**Diary Entry**
“Your family isnt our problem,” James declared as he packed his suitcase.
“Emily, did you send them money again?” He stood in the bedroom doorway, a bank receipt in hand, his face tight with frustration.
“Mum needed medicine, and her pension barely covers anything,” Emily replied quietly, keeping her eyes on the iron as it glided over his white shirt. Her hands trembled slightly.
“How much longer? Every month, its the samemedicine, your sisters repairs, your nephews tuition!” He tossed the receipt onto the dresser. “Were barely making ends meet ourselves, and youre supporting half your family!”
Emily set the iron down and turned to him. Tears welled in her eyes, but she kept her voice steady.
“James, shes my mother. She raised me alone after Dad left. Worked two jobs so I could finish university. Cant I help her now?”
“Helping is one thing, but this” he jabbed a finger at the receipt, “this is too much. Two hundred pounds in a month! We couldve put that toward a proper holiday, not just weekends at your relatives.”
Silently, Emily hung the shirt. Three years married, and the same argument played out. At first, hed been kindeven helped her family. Then something changed.
She remembered last year, when Mum needed surgery. The NHS waitlist was six months; private care cost ten thousand. Emily sold her jewellery, took a loan. James only found out later.
“You didnt even ask me!” hed shouted. “Am I not your husband? Or does my opinion mean nothing?”
“She couldve died,” was all shed said.
“Your family isnt our problem,” hed repeated, packing then too. “If youd rather be with them, go.”
Hed left for a week. Returned when shed nearly given up, apologised, said he understoodbut begged her not to spend so much without discussing it.
“Emily, are you listening?” His voice snapped her back.
“I am. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to realise *were* the family. Husband and wife. Not you, your mum, sister, and their endless crises. I have plansa new car, a country housebut the money vanishes!”
She sat on the bed, hands clasped. James was handsome, successfula manager at a top firm. When theyd met, hed seemed like a prince: flowers, fine restaurants, sweet words. Hed accepted her, ties and all.
“You used to say family was sacred,” she whispered.
“I meant *our* family. Not” he waved a hand, “this crowd.”
Her phone rangher sister, Charlotte.
“Hello?” she answered cautiously, eyeing James.
“Em, its bad,” Charlottes voice shook. “Tom crashed his car. Hes fine, but its totaled. Just bought it on finance too. Now hes talking about joining the armythinks hes a failure.”
“Oh God,” Emily paled. “Is he really alright?”
“Just bruises. But hes crushed. Em, could you lend us something? Even a bit would help.”
Jamess stare burned into her. She turned to the window.
“Char, lets talk tomorrow. I cant think straight now.”
“Of course. Sorry to call so late.”
Emily hung up. James stood, arms crossed, expression grim.
“Dont even think about it,” he said coldly.
“Hes my nephew. I held him as a baby when Char was working”
“I dont care. Im done. Every week, its someonedentist bills, roof leaks, school fees. When do *we* matter?”
Emily looked outside. Children laughed in the yard. Shed once been that carefreebefore Mums health declined, before Chars divorce left her struggling.
“Remember our first visit to Mums?” she asked softly. “She cooked all dayroast, pies. You said youd never had potatoes that good.”
“Emily, dont change the subject.”
“Im not. Im remembering. She was so happy Id found someone good. Said, *He looks at you like youre his world.* And she packed you that strawberry jam you loved.”
“That was years ago.”
“Three. Is that so long?”
She turned. He avoided her gaze.
“James, what changed? Why are you so different?”
“Im not. I just see were being used. Your mum, sisterthey know you wont say no.”
“*Used?*” Her chest tightened. “Mum raised me alone for twenty years. Worked herself to the bone. When I had pneumonia at uni, she took unpaid leave, stayed by my bed. Is that *using* me?”
“And Char? When her husband left with those toddlers, who helped? Me. Mum. We babysat, lent money, kept her going. Is that *using*?”
James stayed silent. Emily picked up the receipt.
“Two hundred pounds,” she said quietly. “Mums ECGNHS wait was a month, her heart hurt *now*. Private cost fifty. Meds, eighty. Chars groceriesseventy, after her pay was cut for sick leave.”
“Enough,” he sighed. “Im always the villain. But maybe I just want a normal life? Our own home, kids, plans?”
“Dont we have that?”
“No!” he raised his voice. “Every weekend at your mums. Every holiday with your relatives. Half my salary gone. When do *we* live?”
Emilys hands tightened. It was true. But how could she abandon them?
“I cant leave Mum,” she whispered. “Shes alone, ill. Only has me and Char.”
“And you have a husband. Or *had*.”
The words stung. James pulled shirts from the wardrobe, packed them.
“Youre leaving?”
“Thinking about it. Im tired of being sidelined in my own marriage.”
“Cant we compromise?”
He paused. “How? You help them *less*? See them *sometimes*? Thats not compromiseits delay. The problem stays.”
“Then what do you want?”
“A life. Were young, healthy. We couldve had children, a home. Instead, we fund their emergencies.”
“*Their?*” Her voice cracked. “Theyre my family, James.”
“Not mine. Your family isnt our problem,” he repeated.
Emily turned to the window, hollow with hurt. She loved himbut couldnt betray those whod been there forever. He couldnt understand.
“Mum asked when were visiting,” she said. “She misses us. Said shes grateful you *let* me help. Thinks youre kind.”
James stilled, then kept packing.
“Kind people are rare,” she continued. “Mum always said family means standing together. Maybe shes wrong. Maybe times have changed.”
“They have,” he agreed. “And people.”
He zipped the suitcase.
“Where are you going?”
“To my parents. To think. You should tooabout what matters.”
“James, wait”
“Whats left to say? You wont change. I wont. Were just different.”
At the door, he hesitated.
“Call if you decide *were* your familynot the rest.”
The door shut. The car engine faded. Silence.
Emily sat, phone in hand. A text from Charlotte: *”Em, how are you? Toms a wreck. Maybe visit tomorrow?”*
She didnt reply. Put the kettle on. The flat felt empty.
Mum waiting. Chars struggles. Toms fears. James, who wanted only *them*.
She didnt know what was right. Her heart splitone half toward family, the other toward the man she loved.
The kettle whistled. Another textMum: *”Sweetheart, how are you? I miss you.”*
Emily dialled.
“Mum, hi. How are you feeling?”
