**Diary Entry 3rd March**
“Marina, you cant leave me! What will I do without you?”
“The same thing you always dodrink from dawn till dusk!”
I slammed the front door and collapsed into the drivers seat, tears streaming down my face. How had it come to this? A year ago, we were the perfect familyenvied, admired. But envy always follows happiness. Thats just the way of the world.
****
“Marina, hurry up, get William readyIve got a surprise for you! And dont forget warm clothes.”
My husband, Nicholasor “Nick,” as I teasingly called himloved surprises. This time, he took us to the countryside for snowmobiling. His colleague had recently bought a cottage an hour outside London. Not just any cottagea proper medieval-style manor, complete with turrets and what could only be described as fortress walls.
“Well? What do you think?” Nick asked, grinning at my stunned expression.
“Theres something about this place gives me chills.”
“Youre just cold. Come insideyou havent seen the fireplace yet.”
The interior was even more unsettling than the exterior. But the men loved it, so I kept quietno point arguing about taste. The mounted animal heads on the walls didnt help. Nick insisted they were fake, but they were ghastly all the same. Meanwhile, the boys devoured plates of roast meat under the glassy stare of a wild boar. William, ever the little warrior, dashed about with a toy sword, slaying imaginary monsters. I focused on the fire, trying not to look around.
Perhaps I remember that day in such dark tones because it was the last of our old life. Later, the owner rolled out two snowmobiles. One of them took my sons life. Nick, at the helm, never escaped the guilt. He drowned himself in whisky.
I dont know why I held on. The pain was unbearable, yet I refused to let it consume me. My grief stayed with me, private, unseen. No one around me suffered as I did. They smiled, oblivious.
Sometimes, I wanted to join Nickto numb the pain with drink. But I knew it would only make things worse. Drunk emotions are raw: anger, bitterness, resentment. Thats where Nick lived now, hiding in his shell. No matter what I did, he wouldnt come out.
I hadnt meant to leave him. I just needed space. So I drove. Snowflakes, perfect as if designed by some celestial artist, dusted the windshield. I stopped at petrol stations, drank coffee in roadside cafés, even checked into a hotel to sleep. My mind was emptyI wasnt heading anywhere, just away.
I dont remember turning off the motorway, but eventually, I reached a sleepy little town. Pulling over by a park, I sat motionless for ages.
“Miss, youll freeze,” someone tapped on my window.
A group of teenagers passed by, and I almost laughedsince when were kids so considerate? Then I spotted the elderly woman with a fluffy white poodle.
“Waiting for someone?” she asked.
I dont know why I got out. “Something happened,” I whispered.
Strange, how its easier to confide in a stranger. Maybe because they dont dig through your past for reasons to blame you. No one says, “Well, Nick drinks because his great-uncles cousin was an alcoholic.” A stranger just listens.
Before I knew it, I was in her cosy kitchen, clutching a mug of chamomile tea, tears soaking a crumpled tissue.
“Marina, Ive made up the sofa for you. Rest, then carry on to wherever nowhere is.”
I agreed. The sofa was closer than the car.
That morning, I woke smiling. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, a clock ticked on the wall, and a rough little tongue licked my hand.
“Bobby,” I remembered the poodles name. He grinned up at mewell, as much as a dog can grin.
“Bobby, leave the poor girl alone. Especially a hungry one.”
Auntie Rose (Id learned her name by then) brought in a tray of cinnamon buns and fresh coffee.
“Dont praise them too loudly,” she warned. “Baked goods prefer quiet admiration.”
I took a bite and nearly swooned. These buns could demand anything they liked.
Nick used to bring me breakfast in bed tooanything from toast to pickled herring. “A hungry wife is a dangerous thing,” hed joke. Remembering it now made me smile instead of ache. Funny how a simple bun could lift the weight of grief.
I didnt apologise for intruding. It wouldve offended her. After breakfast, I dozed off again, waking at dusk. Bobby snored beside me. Id never slept so long.
“Goodness, what time is it?” I scrambled up. The house was quiet. Had I lost my mind? Sleeping a full day in a strangers home, in a town I didnt know?
Then I noticed the roomposters on the walls, dumbbells by the window. A boys room. A photo frame showed two young men in uniform.
Auntie Rose returned just then. “Sleepyheads! Its nearly supper time.”
I flushed. “Im so sorryI dont know what came over me.”
“Sleep heals,” she said simply. “Now, lets eat. I bought cakeswe deserve a little celebration.”
Over rabbit stew (a gift from her admirer, a farmer with 135 rabbits, all named), she told me her story.
“I lost my son too. He was older than yoursa training accident in the army. After the funeral, my husband and I grew apart. He drank himself to death. I nearly followed, until an old woman told me I had to live if I ever wanted to see my boy again. The pain changes. It becomes softer.”
For the first time, I didnt want to leave. This house, this woman, even Bobbythey felt like home.
The next morning, a knock interrupted us. Nick stood at the door, rumpled but sober.
“No lover, then?” he muttered, stepping inside.
Auntie Rose laughed. “Pancakes for breakfast. Do you like mushrooms?”
We stayed two more days, wandering the snowy lanes of the townnot the “backwater” Nick had called it, but a lovely place called Hampford. We held hands the whole time. To outsiders, we mustve looked like any happy couple, not the broken souls wed been.
Coming home, I feared the spell would break. But Nicks grip was firm. “Worst case, Ill run away again,” I thought, smirking.
“Well need a new rug,” Nick said, eyeing the whisky stain.
“Or keep it. Like Auntie Rose kept her sons weights and posters.”
That night, we cleared Williams room. Not with sorrow, but with quiet fondness. Who would he have given his toy cars to? Would he have ever worn that hideous green cap I bought in Spain?
Nick strapped on a gorilla mask, imitating the time hed let William wear it to the zoo. “Who knew mothers could be so jumpy?”
We packed bags for the childrens home, set aside keepsakes. We were brave. Not a single tear.
Later, in bed, Nick finally spoke the truth: “It wasnt my fault.” The accident was just thatan accident. No more blame than youd give a hare darting across the path.
That night, I slept in his arms for the first time in ages. In the morning, he brought coffee. “Share?” he said, smiling.
****
Nine months later, William got a sister. I think she was conceived that night.
When I told Nick, he kissed me, then pressed his hands to my belly. No words needed.
Auntie Rose married her rabbit farmer. We attended the wedding instead of going abroad. Life, in its strange way, had given us a second chance.
**Lesson learned:** Grief doesnt vanish, but it changes shape. Sometimes, salvation comes in the form of a stubborn old woman, a cheeky poodle, and cinnamon buns that demand silent praise.
