**Diary Entry**
I always thought my daughter had a happy family until my visit to their home.
When our Emily announced she was marrying a man eight years her senior, we didnt protest. He made an excellent first impressionrefined, polite, considerate. Gregory knew how to win people over. He showered our daughter with affection: flowers, holidays, gifts. And when he insisted on covering all the wedding expensesthe restaurant, the dress, the videographers, the decorationsI nearly cried. We were certain: our little girl was in good hands.
*”He runs his own business, Mum, dont worry,”* Emily would say. *”Hes comfortable, hes got everything under control.”*
Six months after the wedding, Gregory visited us with Emily. He walked through our flat without a word. The next day, technicians arrived to take measurements. A week later, workers. And just like that, our modest flat in York was fitted with triple-glazed windows, soundproofed. Then came the refurbished balcony, air conditioning, even new tiles.
My husband and I thanked him, bewildered, but he dismissed it with a wave: *”Trifles. For my wifes parents, nothing is too good.”* Of course, it pleased us. How could we not be happy seeing our daughter so well cared for, loved by a man who doted on her?
Then their first child was born. It looked like something from a filmleaving the hospital with balloons, a tiny lace outfit, a photographer. Everything was lavish. My husband and I smiled, touched: *”There they are, a happy family.”*
Two years later, a second child arrived. More gifts, more guests. But Emily seemed hollow. Her eyes were tired, her smile forced. At first, I thought it was postnatal exhaustion. Two children arent easy. But with every phone call, I sensed she was hiding something.
I decided to visit. I warned them ahead of time. When I arrived one evening, Gregory wasnt there. Emily greeted me without enthusiasm. The children played in their roomI hugged them, held them close. My heart swelledgrandchildren, after all. Later, when they were distracted by cartoons, I asked softly:
“Emily, darling, whats wrong?”
She flinched, stared into the distance, then forced a tight smile.
“Everythings fine, Mum. Just tired.”
“Its more than that. Youre lifeless. You dont laugh anymore. Your eyes are sad. I know you, Emily. Tell me the truth.”
She hesitated. Then the front door slammedGregory was home. Spotting me, his grin faltered for a split second. He smiled, greeted me, but his eyes were cold, as if I were intruding. And thats when I smelled ita sickly sweet, unmistakably feminine perfume.
When he took off his jacket, I caught a smear of lipstick on his collar. Pink. I couldnt stop myself from murmuring, loud enough to be heard:
“Gregory were you really at the office?”
He froze. Then straightened, fixing me with an icy glare before replying:
“Margaret, with all due respect, stay out of our marriage. Yes, theres another woman. But it means nothing. For a man in my position, its expected. Emily knows. It doesnt change our family. We wont divorce. The children, my wifeeverythings under control. I provide. So dont fixate on details like lipstick.”
I clenched my jaw. Emily stood and slipped into the childrens room, head down. He went to shower as if nothing had happened. My heart ached with helplessness. I followed my daughter, wrapped my arms around her, whispered:
“Emily is this what you want? Him with another woman while you endure it? Is this a family?”
She shrugged and began to cry. Silently, as if the tears fell on their own. I stroked her back, saying nothing. There was so much I wanted to say, but it was pointless. The choice was hers. Stay with a man who thought money excused betrayal, or choose herself.
She was trapped in this *”gilded cage,”* where everything seemed perfectexcept respect. Except love, the real kind, without lies or contempt.
I left that night. At home, sleep was impossible. My heart tore in two. I wanted to take her and the children and run. But I knewuntil she decided, nothing would change. All I could do was wait. Hold on. And hope that one day, Emily would choose herself.
