**Diary Entry**
*I cant believe its come to this*
“Mum, please, you have to come home…”
“Mum, you know I wont.”
“Darling, Im begging youhes not well…”
“Dont ask. Im not coming.”
“I hate this!” Emily slammed the phone down, trembling with anger. She marched to the fridge, yanked it open, and pulled out a bottle of gin. Pouring a measure into a glass, she hesitated, then dumped it down the sink. Slumping onto a stool, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Ten years. Ten years since shed last stepped foot in her childhood home.
Back in sixth form, Emily had fallen hard. Her friends had dragged her to a university party near their schoolher first and only time giving in to peer pressure. Thats where shed met *him*. James was the lead singer of a band, effortlessly charming, the son of a diplomat. Every girl fawned over him. She never understood why hed chosen *her*. But she fell fastskipping classes, lying to her parents, ignoring responsibilitiesjust to see him.
It ended as quickly as it began. A whirlwind romance, an unexpected pregnancy, and then silence. James avoided her, then vanished entirely. His mother appeared instead, offering to arrange a “discreet solution” and coldly informing Emily shed never be good enough for their precious son.
She waited months before telling her own mother. When the bump became impossible to hide, she confessed.
“You disgrace! Is this what we raised you for?” Her fathers voice had been venomous. “How dare you shame us like this? Get out! I never want to see you again!”
Her mother had wept silently. Shed always obeyed himhis temper, his control. Her opinion had never mattered.
So Emily left. A backpack stuffed with jeans and T-shirts, no plan, no money. Friends let her couch-surf, but pity wore thin. Borrowing cash from a mate, she took a train to Bristol, where an aunt she barely knew was supposed to live.
But the aunt was gonemarried, moved away, no forwarding address. Starving and lost, Emily lingered near the station, where elderly women sold pasties to travellers. She eyed a stall, hunger gnawing at her. She tried to swipe oneclumsy, desperate. The woman raised a hand to strike, then froze, spotting her swollen belly.
Between ravenous bites, Emily spilled her story. The womana widowtook her in.
Until the baby came, Emily sold pasties at the station, saving every pound, dreaming of going home, of her fathers forgiveness
But Bristol became her life. Ten long years.
She had a daughter. The widow became “Gran,” caring for the baby while Emily workedfirst as a shop cleaner, then a cashier, then manager. When the store closed and a supermarket opened nearby, she climbed higher: supervisor, department head, now overseeing multiple sections.
After her daughters birth, shed called her mother, hoping to return. But her fathers wrath hadnt cooled. “Dont come back,” her mother whispered.
When Gran passed, leaving Emily the house, she called againneeding help with her daughter, with work. *Maybe Mum could escape him for a while*, shed thought. But the answer was the same.
And now, *this* call. A decade of waiting for “Im sorry. Come home.” Or just, “Come back, love.”
But why *now*? What did he want? An apology? *”Sorry, Dad, I was wrong.”*
The rage had dulled over time, but the ache remainedthe rejection, the loneliness, the pride swallowed just to survive. There were nights shed wanted to give up.
But look at her now. Respected. Successful. A modern home, her daughter in a top grammar school, a fiancé who adored her.
*Would I be this strong if he hadnt thrown me out?*
Forgive. Say goodbye. Move onfor herself, for her future.
Emily picked up the phone, called work, explained the situation, then started packing.
