Dear Diary,
I still remember how early I was thrust into solitude. My father had been gone long before I even reached my teenage years, and when I was in my final year at university the loss of my mother hit like a sudden summer storm. I was juggling my dissertation, my exams, and the crushing grief of watching my world unravel. It was then that Jacobs parents, Susan and Peter Thompson, stepped in as the only family I could cling to.
I met Jacob in our second year; we had been friends since the third. Susan and Peter treated me as one of their own, their warmth wrapping around me like a cozy blanket. My mothers memory seemed to hover over every conversation, a silent reminder of what was missing. Everyone hoped that once my studies were over we would marry and build a life together.
Our wedding was modest, a simple affair in a little chapel on the outskirts of Manchester. I felt a pang of sadness that my mother would not live to see it, and I recalled her last words to me: Before you walk down the aisle, darling, you must get a full medical checkup. She knew what she was talking about. As a child I had suffered a severe injury when I slipped off an icy hill; the doctors had warned that it might affect my future health as a woman, though they could never give a definitive answer.
True to my mothers advice, I underwent the examination again before the wedding. The results were mostly reassuring, but the question of whether I could ever bear a child remained a lingering shadow.
When I first broached the subject with Susan, she paused, then said, If theres even the slightest chance, dont lose hope yet. Ill speak with Jacob myself. A few days later, after Jacobs stag night, he stumbled home, halfdrunk and visibly upset. I want children, Evelyn, he blurted. What if we never have them? Would we still be a family? I burst into tears, telling him the decision was his, but that we could try. The doctors had given us a glimmer of hope, and Jacob was the only man I had ever truly loved.
The first year of marriage brought no result. Susan, who had come to love me as a daughter, and Peter threw every ounce of their energy into keeping our family afloat. They enrolled me in the NHS Womens Health Programme, hoping the specialist care might unlock the possibility of motherhood. It helped in many ways but did not change the outcome.
Two years later the truth became stark: the odds were against us. Jacobs frustration grew, and an uneasy tension settled over the house. He never blamed me, yet he could not accept a childless future. I suggested adoption, Lets take a little one in and raise him as our own. Jacob recoiled. That child will never be my son, he said coldly. I cant love him the way a father should. Strangely, Susan and Peter supported the idea wholeheartedly; they knew how much Jacob yearned for a child and felt it would be cruel to deny a child a loving home.
Even though my heart ached for Jacob, I whispered, Maybe we should part ways, love. Youre still young; youll find another partner and have children. He hesitated, but when he met Olivia, a bright new colleague who had just started at his firm, he seemed to find a new direction. The conversation with me was painful; he felt he was betraying me, while I tried to console him: You deserve a happier fate, Jacob. Dont blame yourself. That night he packed his things and left our flat, taking only his belongings.
Susan and Peter visited me later, apologising for not steering Jacob away from his turmoil. They shared tea, spoke from the heart, and promised they would always be there for me, as if I were their own daughter. Their words meant little in the end; I sat alone in the little flat we had once shared, mourning what could have been.
Soon after, I met Paul Whitaker, a kind man with a gentle smile who tried his best to wrap me in his care. Yet I could not love him. Jacob haunted my dreams, his sad eyes and tender hands reaching out, never quite touching. I fought the memories, trying to push him from my mind, yearning for a fresh start.
One winter night, after preparing dinner for Paul, I felt a sudden weakness. By morning my temperature had spiked, and Paul called an ambulance, staying by my side the whole night. When I recovered, he confessed, That night I barely left your side. You kept calling his name, holding his hand, begging me not to leave. Do you still love him? I answered truthfully, Yes. I think Im a oneheart woman. Its hard for me, Paul. I cant build a relationship without love. I left him, and he did not protest.
A few months later I learned Jacob had finally fathered a son, a boy named Eddie. The news struck me like a fresh blow, confirming the depth of my loss. I spent three years drifting, a haze of sorrow, though Jacobs parents kept their promise to visit and offer moral support. I held no grudge against them or against Jacob.
One afternoon I saw Jacob and Eddie playing in a park. I stood at the edge, unnoticed, and tears fell freely. Yet slowly, I began to find my footing again. Knowing that Jacob was happy, that Eddie had a caring mother, and that his grandparents adored their grandson eased some of the ache.
On my birthday, Jacob called, friendly and brief, wishing me well. It tugged at old wounds, reminding me how fragile peace can be. A year later, tragedy struck again: Olivia fell ill, and Susan called to say there was little hope left. I felt an inexplicable pull to be there, standing among mourners at the cemetery, offering a quiet thank you to Susan for her kindness. Her former motherinlaw embraced me, whispering, You have no malice, Evelyn. Thank you for being you.
Jacob phoned months after that, asking to meet. I invited him over, sensing his weariness. He seemed older, his youthful vigor faded. We sat at a modest table, and he asked, Why dont you marry again? I answered simply, I love you, and I need no other. He wept, a sight I had never seen before, and it moved me deeply.
He later suggested we visit the Thompson house to pick up Eddie, then perhaps take a walk together. The boy was shy, his eyes wide with the confusion of losing a mother so early. I tried to stay neutral, not overstepping, while he watched me with curious interest. Our meetings became a regular, lowkey routine on weekends, a way to fill the quiet spaces in our lives.
Then Susan called, saying Jacob was considering asking me back, still unsure but hopeful. I called Jacob without hesitation, telling him I was willing. No one else mattered to me now. We moved back in together, though Jacob remained reserved, and I had to learn how to love a child who wasnt mine.
On my next birthday, Eddie handed me a drawing of the three of us beneath a sunny sky, his little hand scribbling Mum above my head. Tears streamed down my face as I hugged him, saying, Your mum watches over you, proud of the wonderful boy you are. I love you too, my son.
Life settled into a gentle rhythm. Jacob thawed, his affection returning, and I finally felt the happiness I had chased for years alone. Though Im not a devout believer, I sometimes step into the local church to light a candle for my mother, the woman who set me on this winding path, grateful for the son and the love that eventually found me.
