet of ivory roses and left early. Today was Mother’s Day, and her mother-in-law, Margaret, had invited them over. Everything had to be perfect.
Edward had said he’d be tied up in an important meeting. So when Eleanor pulled up to the familiar red-brick terrace in Bristol and spotted his car parked outside, her chest tightened.
*”Odd…”* she whispered.
She decided to surprise him. Slipping her key into the lock, she crept inside, holding her breath as she stepped barefoot down the hall. Voices floated from the kitchen. She nearly called out—then froze. They were talking about *her*. Margaret and Edward.
*”Edward, listen…”* Margaret’s tone was razor-sharp. *”This marriage was a mistake. I’ve kept quiet, but no more. She’s not right for you. No family background, no prospects, no sense—nothing.”*
*”Mum—”*
*”Oh, don’t ‘Mum’ me! That forced smile of hers, always off in some dreamland. No class, no taste, no brains. Scribbling nonsense like it’s a career. What is she—a poet? You’ll feed a family on verses?”*
*”Mum, that’s enough—”* Edward’s voice wavered.
*”Look at Charlotte—Irene’s daughter. Refined, educated, stunning. Own flat, parents well-off. And yours? What’s she ever given you but that starved little look?”*
Eleanor’s blood turned to ice. She leaned against the wall, the words lashing her like a whip. *”Worthless. Scheming. No future.”*
*”She’s good…”* Edward tried. *”I love her.”*
*”Love? Think ahead—children, security. You’ll spend your life propping her up. She can’t even dress properly.”*
Eleanor couldn’t bear it. She turned, slipped out unseen, and stumbled away. The bitter autumn wind slapped her face, tears flowing unchecked. *”Not good enough… no style… useless…”*
Evening found her in a café, staring into a cold cup of tea. She rang Edward.
*”I won’t be coming. I was at the flat. I heard everything.”*
*”W-what?!”*
*”All of it. How I’m not good enough. A failure. Not even fit to bear your name.”*
Silence.
*”Eleanor… Mum’s just worried—”*
*”About you, or her pride?”*
She hung up.
Home late, she brushed past Edward’s pleading, his excuses. The days that followed were icy—like the streets. She avoided him, drifting in a fog. Then… one morning, brewing coffee, a wave of nausea hit. Dizziness. A missed period.
The test read positive.
Pregnant.
The dream she’d longed for—now a knife to the heart.
*”I’m pregnant,”* she said that evening.
Edward paled, then beamed. *”Really? That’s wonderful!”*
*”It is. But I’m not sure… if I want to keep it. Not with your mother. Not after her words.”*
He pulled her close. *”You’re not alone. We’ll be a family. Mum’s not forever. This baby… is ours. I’m with you.”*
Next day, they visited Margaret.
*”Mum…”* Edward squeezed Eleanor’s hand. *”We’re having a baby.”*
Margaret froze. Then—was that a tear?
*”You… you’re serious? Oh, Lord… I’ll be a grandmother?!”*
She embraced Eleanor, warm and earnest.
*”Forgive me, love. I’ve been cruel. Stupid old woman. But this… it’s a miracle. You’ll give us an angel.”*
The kettle whistled. The room buzzed with chatter.
Eleanor and Edward exchanged a glance—and for the first time in weeks, smiled. Perhaps, after all, this was just the beginning.
**Lesson learned: Family isn’t always blood. Sometimes, it’s the wounds you mend together that bind you tightest.**
