**Diary Entry: A Broken Promise and a New Dawn**
*»Forget you ever had a daughter,»* my daughter Emily said sharply, like a knife to the heart.
It had been building for months, each step heavier than the last. My heart ached for her, for my ex-husband—for the life we’d lost.
We were once the picture of a perfect family—full of love, understanding, and unwavering support. Then, in an instant, it crumbled. Emily had just turned fifteen, the age of rebellion, when her father left for another woman. How could she understand? How could she accept it? She spiralled—questionable friends, shady lads, alcohol… and I felt helpless.
I was lost too. Should I forgive him if he crawled back? Could I live with the constant doubt? There were no answers.
But James—oh, James knew how to love. We’d met in secondary school. He swept me off my feet with grand gestures and endless charm. I fell head over heels. No other man stood a chance. My parents adored him—said I’d never find a better match.
Our wedding was unforgettable, the kind people talk about for years. Then came the ordinary days, but James made them extraordinary. I’d come home to rose petals scattered across our bed.
*»What’s the occasion?»* I’d ask, kissing his cheek.
*»Guess, Lucy!»* he’d laugh. *»Today’s the day I sat next to you in maths class!»*
*»Oh, stop!»* I’d wave him off, but inside, my heart soared. He remembered the little things. What a man.
Once, he returned from a business trip with armfuls of skincare. *»Lucy, drop those pots and pans. I want a wife who pampers herself, not a scullery maid,»* he’d say, pulling me onto the sofa.
Years passed, and James remained tender, attentive. I was proud. Emily worshipped him. Our family business thrived—we wanted for nothing. Life was sweet.
Then we moved to London for better opportunities. We left everything behind, chasing new horizons.
At first, it was seamless. The business grew. We met a sharp, ambitious woman—a potential partner. If only I’d known what she’d cost us.
Back then, everything was golden. James and I planned for another child. Foolish.
One day, Emily came home from school, hesitant. *»Mum… is Dad really on a business trip?»*
*»Of course—why?»*
*»Well… Sophie saw him at Tesco. Probably a mistake.»* She vanished into her room.
My stomach twisted. Sophie was Emily’s best friend—she wouldn’t mistake James for anyone. I called her.
*»Sophie, love, did you see Uncle James today? I can’t reach him.»*
*»Yeah, Aunt Lucy. He was with some woman. Laughing, hugging…»*
James had been gone five days.
I waited for the truth to surface.
Three days later, he returned—exhausted but cheerful.
*»Good trip?»* I asked, tightening the screws.
*»Yeah, fine.»*
*»I know everything, James. There was no trip.»*
*»What are you on about, Lucy?»*
*»Witnesses, James. You weren’t in Manchester.»*
*»Feed me first, then shout,»* he joked.
I wanted it to be a joke. A misunderstanding. But the truth sat heavy between us—unspoken, suffocating.
Emily sensed it. Children always do.
I couldn’t bring myself to dig deeper. Surely he wouldn’t leave—not now, not when I was pregnant.
But the unthinkable happened. An ambulance rushed me to hospital. I left without my baby. The doctor called it stress. Of course—I was a live wire, burning out.
James’s hands were free. He left for that woman—bold, ruthless.
Emily and I grieved. The world tilted. Without her, I might have given up. But her pain kept me grounded. She needed me. Slowly, she steadied—no more late nights, no more recklessness. She saved me.
We rebuilt. Learned to breathe again.
Two years later, James turned up on our doorstep. I couldn’t stand the sight of him. Too much hurt.
*»How are you, Lucy?»* he asked, stupidly.
*»Why do you care?»*
*»Is Emily home?»*
She stepped out, arms crossed, eyes cold.
*»Em, please—forgive me,»* he begged.
*»Forget you ever had a daughter,»* she said, and walked away.
*»Need her to repeat that?»* I sneered.
He left.
Later, I heard his mistress took everything—the business, his money. He came back expecting forgiveness. Empty-handed.
Three years on, Emily was at university, I worked at a firm. Peace, at last. I dreamed of seeing her marry well, of retiring with a kitten or a pup. At thirty-seven, what more did I need?
Then fate smiled.
Turkish delegates often visited my office. One—Fatih—flooded me with attention. Charming, handsome, relentless. I surrendered.
He won my parents over—cooked for them, joked, invited them to Istanbul. Even Emily approved.
*»Mum, Fatih—be happy,»* she said.
In time, she forgave James. She even invited him to her wedding.