**Diary Entry 12th March**
“Your family isnt our responsibility,” my husband snapped, slamming his suitcase shut.
“Lily, did you send them money *again*?” James stood in the bedroom doorway, bank statement in hand, his face tight with frustration.
“Mum needed her prescriptions,” I answered softly, keeping my eyes on the iron gliding over his crisp white shirt. My hands trembled slightly.
“How many times, Lily? Every monthmedicine, your sisters roof repairs, your nephews tuition! Were barely scraping by as it is!” He threw the statement onto the dresser.
I set the iron down and turned to him. Tears pricked my eyes, but I kept my voice steady. “James, she raised me alone after Dad left. Worked two jobs so I could finish university. Cant I help her now?”
“Helping is one thing. *This*” he jabbed at the paper, “is another. Three hundred quid this month! We couldve put that toward a proper holiday, not another weekend at your sisters!”
I hung the shirt silently. Three years married, and the same argument every time. At first, hed been kindeven helped Mum with her groceries. But something had shifted.
I remembered last year, when she needed surgery. The NHS waitlist was six months; private care cost two grand. I sold the gold bracelet Gran had left me and took out a loan. James only found out after.
“You didnt even *ask* me!” hed shouted. “Am I not your husband? Or does my opinion mean nothing?”
“She couldve died,” was all Id said.
“Your family isnt our problem,” hed repeated, packing a bag. “If youd rather be with them, go.”
Hed left for a week. When he returned, I was a wreck, certain Id lost him. Hed apologised, said he understoodbut begged me not to spend like that again without talking to him.
“Lily, are you even listening?” His voice snapped me back.
“I am. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to realise *were* the family now. Not you and your mum and your sisters lot. *I* have dreams tooa new car, a cottage in the Cotswolds. But it all vanishes into your relatives pockets.”
I sat on the bed, hands folded. James was handsome, successfula finance manager at a top firm. When we met, hed been a prince: roses, Michelin-starred dinners, vows to cherish me *and* my roots.
“You used to say family was sacred,” I murmured.
“*Our* family, Lily. Not…” He waved a hand. “*Them*.”
The phone rangmy sister, Emily.
“Hello?” I said, eyeing James.
“Lily, its Charlie,” she sobbed. “Hes crashed his car. Hes alright, but its totalled. Only just got it on financenow hes talking about joining the Army!”
I paled. “Hes sure hes okay?”
“Bruised, but shattered. Could you… lend us a bit? Just to cover the deposit?”
James stare burned into me. I turned away. “Lets talk tomorrow, Em.”
I hung up. His voice was ice. “Dont. Even. Think about it.”
“Hes my nephew, James. I held him as a baby when Emily was at work.”
“I dont care. Im *done*. Every weekdentist bills, boiler repairs, uni fees. When do *we* come first?”
I walked to the window. Kids played below, laughing. I used to be that carefreebefore Mums arthritis, before Emilys divorce, before life grew heavy.
“Remember our first visit to Mums?” I asked. “She roasted a lamb, made that treacle tart you loved. Said you looked at me like I hung the moon.”
“Lily, dont change the subject.”
“Im not. Im remembering. She adores you. When we left, she tucked jam in my bagthe strawberry kind you praisedand told you her doors always open.”
“That was years ago,” he muttered.
“Three. Is that so long?”
He wouldnt meet my eyes.
“What changed, James?”
“*I* did. I realised were being used. Your mum, Emilythey know youll never say no.”
“*Used*?” My chest tightened. “Mum worked herself to the bone for me. When I had pneumonia at uni, she took unpaid leave to sit by my hospital bed. Is that *using* me?”
“And Emily? When Mark left her with the boys, who helped? Me. And Mum. We babysat, lent money, kept her from breaking. Is that *using*?”
He was silent. I picked up the statement.
“Three hundred quid,” I said quietly. “Mums ECGNHS wait was eight weeks, private was sixty quid. Her meds: a hundred. Emilys groceries: one-forty, because Tommys been sick and shes on statutory pay.”
“Enough,” he sighed. “It always comes back to me being the villain. Maybe I just want a normal life, Lily. One where we dont spend every weekend at your mums, every holiday at Emilys, half our wages on *their* crises.”
“And dont we have that?”
“No!” His voice cracked. “When do we live for *us*?”
I sat heavily. He wasnt wrong. But how could I turn my back on them?
“I cant abandon Mum,” I whispered. “Shes alone. Ill. Shes only got me and Emily.”
“And youve got a husband. Or *had* one.”
The words struck like a verdict. He yanked shirts from the wardrobe, stuffed them into his suitcase.
“Youre leaving?”
“Thinking about it. Im tired of being an afterthought in my own marriage.”
“James, there has to be a compromise”
“Like what? You help them *sometimes*? We see them *some* weekends? Thats not compromise, Lily. Thats delaying the inevitable.”
“Then what do you want?”
“A life. Kids. A home. Not just funding everyone elses.”
“Theyre *my family*.”
“Not mine.” He zipped the case. “Your family isnt our problem.”
I turned to the window, hollowed out. I loved himbut how could I betray the ones whod loved me first?
“Mum asked when were visiting,” I said. “She misses you. Said shes grateful youve never stopped me helping. She thinks youre a good man.”
He paused, then hoisted the suitcase.
“Good men are rare,” I continued. “She always said family means standing together. Maybe shes wrong. Maybe times have changed.”
“They have,” he agreed. “And so have people.”
He headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To my parents. I need to think. So do you.”
“James, wait”
“Whats left to say? You wont change. Neither will I.” He opened the door. “Call me if you decide *we* matter more.”
The engine roared, then faded. Silence.
My phone buzzedEmily: *”Howd it go? Charlies a mess. Fancy a visit tomorrow?”*
I didnt reply.
In the kitchen, the kettle screamed. Outside, dusk settled. Another messageMum: *”Love, youve been quiet. Everything alright?”*
I dialled her number.
“Mum? Hi. Hows the pain today?”
—
*Lesson learned: Love isnt a ledger. But sometimes, even the deepest bonds demand a priceand youre left wondering wholl pay it.*
