**Diary Entry The Weight of Letting Go**
*”You ungrateful girl! We raised you, fed you, and now you abandon your dying father!”*
*”Mum, enough! I wont send another penny while you drink it all away. I wont fund your binges!”* Emily forced her voice steady, though tears pricked her eyes.
*”Fine. Dont call us again. I dont want to speak to youand Ill make sure your father doesnt either.”* The line went dead.
Emily sank onto the chair, setting her phone on the table before burying her face in her hands. From the next room, her little boy whimpered. She choked back a sob. She had to stay strongfor him.
But how could she, when the past gnawed at her like a starving dog?
…Memories flickered behind her eyelids. The stale reek of whisky and cigarettes. Peeling wallpaper, dents in the door where shed barricaded herself as her parents screamed and smashed plates. Too young to understand, but old enough to feareach night, she wondered if one of them wouldnt wake up.
Her only toys were bottle caps and empty tins, arranged into makeshift families. Shed whisper promises to herself: *One day, Ill have a home where people smile.*
Her mother was worse sobersnapping at her for spilled milk, slapping her for clumsy hands. Now, Emily knew it wasnt her fault. Back then, shed believed she deserved it.
Her father had moments of clarity. *”Liz, did you even feed her?”* hed demand after work.
*”Shes old enough to fend for herself!”*
*”Shes seven, Liz. Make her dinner.”*
Most nights, it was plain pasta if she was lucky. Otherwise, bread crusts or cold leftovers. Fear was her shadow. She fell asleep to clinking bottles, woke to shouting. Prayed for it to stop.
College was her escape. The dorm felt like freedomthough guilt crept in at night. *Theyll fall apart without me.* But she pushed the thought away.
Calls with her mother stopped instantly. Her fathers faded slowly.
*”Hello, love. How are you?”* hed ask.
A hundred replies swirled*Im happier without you. Im exhausted. I have friends now who dont make me ashamed.* But she only ever said, *”Fine. And you?”*
She knew nothing had changed. Hoped it hadnt. Because change there only meant worse.
*”Same as ever,”* hed mutter before the awkward goodbye. Eventually, the calls ceased.
She buried their lives like a secret, even from James.
*”My parents wont be at the wedding,”* she told him lightly, though her stomach knotted. *”Theyre in a tiny village. Cant travel.”*
*”Well pay their way! Every parent wants to see their child married.”*
*Every parent but mine.* She bit her lip. *”Mums heart wont handle the trip. Ill send photos. Its fine.”*
James shrugged but didnt press. She couldnt risk a scenenot after her tenth birthday, when her mother had screamed at her friend, *”Youre eating my food in my house!”* The girl had locked herself in the loo, crying. Emily never invited anyone again.
She built a better life. A home without shouting. A son, Oliver.
Then the past clawed back.
*”Emily, your dads not well,”* their neighbour phoned. *”Hospitalised. Might be his liver.”*
Her pulse spiked. Shed known this day would come.
*”Can you visit?”*
*”Ill try.”*
That night, she told James everythingthe drinking, the fights, the rare kindness from her father.
*”Thats what you call kindness?”* James frowned. *”Leaving you with her? Letting it go on for years?”*
The look she gave him silenced further criticism. She loved them, stupidly, like a kicked pup still wagging its tail.
*”You cant go with Oliver,”* he said gently. *”But well send money for medicine.”*
*”Hell drink it.”*
*”Your choice.”*
She sent more than agreed, skimping on haircuts to wire extra. Her father improvedbriefly. Two months later, the neighbour called again, furious.
*”Hes wasting away! Youve abandoned them!”*
Emily froze. *”I send money”*
*”Which they spend on booze!”*
Her mother wailed about neglect; her father claimed she hoarded cash for herself. The call ended as before: *”Dont phone us again.”*
Emily lay awake, cycling through memories, guilt, then desperate solutions. By dawn, shed found rehab centres. Expensive, but worth it.
The next day, she called her father, hopeful.
*”Dad, theres a clinic nearbyspecialists who can help. Well pay.”*
*”I dont need your pity!”* he snapped. *”Ill quit when I want.”*
And she understood: he didnt *want* help.
*”But the doctors”*
*”No. Drop it.”*
Her throat tightened, yet something unclenched in her chest. Shed done her part. More would ruin the family shed built.
At Olivers crib, she watched his steady breaths. No more calls. Her duty was to him nowto those who cherished her. The rest, shed leave to fate.
