15October2025
Dear Diary,
Dad has finally handed me the keys to what he calls my room. The moment I stepped inside, the flat felt like a showroom. A sleek doublebed draped in a ridiculous, fluffy quilt, a desk with a laptop perched on it, a mirrored wardrobe, and a rectangular rug with a geometric pattern all stared back at me. Everything is immaculate, stylish, and expensivenothing like the cramped, pastelpainted space I grew up in.
Dad wheeled in two large suitcases loaded with my things and set them beside the wardrobe. Youll sort it out yourself, wont you? he asked. Of course he expects me to manage everything. He never asks, Can I help? and certainly not my mothershe isnt here anymore.
Clare, my new stepmum, appeared holding a potted plant with long, narrow leaves. She placed it on the windowsill and, with a bright smile, said, Itll look lovely here. I stood there, silent and sourfaced. Lets go, Simon, she said, patting my dads shoulder and ushering him toward the door.
Settle in, she whispered as she gently closed the door behind me. I repeated the phrase in my head, feeling a hollow echo. I flopped onto the bed, turned my back to the wall, curled up, hugged my knees, and shut my eyes.
Mom, why? Why did you leave? Why didnt you rush to the hospital? Why did you let it go this far? The words tumbled out of my throat, though I knew Id never get an answer. For ten years I was my mothers little girl. After she passed, I saw my father only on rare, strained visits. The evenings we spent together, watching television, sharing her homemade cakes and steaming tea, are now just memories. Now I have to live with strangers who barely know my name. He calls me daughter, a word that feels foreign, and I cant even bring myself to say dad out loud.
Ive always imagined that wealthy men, after a divorce, would marry glamorous models whose lips look like they belong on a billboard. Instead, Clare is younger than my father, short, with a bob haircut, and runs a modest legal practice. Shes clever, perhaps too businesslike, unlike my mothers warm kitchen where the air always smelled of roast or fresh pastry. Clare often orders takeaway instead of cooking.
Did she arrange this room for me? I wondered, running my hand over the soft, long pile of the quiltsomething Ive never owned before.
At the new secondary school I quickly made friends, mostly because of my fathers money and my looks. The girls decided it was easier to be allies than rivals. I used to keep to a few classmates and my mother, but now the new crowd accepted me, understood me, and I felt needed. For the first time I noticed the attention boys gave me, and it thrilled me in secret.
At first I was genuinely upset about everything, and the teachers took me in as the girl who lives with a distant dad and a cold stepmum. I liked that label and, later, I nurtured it deliberately. I overheard a classmate whisper to a boy, Whats she saying about her stepmum? My mothers friend works for her and says shes a decent lady.
One night I came home very late; Dad said, I know you want to spend time with friends, so I didnt call. But please dont stay out so late again. Deal? I gave no answer and retreated to my room.
The next weekend we planned a little gettogether, but I switched my phone off. When I got home, Dads face was a storm cloud. If it happens again, Ill have to act, he warned. I shot him a sharp glance and marched into my room, where Clare was sitting on the bed. She sprang up at my entrance.
I wanted to talk, she said. I stayed silent, my expression saying, What else do you want? Clare seemed flustered, losing her composure.
Emily, hes worried about you.
Im nearly sixteen! I snapped.
Still, I started coming home on time so as not to anger Dad. I had a plan for my sixteenth birthdaya party with friends. My older brothers friend had offered us a flat for the night. Id been seeing a boy I liked and hoped to spend the evening alone with him.
Later Dad announced, Clare booked a table for tomorrow. Well celebrate your birthday. You can invite your friends if you like.
What? A restaurant? With you? I balked. I was planning a party with my mates!
When were you going to tell me? he asked.
I dont knowmaybe tomorrow.
So on the actual day? he repeated. Fine, you can have a gathering at our house, and Clare will sort the food.
The thought of spending my birthday with Dad and Clare made my stomach twist into knots. Their plans were already in motionMaxs brother, whose flat wed use, had even arranged the alcohol. I felt the walls closing in. I left for school, promising myself Id think of something.
That evening the hallway was bright. An irate Dad stood before me. What do you think youre doing? He stepped closer, smelling faintly of whisky and cigarette smoke. What do you think youre doing? he snarled, raising his hand as if to strike.
Simon! I shouted. Behind us Clare appeared, eyes wide with panic, mascara smudged from recent tears. She gently pushed Dad aside, took my shoulders, and led me to the bedroom.
Did someone hurt you? Did something happen? she whispered. I shook my head. No, everythings fine.
Shell speak to your father, Clare promised, and see how we can help.
Dad hovered at the door, nervous, while Clare fetched me a glass of water. I sipped it hungrily, grateful for the cool relief.
The next morning I woke to find Dads face pale, his eyes rimmed with worry. The accident had left us both bruised, but the worst part was the lingering fear. The doctor said the airbag had done its job and the childmewas unscathed.
Later, as Clare opened the curtains, she handed me a glass of water. Happy birthday, she said, trying to smile. I managed a weak nod.
Do you hate me? I asked suddenly.
The father left because of you, she replied.
That isnt true, I muttered. We met a year after he left.
Exactly! What if he came back?
She sighed. Things arent that simple, Emily. Adults often cant patch things up after a split.
Why? Whats stopping them? My mother was wonderful!
Your mother was wonderful, Clare agreed, reaching for my hand, but I pulled back. Adult relationships are messy. Sometimes they end, and nobodys wholly at fault.
I thought of the boy who had shown up at my birthday with another girl, announcing he was breaking up with me. So if hes the one to blame, does that make him the only culprit? I asked.
Maybe, she said thoughtfully.
A sudden wave of longing washed over me: I wanted a hug, a comforting presence, someone to take away the knot in my chest from the betrayal yesterday. Clare seemed to sense it, pulling me close.
Emily, she whispered, I cant replace your mother, but Id like to be a friend. She confessed that shed fallen in love for the first time at sixteen, only to discover the boy was also seeing another girl.
What did you do? I asked.
We both broke up with him, she replied.
Where was my fault?
I spent too much time on my studies.
We laughed together, the tension easing.
Lets go out today, Clare suggested. You go to school, Ill finish work, and well splurge a bit of your dads money.
I smiled uncertainly. Sounds good. I talked to him yesterday; he said we could pick any gift for you.
We chatted excitedly about shopping, oblivious to the sudden screech of brakes outside, the terrifying jolt as the car lurched, the piercing sound of metal grinding, and then a muffled thud before silence.
Later, in the hospital, I saw Dads silhouette at the end of the corridor and waved. He rushed to me, cradling my shoulders, eyes wide with panic. Are you alright? Any cuts? He examined my bruises, his voice trembling. Im sorry about everything.
Wheres Clare? I asked.
On the other ward. Shes fineshe was hit from the other side.
He pressed me close, his breath shaking. Im ashamed of what happened yesterday. He stroked my back gently. Lets forget it, okay?
A doctor entered, confirming the injuries were just bruises and shock, the airbag had saved us. The child is unharmed, he said, smiling faintly.
Dad lingered, still halfin disbelief. I guess I still have a child, he murmured.
I rolled my eyes. Soon Ill have a brother or sister.
For the first time in months, I felt a flicker of something like hope, however fragile, as I stared at the ceiling of the ward, the soft hum of machines, and the distant chatter of nurses.
Emily.
