**Diary Entry**
“Charlotte, you cant leave me! What am I supposed to do without you?”
“The same thing you always dodrink from morning till night!”
I slammed the front door and collapsed into the drivers seat, tears streaming down my face. How had it come to this? Just a year ago, our family had been the picture of happinessenvied, of course. People always envy what they dont have. Thats just how the world works.
***
“Charlie, get readypack your things, and dont forget warm clothes! Ive got a surprise for you and Oliver!”
My husband, Williamor “Willy,” as I teasingly called himloved surprises. This time, he took us to the countryside for a snowmobile ride. His colleague had recently bought a cottage about sixty miles outside London. And not just any cottagean actual manor house, complete with turrets and stone walls that made the word “fence” seem laughable.
“Well? What do you think?” William 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 inside was even more unsettling than the outside, but the men loved it, and who was I to argue about taste? It wasnt my style, but that didnt matter. The stuffed animal heads hanging on the walls made me cringe, even if William insisted they were replicas. Meanwhile, he and Oliver happily devoured steaks right under the gaping jaws of a boar. Oliver, ever the little adventurer, ran around swinging a toy sword at imaginary monsters. I kept my eyes fixed on the fire, trying to ignore the eerie decor.
Maybe the memory of that day is so dark because it was the last of our old life. Soon after, the owner rolled out two snowmobiles from the garageand one of them took Olivers life. William, whod been driving, never escaped the guilt. He drowned himself in whisky, and I I dont know why I was stronger. The pain was unbearable, but I refused to let it consume me. No one around me suffered as I did. They had no idea what it was like to face their happiness every day while my world had shattered.
Sometimes, I wanted to join Williamto numb the pain with alcohol. But I knew it would only make things worse. Drunkenness magnifies emotions, and right then, feeling anything was dangerous. Anger, bitterness, resentmentthats how William lived, hiding behind those emotions like a tortoise in its shell.
I hadnt planned to leave him. I just needed space. So I drovepast service stations, roadside cafés, even a hotel where I slept for a few hours. My mind was blank. I wasnt heading anywhere; I was running from everything.
I dont remember turning off the motorway, but eventually, I ended up in a sleepy little town. I parked near a small green and sat there, motionless.
“Youll freeze out here.”
A voice startled me. An elderly woman walking a tiny, snow-white poodle tapped on my window.
“Are you waiting for someone?”
“Something happened,” I whispered.
Funny how its easier to confess to a stranger. No judgment, no digging into your past for faults that “explain” your suffering. Just quiet understanding.
Somehow, I found myself in her cosy kitchen, clutching a mug of chamomile tea, tears soaking a crumpled tissue.
“Charlotte, Ive made up the sofa for you. Rest, then carry on to wherever nowhere is.”
I nodded, too exhausted to argue.
The next morning, I woke to sunlight filtering through lace curtains, the tick of a wall clock, and a rough little tongue licking my hand.
“Benny!” I laughed, remembering the poodles name. His face looked like it was smiling.
“Benny, leave the poor girl alone. Especially before breakfast.”
Auntie Roseas shed introduced herselfbustled in with a tray of cinnamon buns and fresh coffee.
“Dont overpraise them,” she warned. “Baked goods prefer silent admiration.”
I took a bite and nearly groaned. They were divine.
Memories of William bringing me breakfast in bed flitted through my mindsandwiches, yoghurt, even the occasional sardine (not ideal for waking up). For the first time in months, the thought made me smile instead of ache.
I didnt want to apologise for intruding. It wouldve felt wrong. After breakfast, I dozed off again, waking at dusk with Benny curled beside me. The house was quiet.
I dressed quickly, noticing the rooms decorposters, a dumbbell by the window, a desk cluttered with knick-knacks. A framed photo of two young men in uniform caught my eye.
The front door opened, and Auntie Rose called, “Sleeping beauties! Time for dinner!”
Over rabbit stew (a gift from her admirer, a farmer with 135 rabbits”each with a name!”), she told me her story.
“I lost my son too. Not in war, but an accident. His father and I fell apart. He drank himself to death. I nearly gave up, until an old woman told me I had to keep livingotherwise, Id never see my boy again. The pain changes, Charlotte. It becomes softer, almost sweet. Im grateful for the time I had.”
For the first time in months, I didnt feel alone.
The next morning, a knock at the door startled us. William stood there, rumpled and unshaven.
“No lover, then?” he muttered, stepping inside.
“Lover?”
“Thought you mightve found one in this backwater.”
Auntie Rose chuckled. “Pancakes and pickled mushroomsgood for hangovers.”
We laughed for hours. William admitted hed smashed a whisky bottle after I left, then panicked when he realised he might lose me too.
“I tracked your location. Thought youd run off with some muscle-bound bloke. Turns out it was just Auntie Rose.”
We stayed two more days, walking snowy lanes hand in hand, feeding pigeons crusty rolls. To outsiders, we mustve looked like any happy couple.
Returning home was terrifying. But Williams hand in mine steadied me.
“Well need a new rug,” he said, eyeing the whisky stain.
“Or keep it. Like Auntie Rose kept her sons room.”
We cleared Olivers things that nightdonating toys, saving keepsakes. No tears, just quiet pride. Later, in bed, William finally said it: “It wasnt my fault.”
The tree, the snowmobileit was an accident. No one to blame.
I fell asleep in his arms for the first time in a year.
***
Nine months later, Olivers sister was bornlikely conceived that night. When I told William, he kissed me, then pressed his hands to my belly, warming the life inside.
We never made it to the seaside that summer. Instead, we visited Auntie Rose, whod married her rabbit farmer. At their August wedding, I watched herradiant, laughingand knew pain didnt have to be the end.
Sometimes, its just the start of something new.
