**Diary Entry**
I made up my mindno matter what, Ill be happy.
In my final year of university, I fell in love. Not just with any ordinary guy, but with someone the girls on my course considered *the* catchOliver. Handsome, charming, and from a well-off family.
I was no slouch myselfbright, decent-lookingbut Oliver and I came from different worlds. My parents were working-class, and though I knew the social gap was there, love didnt care.
“Emily, youre wasting your time with that Oliver,” my flatmates warned. “He knows his worth. Looks down on half the girls here. Only mixes with his own lot.”
“So what? I know *my* worth too,” Id shoot back. “Im not some dimwit. I can hold my own in any conversation.”
“Sure, sure. Just dont come crying later. His parents are probably the type whod look down their noses at the rest of us.”
“Dont scare me,” Id laugh nervously. “Its his *mother* Im really dreading meeting”
When Oliver first took an interest in me, I never imagined hed feel the same. But he dideffortlessly. He asked me to the cinema first. We dated all through fourth year, and just before summer break, he dropped the bombshell.
“Emily, were going to meet my parents this Saturday. Mums been naggingwants to know all about you.”
“So soon? Im not ready!” I panicked.
“Why? Theyre just people. Dads quiet, but Mumwell, she loves asking questions. Dont worry,” he grinned.
I was sure wed marry. I just had to impress his parents. I spent two days cramming etiquettehow to sit, which fork to use.
Saturday came. Oliver met me, and we walked to their flat. My stomach churned.
“Hello,” I stammered, stepping inside. His motherMargaretsmiled warmly, and I relaxed a little.
“Hello, Emily. Im Margaret. Oliver, take her to the lounge.”
At the table, his father, Charles, sat stiffly. He nodded but barely spoke. I sat straight, elbows off the table, cutting my food neatly. I barely atetoo nervous someone might ask me a question mid-bite.
Then it happened. My fork clattered to the carpet. I froze, shoulders hunched, stealing glances at Margaret. Oliver laughed.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
Margaret waved it off. “Oliver, stop laughing and fetch her a clean fork.”
He obeyed, still chuckling.
“Emily, relax,” Margaret said gently. “This isnt a state dinner. Eat properly, or Ill think you dislike my cooking.”
“Oh, no! Its lovely. I just thoughtOliver said you had a housekeeper, Mrs. Thompson.”
“We do,” she sighed. “But today, *I* cooked.”
“Why?”
She laughed. “Why else? I wanted to impress my future daughter-in-law.”
I blinked. Was she joking?
“Guess were *both* on trial today,” I blurted.
“Seems so,” Margaret smiled. “But Oliver didnt disappoint. Right, Charles?”
“Of course, darling,” he muttered.
The evening went well. Two weeks later, Oliver and I filed for a marriage license. Two months after that, we married.
“Where will we live?” I asked.
“Dunno. Parents were whispering about something”
At the wedding, they handed us keysa one-bed flat two floors below theirs.
Mum cried. “Gods good. Youve got a roof over your head.”
I thought the future was bright. Then, in our final year, I found out I was pregnant. Overjoyed, I told Oliver.
His face darkened. “*Now?* Were students, living off my parents. I wanted years just for *us*.”
I went cold.
“Get rid of it,” he said flatly. “Were too young for nappies and sleepless nights.”
“You want me to? *No.*” I fled, sobbing.
Downstairs, Margaret saw me. “Emily! Whats? Come inside.”
She sat me down, handed me water. “Out with it.”
I spilled everything.
“Youre *right* to keep the baby,” she said firmly. “Dont listen to him. How far along?”
“Eight weeks.”
“Youll graduate in time. Eat something. Ill talk to Oliver.”
Later, he mumbled an apology. We made up.
After graduation, our son, James, was born. Margaret and Charles doted on him. Oliver? Distant.
He started coming home late, reeking of beerthen perfume.
“Are you cheating?” I demanded.
He left without answering.
That evening, I told Margaret.
“Dont act rashly. Maybe”
“No. Im taking James to Mums.”
“Youll stay *here*,” she insisted. “We wont lose our grandson. Work, keep busy. Youll feel like yourself again.”
I agreed.
Five years later, I remarriedDaniel, a colleague. We live with James and little Sophie now. Margaret spoils them rotten.
I *am* happy. Against all odds, I made sure of it.
