**Diary Entry**
When Emily married Daniel, she was certain it was love for a lifetime. She adored him, striving to be the perfect wife—someone he could always rely on, someone who’d never let him down.
Emily was the kind of woman impossible not to love. Warm, open-hearted, with a radiant smile, she was always ready to help. Even her mother-in-law, Margaret Whitmore, received her tireless support. A single call—a complaint about back pain or exhaustion—and Emily would rush over to clean, cook, or fetch groceries.
“Oh, how lucky I am to have you, darling,” Margaret would sigh. “My son’s no help at all—not that I expect anything from men! I always wished for a daughter, but fate gave me you instead.”
The praise warmed Emily’s heart. She redoubled her efforts, not wanting to disappoint. And truthfully, Margaret wasn’t wrong: Daniel seldom lifted a finger—not for her, not for the house.
But that wasn’t the only issue. Daniel believed housework wasn’t his concern. Emily didn’t mind—she enjoyed creating a cosy home. The real problem was his endless nitpicking. The floors weren’t spotless. The soup needed more salt.
His complaints soon sharpened. He accused her of overspending, though she earned her own money and never asked him for a penny.
“How much does that manicure cost?” he sneered.
“Forty pounds,” she murmured, as if apologising.
“Forty quid every month!” he exploded. “We could’ve saved for a car!”
“But you spend that on your gym membership,” she ventured.
“That’s different! The gym’s about health, strength! Yours is just vanity!”
His grievances piled up like snowdrifts. Next, he begrudged her monthly café meet-ups with friends—just once a month, yet it irked him.
“Why gallivant about without your husband?” he grumbled. “Stay home.”
Emily was gentle, conflict-averse—but even her saintly patience snapped. Arguments became daily; understanding vanished. After three years, she filed for divorce. Daniel resisted—not to save the marriage, but because he couldn’t stand losing control. Emily had had enough.
Once he moved out, Margaret called.
“Emily, how could you?” she wailed. “Why rush to divorce?”
Emily sighed. Explaining herself was the last thing she wanted, but she answered anyway.
“It wasn’t sudden, Margaret. I tried to fix things, but Daniel refused to compromise. The constant criticism… I’m exhausted.”
“But you were such a lovely pair!” Margaret near-sobbed. “And I adore you! What will I do without you?”
Emily needed support herself, yet Margaret, as always, made it about her.
“Why without me?” Emily said softly. “We can still talk. The divorce doesn’t mean I’ll vanish. Call if you need anything—I’ll help.”
“Oh, darling, you’re an angel!” Margaret chirped. “So we’re not saying goodbye?”
“Of course not.”
The divorce bruised Emily. Daniel, who fancied himself flawless, couldn’t stomach being dumped. But soon, everything settled. Emily realised she felt no regret—his relentless demands had smothered her love long ago. Once, he’d seemed her dream man. Had he changed, or had she seen him through rose-tinted glasses?
She started anew, blocking Daniel everywhere. He didn’t fight it—but Margaret clung on.
A week post-divorce, she rang:
“Darling, how are you?”
“Fine,” Emily said. “And you?”
It was a polite reflex, but Margaret pounced.
“Oh, dreadful! My blood pressure’s awful, I can barely walk. Asked Daniel to fetch my medicine, but he refused! However will I manage?”
Emily caught the hint. Too kind to abandon an elderly woman, she caved.
“I’ll bring them, Margaret. Text me the list—I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Oh, my saviour!” Margaret trilled. “I knew I could count on you!”
Emily postponed her plans, bought the medicine, and spent two hours at Margaret’s—sipping tea, enduring complaints.
Her hope that the calls would dwindle was dashed. Margaret demanded more: groceries, cleaning, even a lift to the shopping centre. Once, Emily snapped:
“Why can’t Daniel help?”
Margaret mumbled excuses. Guilt pricked Emily—”She’s struggling, and I’m being harsh.”
Soon, she saw Margaret more than her own mother. Calls came at all hours; refusal triggered such theatrical despair that Emily cancelled plans to appease her.
After all, we’re responsible for those we tame. Emily had offered help freely—but she hadn’t expected such shameless exploitation.
It might’ve continued indefinitely, had Margaret not slipped up.
One day, she called again:
“Darling, my sister’s visiting. Can you drive us to the countryside tomorrow?”
“Not too early,” Emily said wearily.
“Oh, but we’d hoped for nine…?”
“Fine,” Emily agreed, mourning her weekend.
“Thank you, love! What would I do without you?”
Emily nearly hung up—then heard Margaret’s sister:
“So, she agreed?”
Margaret had forgotten to end the call. Eavesdropping felt wrong, but the topic hooked her.
“Of course she agreed!” Margaret scoffed. “Where else would she go?”
“How do you manage it?” her sister marvelled. “Divorced your son, yet she still runs errands.”
“Because she’s naïve,” Margaret said flatly. “Eager to please. Frankly, I’m glad they split—Daniel needs a sharper woman. This one’s better off helping me. Why burden him when she’ll do it?”
Emily’s breath caught. Rage boiled in her chest. All that kindness—and this was Margaret’s gratitude?
The next morning, Emily didn’t budge. She slept till noon, revelling in silence. Waking to a dozen missed calls, she answered cheerily:
“Sorry, overslept!”
“But we agreed on nine!”
“Leaving now—meet you in fifteen!”
“We’ve been ready for ages,” Margaret griped.
Emily sipped her coffee, smirking. Fifteen minutes later, the calls resumed.
“Emily, where are you?”
“Outside your building! Look closer.”
“We don’t see you!”
“Odd—I don’t see you either,” she drawled. “Wait… I’m at the neighbour’s! Always mixing them up. Come over—I’ll wait.”
When the calls persisted, Emily tired of the charade. She texted Margaret: *I heard everything. Lose my number.* Then blocked her.
As she stirred her coffee, lightness filled her. She should’ve cut them both off sooner. Now, she was free. And somehow, she knew—something truly good lay ahead.
