**Diary Entry**
*”My own family is starving, and you’re buying flats!” Mum shouted.*
*”Eliza and Grace will each get a two-bed, and Ethan gets the three-bed. He promised to look after us in our old age,” said Jonathan Whitmore, staring out the window as snowflakes drifted softly down.*
*Eleanor Whitmore gave a quiet nod, flipping through an old photo album. Yellowed pictures showed their smiling children: little Eliza with her ribbons, Ethan in torn jeans, and tiny Grace covered in sand at the playground.*
*Jonathan walked over, sat beside her, and placed his hand on hers. “It’s fair. It’s right.”*
*They didn’t know it would be their last conversation. A week later, Jonathan passed quietly in his sleep—just never woke up.*
*Eliza heard the news on her way to work. Mum’s voice trembled: “Eliza… Dad’s gone.”*
*Everything froze. Gone? But we just celebrated his birthday…*
*At the funeral, Eliza held it together. She helped Mum, comforted Grace, tried to reason with Ethan, who drifted around hollow-eyed. Afterward, she handled everything—groceries, bills, checking in on Mum.*
*”Ethan, how long will you lie about? You’re 25!” Eliza snapped once.*
*”Leave me alone. Don’t tell me how to live,” he muttered.*
*”Mum’s barely surviving on her pension! Grace is still at uni. And you?”*
*”My business,” he said, turning to the wall.*
*Mum stayed silent. To her, Ethan would always be her “little boy.”*
*Six months later, Eleanor called Eliza in. “Ethan’s in trouble… He’s in debt. I’m selling the flats… both of them.”*
*”What flats?! Dad saved those for me and Grace!”*
*”Well, they’re in my name. You’ll marry—husbands will help. Ethan’s settling down soon.”*
*”Mum… are you serious?”*
*”It’s decided,” Mum said flatly.*
*Eliza walked out into the rain—puddles, wet leaves. She sat on a bench. Her friend Emily took her in temporarily. Eliza lived out of boxes, sorting mortgage papers, listening to neighbour’s cats or the lift groaning at 3 AM.*
*Meanwhile, Mum called: “Ethan’s jobless. They’ve no food. Help.”*
*”I can’t! I’ve a mortgage, Mum!”*
*”Buying flats while family starves?!” she shrieked.*
*Then Grace arrived one day, tearful. “Mum wants me to quit uni and work. I can’t.”*
*”Move in with me,” Eliza said.*
*They rented a one-bed. Grace finished her degree. Later, she married—chap from a good family. They’re happy.*
*Mum skipped the wedding.*
*Then the calls resumed: “Ethan’s having a baby. They’re struggling. I’ll give him my pension—can I live with you?”*
*”No, Mum. I’m done with this.”*
*”So you’ll leave your mother homeless?!” she yelled.*
*Eliza changed her number. Only Grace got the new one.*
*Months passed. Eliza secured her mortgage, adopted a ginger cat. Life settled. Grace visited, called. Then news: “I’m pregnant!”*
*A boy came soon after—named Jonathan, after Dad.*
*One day, a letter arrived. Mum’s handwriting.*
*”Forgive me… I was wrong. Victor’s working now. I’ve a granddaughter. And you were right—children should be loved the same.”*
*Eliza wiped her tears. Then she sat at the table.*
*”I’ll write back,” she told Grace. “She should know… I don’t hold a grudge.”*
