**Diary Entry – Tuesday, 16th May**
When Emily married James, she was certain it was forever. She adored him, striving to be the perfect wife—the kind you could always rely on, the one who’d never let you down.
Emily was impossible not to love. Warm, open-hearted, with a radiant smile, she was always ready to lend a hand. Even her mother-in-law, Margaret, leaned on her relentlessly. A call about back pain or exhaustion, and Emily would rush over—cleaning, cooking, dashing to the shops.
“I’m so lucky to have you, love,” Margaret would sigh. “My son’s hopeless, never lifts a finger. Men, eh? Always wished for a daughter, but fate gave me you.”
It pleased Emily to hear it. She tried harder, not wanting to disappoint. And truthfully, Margaret wasn’t wrong: James *never* helped—not at home, not with his mum.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. James believed chores weren’t his domain. Emily didn’t mind; she enjoyed making a home. The real issue? He did nothing *and* nitpicked. Floors not spotless, soup under-seasoned.
Over time, his critiques grew sharper. He scolded her for “overspending,” though she earned her own money and never asked for a penny.
“How much does that manicure cost?” he’d sneer.
“Forty pounds,” she’d murmur, as if apologising.
“Forty quid every month!” he’d rant. “Could’ve gone towards the car!”
“But you spend more on your gym membership,” she’d whisper.
“That’s different! Gym’s for health, for strength! Your nails are just vanity!”
The complaints piled up like unpaid bills. Then he resented her monthly café meet-ups with friends. Nothing extravagant—just tea and chatter—yet it irked him.
“Why lounge about without your husband?” he’d grumble. “Stay home.”
Emily was gentle, avoidant of conflict, but even saints reach their limit. Arguments became daily; understanding vanished. After three years, she filed for divorce. James resisted—not to save the marriage, but because he couldn’t stand losing control. Emily simply couldn’t take it anymore.
Once James moved out, Margaret called.
“Emily, *how* could you?” she wailed. “Why throw it all away?”
Emily exhaled. Explaining herself was the last thing she wanted, but she obliged.
“It wasn’t sudden, Margaret. I tried. James refused to compromise. The constant criticism… I’m exhausted.”
“But you were *such* a lovely pair!” Margaret near-sobbed. “And I *adore* you! What will I do without you?”
Emily needed support herself, yet Margaret, as ever, made it about *her*.
“We can still talk,” Emily said softly. “The divorce doesn’t mean I’ll vanish. Call if you need anything.”
“Oh, you’re an *angel*!” Margaret cheered. “So we’re not saying goodbye?”
“Of course not.”
The divorce bruised Emily, but James’ pride suffered more—he couldn’t stomach being left. Yet soon, the dust settled. Emily realised she felt no regret. He’d drained her so completely, love had died long ago. Funny—he’d once seemed her dream man. Had he lied, or had she seen only what she wished?
She started anew, blocking James everywhere. He didn’t fight it. Margaret, however, clung like ivy.
A week later, she rang:
“Emily, darling! How *are* you?”
“Alright. And you?”
The question was polite, but Margaret pounced.
“Dreadful! My blood pressure’s sky-high, barely coping. Asked James to fetch my pills, but he *refused*! However will I manage?”
Emily recognised the hint. Too kind to ignore it, she sighed.
“I’ll bring them. Text me the list—I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Oh, my *saviour*!” Margaret trilled. “Knew I could count on you!”
Emily postponed her plans, bought the medicine, and spent two hours at Margaret’s—sipping tea, enduring complaints.
Hope that Margaret’s demands would ease proved futile. Calls became constant: groceries, cleaning, errands. Once, she asked for a lift to the shopping centre. Emily snapped.
“Why can’t *James* help?”
Margaret mumbled excuses, and Emily felt guilty. *She’s struggling, and I’m being harsh.*
Soon, she saw Margaret more than her own mum. Last-minute summons, melodramatic guilt-trips—Emily cancelled plans, rearranged life, all while Margaret treated her like a servant.
*We’re responsible for those we’ve tamed*, Emily thought wryly. She’d offered help freely. She hadn’t expected exploitation.
It might’ve gone on forever, had Margaret not slipped up.
One day, another call:
“Emily, dear! My sister’s visiting. Fancy driving us to the countryside tomorrow?”
“Not too early,” Emily said wearily.
“Oh, we hoped for nine…”
“Fine,” Emily agreed, mourning her Saturday lie-in.
“*Marvellous*! Whatever would I do without you?”
Emily moved to hang up—then heard Margaret’s sister chuckle:
“Well? Did she bite?”
Margaret hadn’t ended the call. Eavesdropping wasn’t Emily’s style, but this was *about* her. She listened.
“*Obviously* she agreed,” Margaret scoffed. “Where else would she go?”
“How d’you manage it?” her sister marvelled. “Divorced your son, yet she still waits on you.”
“Because she’s *gullible*,” Margaret sneered. “Pleaser to the bone. Frankly, I’m glad they split—James needs a sharper woman. This one? Perfect to keep around. Better her than my son. *He’s* got a future. Who’d want *her*?”
Emily’s breath caught. Fury seared her chest. She’d helped *willingly*—and *this* was Margaret’s gratitude?
She hung up.
Next morning, she slept till noon, savouring the quiet. Waking to twelve missed calls, she answered sweetly:
“So sorry—overslept!”
“*Unbelievable*! We had *plans*!”
“Leaving now! Be there in fifteen!”
“We’ve been *ready*,” Margaret huffed.
Emily smirked, poured coffee, and lounged. Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang again.
“Emily, *where* are you?”
“Outside your flat! Look harder.”
“We *can’t* see you!”
“Odd—I can’t see *you* either,” Emily drawled, sipping her drink. “Oh! Wrong building! Always mix them up. Pop round—I’ll wait.”
When the calls resumed, Emily tired of the game. She texted: *Heard everything. Lose my number.* Then blocked her.
As she nursed her coffee, lightness settled over her. Should’ve cut *both* of them loose sooner. Now? She’s free. And something tells me better days are coming.
**Lesson learned:** Kindness shouldn’t cost your self-respect. Some people mistake goodness for weakness—don’t let them.
