**Diary Entry A Life Rebuilt**
Life had its rhythmraising my son, building our home, being there for the man I loved. Emma chose Michael herself; out of all the lads, he was the only one who truly suited her. When Mike came back from his service, they married. Soon after, their son Oliver was born. As the boy grew, Emma began dreaming of a daughter.
“Once we finish the house, Michael, well have a little girl,” she often said. “A proper family, just as it should be.”
Michael would only smile and nod. Hed have been happy to be a father again the very next day. Often, hed hoist Oliver onto his shoulders and stroll proudly through the village, greeting everyone they passed.
Then winter came. Snow buried the roads, howling winds sealed the village in. Emma waited by the window, but Michael never returned. An accident at work took him from her.
“Time heals,” the neighbours told her. “Youre not the first to lose a husband. Cry it outyears will pass, and youll find someone else.”
Emma listened in silence, but the tears wouldnt come anymore, and that only made it worse. A year slipped by. The grim nineties squeezed even the strongest families. Wages in the village went unpaid for months. Those who kept livestock and didnt fear hard work fared better.
Emma felt the weight of it all. Oliver started schoolclothes, shoes, meals to provide. That meant planting the garden full, so shed have something to sell at market come autumn.
She worked the plot until dark. Her hands roughened, her smile faded, her spirit seemed to harden.
“Fetch the bucket, you little rascal!” shed snap when Oliver tried sneaking off to his mates. “Less of your wandering! Homework done?”
Oliver would grab the bucket without a word, remembering how different things had been when Dad was alivewhen Mum had been warm and kind.
At night, Emma wept, hating herself for snapping at him. But by morning, the stern mask always returned.
One Saturday, her friends Lily and Rose dropped by. Emma never used to have friendsMichael had filled all her need for company. But now the two divorcees often came round, laughing, pretending theyd just popped in “for a cuppa.” It was never about the tea.
Morning started as usual. Emma got up without glancing in the mirror. She knew her face was worn. She fed the pigs, scattered grain for the hens, piled dirty dishes in the sink, and ordered Oliver to wash up and hurry to school.
That evening, she wasnt expecting anyone but knew one of her “regulars” might swing by. She didnt care muchif they came, fine. If not, the invitation wouldnt be repeated. Most men took one look at Oliver, muttered a few words, and left”a woman with baggage,” theyd say.
“Honestly, Emma, youll scare them all off,” Lily would laugh. “Too picky. Maybe its your beds fault? Need a new sofa?”
“Oh, right, Ill dash out and buy one,” Emma sighed. “With what money? Too tight-fisted? Take it yourself then.”
“Alright, dont snap. Just set the tablecompanys coming.”
Lily annoyed her, but Emma still wordlessly put out pickled cucumbers. Glancing at her wedding photo, she sighed.
“Forgive me, Mike. Its hard without you.”
“Theyre all the same,” Lily said, as if reading her thoughts. “Come on, Emmato us! Were the best!”
The next morning, Emma sighed and cleared the remnants of the evening before heading to work.
Michaels aunt, Eleanor, stopped by.
“What are you doing, Emma? Youre not the same since Michael,” she said. “And these friends of yours theyre no good for you.”
“So now youre lecturing me, Eleanor? Think Im some hopeless case? Ive a home, livestock, my boy in schoolI check his work” She trailed off, realising she hadnt looked at Olivers books in over a week. His teacher had asked to meet her.
Emma didnt answer. She just started stacking dishes.
“You were different once,” Eleanor pressed. “Kind, hardworking Drop this nonsense.”
“Im not nonsensing,” Emma retorted. “I just talk to friends to take my mind off things. Cant I have a bit of peace after work?”
“Of course you can,” Eleanor sighed.
“Then dont preach. And keep your nose out, dear auntie. Doors open.”
Eleanor tightened her shawl and left quietly.
Emma exhaled, her chest tight with regret. She hurried after her.
“Eleanor, waittake some carrots. Weve loads this year.”
“No need, dear,” Eleanor waved, already stepping off the porch.
“Please, I mean it.”
Eleanor knew life. She understood the unspoken apology in Emmas eyes. She stopped.
Emma filled a bag with carrots. “Need help carrying it?”
“Ill manage,” Eleanor said, thanking her before walking away, her heart heavy for Emmas sake.
That Friday evening, Emma packed onions and carrots for market.
“At least some extra quidhavent seen proper pay in ages,” she thought, hefting the bags.
“Wherere you off with those?” a nosy neighbour called out.
“Market. Selling veg.”
She barely dragged the sacks to the bus stop. Old Tom and Granny May were already there, but the bus never came.
“Blasted things broken again,” Granny sighed.
Tom cursed the whole transport system. Finally, they gave up and trudged home.
Emma stayed, unwilling to haul the bags back. Shed hitch a ride.
A few cars passedno space. Then a Ford pulled up before she even raised her hand.
The driver, a stranger, looked her over, then at her sacks.
“Bus wont come today. Im heading into townneed a lift?”
“Suppose so,” Emma sighed.
He grinned, got out, and effortlessly lifted the heavy bagsskinny as he was.
“Markets fine by you?” she asked.
“Could do.”
“Ill pay.”
On the drive, Emma touched up her lipstick. The rear-view mirror let her study him.
“Im Emma,” she finally said.
“James. James Carter.”
“Ooh, full nameboss man, are you?”
“Director of factories and steamships,” he joked. “Nah, foreman on a building site.”
He dropped her at the market, even helped unload, and only took half the fare.
“Rest tonight. Ill be back this way.”
“Generous, arent you?” Emma smirked. “Lucky me.”
That evening, James drove her home.
“Come in for tea, James Carter.”
“Just James is fine,” he chuckled.
Emma set the table. Oliver peeked in.
“Stop lurking! Homework done?”
“Mostly,” he mumbled.
“Finish it!” she snapped.
James, leaning by the stove, smiled. “Lets chat. Im James. You are?”
“Ollie.”
“Oliver, really?”
“Yeah.”
“Struggling with school?”
“Maths. Cant get it.”
“Lets see.” James motioned to his books.
Half an hour later, Oliver went to bed, pleased with the help.
“Clear this,” James said, nodding at the table. “Just tea for me.”
“Well, youre driving.”
“Even if I werentjust tea. Or juice. Nothing stronger.”
Emma eyed him but silently poured hot water, added leaves, and set out potatoes.
“Time I went,” James said, rising. He hesitated. “I like you, Emma. Can I call Friday?”
She almost smiledshed expected this.
“Call, then.”
“Im single,” he added, though she hadnt asked.
*Youll forget in a week*, she thought, doubting itd last.
Yet when Lily and Rose visited after work, Emma sent them off early. *What if he really comes?*
“No, Em, thats not on,” Lily huffed. “Come out with us!”
“Like Ive time for that!”
“So what? Were seeing a film!”
“No, girls. Ive cleaning to do.”
She didnt finish cleaning. James arrived early. He stepped into the yard, and Emma led him inside. Traces of last nights drinks lingered, but he pretended not to notice.
“Let me heat the soupgone cold,” she said.
James chatted with Oliver, helped with maths, explained horsepower. When Oliver slept, Emma felt light, eager to talk.
James stood, placed hands on her shoulders, and pulled her close.
“Staying till morning,” he said simply.
“Whos stopping you?” She caught her breath, then steadied. Words seemed pointlessshe knew hed stay.
At breakfast, James fetched water without being asked.
“Need logs for the bathhouse?”
“Fetch some,” she said, though she never usually relied on anyonewhy bother, if theyd leave?
Over tea, James spoke softly.
“Emma, if this goes on, those drinks from last nightthey stop.”
She froze, spoon mid-air.
“That a condition?” More surprised than angry.
“Call it that. Cant stand the smell. And Im decentyou know that.”
He smiled.
“So, bathhouse tonight?”
She wanted to protest, shove him outbut something stopped her. Instead, she agreed.
“Come, then.”
That evening, Lily barged in.
“Heard you poured it all out! True?”
“True, Lil. Gone.”
“You daft? That was good stuff!”
“Good? Its trouble. Go onnot in the mood.”
Emma scrubbed the floors, changed the sheetsfreshly washed and sun-dried. Soup waited on the stove, but she wanted something better. No time for pies, so she whipped up pancakes. Oliver sneaked them with juice.
Time crawled. Emma even managed a bath. Dusk fell. No James.
*Promises, promises*, she thought bitterly. *Trusted a fool. Know betterno ones like my Mike. Was it worth pouring it all away?*
She smiled, looking round the bright kitchen, smelling of fresh food. A strange calm settled over her.
“No, it was right,” she said firmly. “Enough.”
She turned to Oliver.
“Dont waitUncle James isnt coming. Lets check your books. Youve slacked off.”
Thenan engine. James appeared with a holdall, pulling out sausages, tinned goods, biscuits, butter.
“Mate from the wholesalers,” he said. “For you and Oliver.”
Emma sat, chin in hand, watching.
“Thats gold these days. Not seen it in ages.”
“Know. So here.”
Casually, she asked, “Eating first or the bathhouse?”
“Bath first.”
Outside, darkness settled. Setting the table, Emma felt something long-lostthe warmth of home shed had with Michael. She glanced at Jamess jacket on the hook.
*He came today. Hell stay. I want him to.*
Autumn was grey but quiet.
Eleanor sat by her gate, watching the road. She smiled when that same Ford appeared at Emmas for the second month running.
“Well, then. Let them be. Young stillmight have a child,” she murmured. “Emmas herself againsmiling, gentle. Let her live. Life moves forward. Thats what matters.”
**Lesson learned:** Grief reshapes us, but life insists on moving forward. Sometimes, the right person doesnt erase the pastthey help you rebuild from it.
