**Diary Entry**
Every day, people walk past each other without a second glance—no spark, no connection. Then one day, by chance, she sees him, and her heart races, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. He feels it too. That’s all it takes. From then on, being apart is unbearable. Life loses meaning without the other. All that’s left is to surrender to fate and walk side by side.
That’s how Lucy fell for Edward. One frosty Sunday afternoon, she went ice skating with her mates. Lucy wasn’t much good—she crept along the rink cautiously, stopping often. Her friends grew tired of inching along like snails and sped off, leaving her behind. She was in the way of the confident skaters, forcing them to swerve around her.
Exhausted, her legs aching, Lucy decided to shuffle toward the barrier to wait. She had just two metres to go when someone collided with her.
The impact sent her sprawling onto the ice, her hip and knee throbbing.
“Sorry! Are you hurt? Can you stand? Let me help,” a voice said above her. The next moment, strong hands lifted her effortlessly back onto her skates.
Her knee flared with pain. Lucy gasped, and if not for the stranger’s quick reflexes, she’d have fallen again. He pulled her close, their eyes locking—so near she could see herself in them. For a heartbeat, the world vanished.
“You all right?” he asked.
Lucy blinked. The rink’s noise rushed back—the scrape of blades, laughter, chatter. Still, she clung to his coat sleeves.
“Will you stay upright if I let go?” he teased.
“Dunno,” she whispered, unable to look away.
He released her, and she didn’t fall.
“Good. Now, let’s get you to the barrier. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
With him, she actually *skated*, not stumbled.
“Fancy ditching the ice? There’s a bench near the exit.”
Lucy nodded. Leaning on him, she made it to the bench and slumped down.
“Badly hurt?” He sat beside her. “You here alone? Need me to walk you home?”
“I came with friends.”
“Ring them, let ’em know. Give me your ticket—I’ll fetch your shoes.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll wait.” Her protest was weak.
“You’ll freeze.”
She *was* cold. Relenting, she handed over her ticket and phone. While he fetched her boots, she called her friends.
They chatted as they walked home. After the slippery ice, solid pavement felt safe, but Lucy kept grabbing Edward’s arm. Maybe she was dizzy, or maybe the ground kept tilting. His name was Edward—four years older, already working. She told him she was a uni student, living with her mum. The attraction was instant. When he invited her skating the next weekend, Lucy shook her head.
“Rather see a film.”
“Deal. I’ll ring you.”
But Edward didn’t wait. He called the next day and took her to a café. Too cold for long walks. Some force—quite literally—had thrown them together, and after that, they were inseparable.
Lucy fell hard. Life without Edward? Unthinkable. It felt like they’d known each other forever. Spring came, and his parents began spending weekends at their cottage, leaving the flat to them.
Summer flashed by. Autumn brought rain and frost. His parents visited the cottage less, leaving the couple with nowhere to meet.
“What now?” Lucy murmured, pressing into Edward.
“I’ll sort something,” he promised.
One evening, Edward visited, and Lucy’s mum confronted him. “How long d’you plan to string my daughter along?”
“I meant to propose at New Year’s. Haven’t even got the ring yet. But to put your mind at ease, I’ll ask for her hand right now,” Edward said.
Lucy flushed, equal parts mortified and thrilled.
“That’s more like it. Give her the ring at New Year’s. You’re living like married folks—I needed to know you’re serious,” her mum replied, satisfied.
They wed in spring, snow melted, sun warm, birds in full chorus. Edward had saved for a flat, and wedding gifts covered the mortgage deposit. Happy newlyweds, they agreed to wait for kids.
Time passed. Lucy graduated, got a job. Soon, she brought up children again.
“We’ve still got the mortgage. Why rush? Plenty of time. D’you *know* the headaches we’d face? Yeah, we’d manage, but why create problems just to fight them later? Let’s clear the mortgage first. Makes sense, yeah?” Edward argued.
Logically, yes—but she wasn’t planning to give birth tomorrow. Nine months of pregnancy—they’d have paid it off by then…
“Enough. Not up for debate,” Edward cut in.
Arguing was pointless. But Lucy’s friends pushed prams now; one even had a second child. And Lucy had married *first*. One day, she tried again.
“Fine. Have a kid if you’re so set on it,” Edward relented. “But don’t come crying to me for nappy changes. I earn the money—you handle the kid. No complaints about being tired, yeah? Agreed?”
Lucy bit back anger.
“Scared I’ll love the baby more than you?” she guessed.
“Drop it. Have the kid if you must.”
Lucy stopped her pills. Two months later, the test showed two lines.
Edward didn’t share her joy. Then came brutal morning sickness. Lucy stayed home; he went out with mates. A wall rose between them. He never touched her bump, barely acknowledged it. *Once the baby’s here, he’ll change*, she told herself.
But after their daughter, Emily, was born, Edward stayed distant. He never held her, scowled at her cries. When Lucy asked for nappies or clothes, he transferred cash without a word.
“Spare me the details,” he’d say.
Once, he criticised a stain on her dressing gown.
“You were different when we met,” he sighed.
Next day, Lucy dressed up for his return—light makeup, jeans, blouse. He didn’t notice.
Emily grew, toddled, babbled. She’d run to greet him.
“Go to Mum. Let me get changed,” he’d push her away.
Lucy’s heart shattered.
“*Hug* her. She’s your *daughter*,” she pleaded.
“Never asked for her. Don’t expect me to love her.”
Lucy hated his coldness, but she obeyed his rule: no involvement. He only asked if she was back on the pill.
Friends envied her. Sober, good provider, mortgage paid—and indifferent to kids? Most husbands were.
When Emily started nursery, Lucy planned to return to work.
“Stay home. I earn enough,” Edward said. “I want a clean house, dinner ready.”
Arguing was futile. Emily kept catching colds at nursery.
One day, Lucy spotted Edward leaving a café with another woman. That night, she confronted him.
He didn’t deny it. “I provide for you and Emily. No complaints. I’m a man—I’ve a right to some fun.”
Lucy snapped. She wouldn’t swallow his infidelity. She’d leave, move in with her mum.
“How’ll you live? You’re used to comfort. Think hard,” Edward said, eyes on the telly.
“I *have*,” Lucy said.
Silence.
Next day, she packed their things, called a cab, and left.
“Want Daddy!” Emily wailed in her grandma’s unfamiliar flat.
Her mum urged reconciliation. Edward sent money but refused visits.
“Why doesn’t he love her? Is she *his*?” her mum probed.
“Don’t be daft! He never wanted kids. I had Emily for *me*. *He’s* the one gallivanting!” Lucy sobbed.
They stayed. Lucy moved Emily to a local nursery, then school. The girl grew more like Edward—stubborn, defiant. When refused toys, she’d snap, “I’ll live with Dad!”
“You baby me! ‘Eat this, wear that’—I’m *not* little! Dad never *made* me!”
Their clashes worsened. Odd, since Edward had never even taken her sledging.
“Why’s he so *wonderful*? If I’m so *awful*, *go*!” Lucy shouted, instantly regretting it.
“I *will*!” Emily hissed.
Pleas fell on deaf ears. “You’ll be worse off! He’s with another woman—she’ll *never* love you like I do!” Emily stayed silent.
“Leave her. She’ll calm down,” her mum said.
Next day, Emily didn’t come home. Her friend said, “Her dad picked her up.”
Lucy called Edward.
“Yeah, she *asked* to come. What sort of mum drives her kid away?” he scoffed.
“IShe clutched the phone, the weight of his words like a stone in her chest, and whispered, “Fine, let her stay—but one day, she’ll see who really loved her.” _The call ended, the line humming with silence—like her heart._
