**Diary Entry**
I never thought Id be reduced to begging. Yet here I was, swallowing my pride.
“Emily, as your husband, Ill set one condition. Lets forget this foolish affair with that lovesick boy. But grant me one thinggive me a son.” I sounded pathetic, even to myself.
“All right, David, Ill try,” she murmured, though her voice lacked conviction. The weight of this bargain pressed on her, but she agreed.
We had three daughterstwelve-year-old Charlotte, nine-year-old Sophie, and eight-year-old Grace. Our home was once full of laughter. Then that smug, twenty-year-old lad, Oliver, waltzed in and tore everything apart. They say its not the years that age you, but the grief.
The girls were confused. Their mother, once warm and attentive, became distant, preoccupied. The house grew neglecteddust settled on every surface, dishes piled in the sink. I snapped at the smallest things, lost in how to bring my straying wife back.
It began six months earlier, on a holiday cruise. Emily had taken the girls to the seaside. She returned distracted, her answers vague, her kisses absent. Something wasnt right. I ignored the signs, unwilling to face the truth until it was undeniable.
“Dad, Mum spent the whole trip holding hands with Oliver,” Sophie blurted one evening, innocent to the knife shed just twisted.
“Tell me more, love,” I said, forcing calm.
“He was always with us. Made Mum laugh. Even saw us off at the station. Handsome, stylish. Younger than you.” Her words shattered me.
I told myself it was just a holiday fling. Surely no young buck like Oliver would settle for a thirty-year-old woman with three children. But I was wrong. Their affair became something deeper, something no plea or guilt could undo.
Emily did give me a sonWilliam. But he was never mine. I saw him only a handful of times before she left me for Oliver, taking the boy with her. I was left with the girls. The cold in my chest nearly drove me to despair.
“Dad, if Mums gone, well cook, clean, do the washing. Well take care of you,” little Grace said, wiping my tears with her sleeve. It was the only time I let myself break.
I mourned, then pulled myself together. Three little ladies depended on me. I taught them what I couldsometimes harshly, regrettably. But the house regained its warmth. Charlotte adored scrubbing dishes, Sophie swept floors with pride, Grace dusted relentlessly. I managed the cooking, however poorly.
Emily visited occasionally, but her presence only reopened wounds. The girls wept for days after. So I asked her to stay away, for their sake.
“David, I love them. Youre asking me to abandon them?” she protested.
“No. Im asking you to spare them. Let them grow before they decide if they want to see you.” My words must have struck true, for she agreed.
As teenagers, the girls despised their mother and William. I think they envied himhe had her love, her attention.
When they married, their bitterness softened. Charlotte and Sophie had four children each; Grace, three. They became devoted mothers, as if making up for what theyd lost.
I live alone now. Thereve been women over the years, but I called each one Emily. Whod tolerate that? My heart never moved on. So I remain a bachelor, resigned.
Emily, at sixty, passed quietly. A week before, she came to me unexpectedly, weeping, begging forgiveness, lamenting Williams choices. Hed transitioned, became Willowhappy, she said, but it had broken her.
Her will was a final twist. Oliver, whod built a fortune and placed it all in her name, was left with nothing. Everything went to the girls and Willow. The shock sent him to hospital.
The girls offered their inheritance to me. “Take it, Dad. You deserve it.” I refused. That money wasnt mineit burned my hands. I passed it to their children instead.
Oliver declared bankruptcy, pleading with my daughters for help. They turned him away. “You took our mother, our childhood. Now leave us be.”
Willow married an Italian named Roberto, living abroad now. They plan to adopt, Grace tells me. Charlotte and Sophie refuse to acknowledge her.
All this unfolded after I moved us to England, chasing a better life.
**Lesson learned:** Some wounds never heal. But lovewhether given, lost, or deniedleaves its mark forever.
