**Diary Entry**
*”Stop acting the fool. Where did Mother hide the ring? Did you take it? Speak!” Paul’s grip tightened painfully on Beth’s shoulders.*
Beth had never been pretty. When her grandmother first saw her in the hospital, she’d frowned. “You’re naming her Emily?” her mother had murmured tenderly.
“Emilys are lovely, but your daughter—forgive me—won’t be. Name her Elizabeth. After your grandmother,” the older woman sighed.
At nursery, the other girls were rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed, with golden curls and dimples. Beth was awkward, mousy-haired, her thin strands frizzing no matter how tightly her grandmother braided them.
“She’ll struggle, poor thing. Who’d marry a girl like that? I told you to pick a man with better looks,” her grandmother clucked, tying limp bows over Beth’s plaits.
“Mum, stop! She’ll grow into herself,” her mother insisted.
By twelve, Beth hadn’t. Tall, angular, with a boyish crop, she towered over her classmates. Boys called her “Beanpole.” She buried herself in books, friendless.
At sixteen, she skipped the Christmas dance. The dress she’d bought no longer fit.
“Why are you home?” her mother asked, returning from work.
“Why did you even have me? So I could suffer? Boys call me names, no one asks me to dance. I’m hideous!” Beth sobbed.
“Love, even beautiful people don’t always have happy lives. Beauty isn’t everything,” her mother soothed.
“What is, then? Money? You can buy anything with money—even looks. But we don’t have that either. I’ll never marry. Never have a daughter to suffer like me.”
“People fall for faces, but they stay for hearts,” her mother said gently.
“Who’d want *my* heart? You’ve said I’m sour. And why wouldn’t I be?” Beth’s voice cracked. “Did you ever think to pick a better-looking father?”
After school, Beth chose nursing college over university. Sick as a child, she’d admired the nurses—angelic in their caps, their hair tucked away. Fewer boys to mock her there.
She graduated top of her class. Patients adored her. She listened to their aches, their lonely stories. Mostly, she cared for the elderly.
But sometimes, younger men lingered. One, Robert, flirted shamelessly. He kissed her in the supply room, promised to call. Weeks passed. Beth nearly went to his flat.
“Don’t be daft. He’s married,” the head nurse said.
“You’re just jealous,” Beth snapped.
“Check his file. Wife’s number’s right there. Two kids—newborn. That’s why he sweet-talked you. Free meals, apples from your lunchbox.”
Beth wept. The nurse hugged her. “Men fancy nurses. You’ll find someone.”
An elegant older patient, Margaret, had no visitors. No oranges, no homemade treats.
“Why does no one come?” Beth asked.
“Son’s abroad. No need to bother him,” Margaret said.
“But you’ll be alone after discharge! Let me help.” Hesitant, Margaret agreed.
Beth kept her word—cooking, cleaning, shopping. She loved the spacious flat.
“My husband was a general,” Margaret said over tea. “This flat was his final posting. My son wanted to sell it. We argued. His father… it broke his heart.”
One night, Margaret showed Beth a hidden ring. “A gift from an old comrade. A rare diamond. My husband meant to donate it, but…” she sighed. “Now my son wants it.”
Months later, Margaret collapsed. Beth arrived too late. With no way to contact the son, she arranged the funeral herself, using money tucked in Margaret’s burial clothes.
Two weeks later, a neighbor called—the son, Paul, had come.
Beth rushed over. A handsome forty-five-year-old answered.
“Why didn’t you visit? I couldn’t reach you!”
“We always fought. My wife… Mother was right about her. I divorced too late.” He wept. “You cared for her. Thank you.”
Beth stayed. Paul spoke of regret, love unspoken. She pitied him. Then she loved him.
He promised to renovate the flat, marry her. She believed him.
One evening, overhearing his phone call, she froze.
*”Just wait. She’ll trust me… Don’t be jealous. She’s plain, scrawny… Once I inherit, we’ll—”*
Beth’s stomach dropped. Paul wanted the ring.
Days later, she returned to chaos—drawers ransacked, books gutted.
“What are you doing?”
Paul spun, eyes cold. “Where’s the ring?”
Beth feigned ignorance. He seized her. “Don’t play dumb. *Where is it?*”
Margaret’s portrait hung crooked. Beth acted fast—snatching the taped bundle behind it. She fled.
At the museum, the director confirmed the diamond’s rarity. “It’ll go to London for examination.”
Beth exhaled. Done. Paul wouldn’t get it.
On the bus home, she wept—not for Paul, but herself. Again, she’d been fooled.
*Enough. No more trust. Maybe adopt. No passing on this face, this misery. But no rush—I’m only twenty-eight.*
At the hospital, her patients waited—ready to share joys, sorrows, grateful for the nurse whose hands never faltered with the needle.
**Lesson:** Beauty fades, but cruelty lingers. And sometimes, the kindest hearts are the easiest to break.
