**Diary Entry**
Cyril married at twenty-four. His wife, Tabitha, was twenty-twothe only child of a professor and a schoolteacher, born late in their lives. Soon after the wedding, they had two boys in quick succession, followed by a daughter.
His mother-in-law, Evelyn, retired to help with the grandchildren.
Their relationship was odd. Cyril addressed her formally as *Mrs. Evelyn Hartley*, and she replied with a stiff *”you”*, always using his full name. They never quarrelled, but her presence made him uneasy. Still, credit where its dueshe never interfered, spoke to him with deliberate politeness, and stayed firmly neutral in his marriage.
A month ago, Cyrils firm went under, and he lost his job. Over supper, Tabitha remarked,
*”We cant live on Mums pension and my wages forever, Cyril. You need work.”*
Easy to say*find work!* Thirty days of pounding the pavement, and nothing!
Frustrated, he kicked an empty beer can. Thank God Evelyn hadnt said a word, but her pointed glances spoke volumes.
Before the wedding, hed overheard them talking.
*”Tabitha, are you sure hes the one?”*
*”Mum, of course!”*
*”You dont grasp the responsibility. If your father were alive”*
*”Mum, stop! We love each other. Itll be fine!”*
*”And children? Can he provide?”*
*”He will!”*
*”Its not too late to reconsider, Tabitha. His family”*
*”I love him!”*
*”Dont come crying to me later.”*
*Well, crying time has come,* Cyril thought grimly. Shed seen right through him.
He couldnt face going home. Tabithas forced cheer*”Tomorrows the day!”*Evelyns silent disapproval, the kids smirking, *”Dad, got a job yet?”* He couldnt bear it again.
He wandered the Thames embankment, sat on a bench in the park, and as night fell, headed to the countryside cottage where they stayed from spring till autumn. A lone light glowedEvelyns bedroom. Tiptoeing up the path, the curtain twitched. He ducked, landing hard on a tree stump.
Evelyn peered out.
*”Cyrils late. Have you rung him, Tabitha?”*
*”Yes, Mum. Phones off. Probably moping about another failed interview.”*
Evelyns voice turned to ice.
*”Dont you dare speak of your husband like that!”*
*”Oh, Mum, really? Its justhes loafing! A whole month on *my* back!”*
For the first time in six years, Cyril heard Evelyn slam the table and raise her voice.
*”Enough! What did you promise when you married him? *For better or worse*to stand by him!”*
Tabitha stammered, *”Mum, Im sorry. Just tired, thats all.”*
*”Go to bed,”* Evelyn sighed.
The light snapped off. She paced, pulled the curtain back, staring into the dark, then looked up and crossed herself fiercely.
*”Dear Lord, merciful and kind, protect the father of my grandchildren, my daughters husband. Dont let him lose heart. Help him, Lordmy dear boy.”*
Her whispered prayers and tears hit him like a punch. No one had ever prayed for himnot his strict mother, a career woman devoted to her council work, nor his father, who vanished when he was five. Hed grown up in creches, after-school clubs, then university, where he worked straight awayhis mother despised idleness.
The heat in his chest swelled, spilling into uninvited tears. He remembered Evelyn rising early to bake his favourite scones, simmering rich stews, her dumplings near miraculous. She tended the garden, made jams, pickled cucumbers, kept the house spotlessall while he and Tabitha just worked and had babies, assuming it was how things should be.
Once, watching a show about Australia, Evelyn murmured shed always dreamed of going. Hed joked the heat would melt her icy shell.
Cyril sat under the window, head in hands, a long while.
At breakfast on the veranda, the table was spreadscones, jam, tea, milk. The children beamed. He met Evelyns eyes and said softly,
*”Good morning, Mum.”*
She startled, then replied, *”Good morning, Cyril.”*
Two weeks later, he found work. A year after, he sent Evelyn to Australiadespite her protests.
**Lesson:** Pride blinds you to love in plain sight. Sometimes, the ones who seem coldest are the ones holding you up.
