**Diary Entry**
When I married Edward, I truly believed it was for life. I adored him, striving to be the perfect wife—the kind you could always rely on, the one who’d never let you down.
People always said I was impossible not to love. Kind, warm, with a radiant smile, I was the first to lend a hand. Even my mother-in-law, Margaret, received endless help from me. A call about her aching back or exhaustion, and I’d rush over—tidying, cooking, running errands.
*”I’m so lucky to have you, Emily,”* Margaret would sigh. *”My son’s useless—I’ve given up expecting anything from him. Men, eh? Always wished for a daughter, but fate gave me you instead.”*
Those words warmed me. I tried even harder, not wanting to disappoint her. And she wasn’t wrong—Edward did little, whether at home or for his mother.
But it wasn’t just that. Edward believed housework wasn’t his concern. I didn’t mind; I liked making our home cosy. The real issue? He did nothing yet constantly complained. The floors weren’t spotless, the soup wasn’t seasoned right.
Over time, his criticisms grew sharper. He accused me of overspending, though I earned my own money and never asked him for a penny.
*”How much does your manicure cost?”* he sneered.
*”Fifty pounds,”* I murmured, as if apologising.
*”Fifty pounds every month!”* he fumed. *”We could’ve saved for a new car!”*
*”But you spend on the gym,”* I ventured timidly.
*”That’s different! The gym is health, strength! Your nails are just vanity!”*
His gripes piled up. Then he resented my monthly coffee dates with friends—just harmless catch-ups, but they irritated him.
*”Why do you need to gad about without your husband?”* he’d grumble. *”Stay home!”*
I was gentle, non-confrontational—but even my patience had limits. The arguments became daily; understanding vanished. After three years, I asked for a divorce. Edward resisted—not to save us, but because he couldn’t stand losing control. I couldn’t live like that anymore.
Once he moved out, Margaret called, distraught.
*”Emily, how could you? Why a divorce so suddenly?”*
I sighed. Explaining myself was the last thing I wanted, but I answered:
*”It wasn’t sudden. I tried, but Edward wouldn’t compromise. His constant criticism… I’m exhausted.”*
*”But you two were perfect!”* she wailed. *”And I love you so much! What will I do without you?”*
I needed support myself, yet she made it about her.
*”You won’t be without me,”* I said softly. *”We can still talk. Just because Edward and I split doesn’t mean I’ll disappear. Call if you need help.”*
*”Oh, Emily, you’re an angel!”* she cried. *”So we’re not saying goodbye?”*
*”Of course not.”*
The divorce was hard. Edward couldn’t accept being left. His pride was wounded. But eventually, things settled. I realised I didn’t miss him—he’d drained me dry. The love had faded long ago. Funny how the man I once dreamed of turned out to be… well. Maybe he’d pretended. Maybe I’d seen him through rose-tinted glasses.
I started fresh, blocking Edward everywhere. He didn’t reach out—but Margaret refused to let go.
A week post-divorce, she called:
*”Emily, darling! How are you?”*
*”Fine,”* I said. *”And you?”*
She pounced on the question.
*”Oh, dreadful! My blood pressure’s awful, and I can barely walk. Asked Edward to fetch my pills, but he refused! How will I get to the chemist?”*
I knew the hint. Too kind to leave her stranded, I sighed.
*”I’ll bring them. Text me what you need—I’ll be there in an hour.”*
*”Oh, my saviour!”* she trilled. *”I knew I could count on you!”*
I postponed my plans, bought the medicine, and spent two hours at hers, sipping tea while she complained.
But my hope for fewer calls was dashed. Soon, she demanded groceries, cleaning, even a lift to the shopping centre. Once, I snapped:
*”Why can’t Edward help?”*
She mumbled something about him being busy. Guilt gnawed at me. *”She’s struggling, and here I am, being petty.”*
I saw her more than my own mother—her demands constant, urgent. If I hesitated, her dramatic sighs wore me down until I cancelled my plans.
After all, as they say, *we’re responsible for those we’ve tamed.* I’d handed her an open invitation to lean on me. I just hadn’t expected her to take such shameless advantage.
It might’ve gone on forever—if she hadn’t slipped up.
One day, she called:
*”Emily, my sister’s visiting. Could you drive us to the countryside tomorrow?”*
*”Not too early,”* I said wearily.
*”Oh, we wanted to leave by nine…?”*
*”Fine,”* I agreed, already mourning my weekend.
*”Thank you, love! What would I do without you?”*
I nearly hung up—then heard her sister’s voice.
*”Well? Did she say yes?”*
Margaret had forgotten to end the call. Eavesdropping wasn’t my style, but this was about me.
*”Of course she did!”* Margaret scoffed. *”Where else would she be?”*
*”How do you manage it?”* her sister marvelled. *”Divorced your son, yet she still runs errands for you.”*
*”Because she’s naive,”* Margaret sneered. *”People-pleaser. Frankly, I’m glad they split—Edward needs a sharper woman. This one? Might as well be useful. Better her than my son. He’s got a new life to build. Who’d want her anyway?”*
My breath caught. Rage surged as I hung up. All my kindness—and this was how she saw me?
The next morning, I didn’t budge. I slept till noon, revelling in the quiet. Waking to a dozen missed calls, I answered sweetly:
*”So sorry, overslept!”*
*”How could you? We agreed!”*
*”Leaving now—meet you in fifteen!”*
*”We’ve been ready for ages!”* she snapped.
I smirked, pouring coffee. Fifteen minutes later, her calls resumed.
*”Emily, where are you?”*
*”At your door! Look properly.”*
*”We don’t see you!”*
*”Odd, I don’t see you either,”* I mused, sipping lazily. *”Oh—wrong building! Always mix them up. Walk over, I’ll wait.”*
When she kept calling, I grew bored of revenge. I texted her, confessing I’d overheard everything, and asked her to delete my number. Then I blocked her.
As I stirred my coffee, a weight lifted. I should’ve cut ties with both of them sooner. Now, I’m free. And for the first time in years, something truly good feels possible.
