**Diary Entry**
If you looked at our family from the outside, you’d think Julia and Anthony had it all—a peaceful, loving home. Anthony never drank except on special occasions, and even then, just a little. He didn’t smoke, and in eleven years of marriage, he’d never once raised a hand to her.
There was one incident, though, which Julia still blames herself for. She sometimes tells her friend Claire about it:
“Once, years ago, we had a row, and I got so angry I flew at him with my fists. Imagine me—petite as I am—going at a bloke like Anthony. What was I thinking? He just gently pinned my hands and sat me down on the sofa. Another man might’ve hit back, taught me a lesson. That’s when I realised I was wrong, and I’ve never let myself do that again.”
“Bloody hell, Jules,” Claire laughed. “Your Tony could knock you sideways if he wanted. A woman can’t win against a man, love.”
This was Julia and Anthony’s second marriage. Her first had ended because her ex drank too much and picked fights. He’d come home late after their daughter, Emily, was asleep, shouting and waking her without a care. Julia had had enough, divorced him, and moved back in with her parents.
“You did the right thing, love,” her mum said. “Five years with him, and you got nothing but grief. We’ll raise Emily together, and you’ll find happiness again. You’re a catch—you know that.”
When Emily turned twelve, Julia married Anthony. They’d met at Claire’s husband’s birthday party in a local pub. He’d walked over, flashing a bright smile.
“You look like you could use some fun. Fancy a dance?”
He was tall—Julia barely reached his shoulder—handsome and calm. At least, that was her first impression.
“I’m fine,” she said, “but I’ll dance with you.”
That’s how it started. Claire was thrilled—finally, her friend wasn’t alone. Julia and Emily lived in a three-bed flat, inherited from her grandmother. It wasn’t spacious—small rooms, an old block—but it was hers. Soon, Anthony moved in—he’d been living with his mother.
His first marriage hadn’t worked either. His ex, Victoria, and his mum had been at each other’s throats.
“Anthony, where’d you find this harpy?” his mother would snipe the moment he got home. “I can’t stand sharing a roof with her.”
Meanwhile, Victoria demanded, “We’re moving out, or I swear I’ll lose it.” Soon after, they rented a place, and she had their son. But no matter what Anthony did, she was never happy.
“Money’s tight,” she’d complain. “Your son needs new clothes. Go shopping. Cook dinner. Take him out—I’m exhausted.”
He did it all, but his mother accused Victoria of keeping their grandson from her. Then Victoria started going out, coming home late—sometimes not at all—reeking of booze. One day, she announced she was leaving him for a “real man.”
Anthony moved back with his mother, who, truth be told, was no saint—she never thought any woman was good enough for her son.
At first, Julia and Anthony were happy. The only problem was his mother, who resented Julia having a child from her first marriage. Even though Emily was sweet, calling her “Gran,” she snapped, “I’m not your grandmother. You’ve got your own.”
It stung, but Julia let it go. Emily spent more time with Julia’s parents after that.
Years passed. Emily went off to uni, and Julia and Anthony never had children of their own—just one of those things. His mother never warmed to Julia, no matter how hard she tried.
But lately, Julia noticed Anthony changing. Anthony had one great skill—he cooked brilliantly, but only when he was in the mood. And lately, that mood was rare.
“I don’t get it, Claire,” Julia confided. “He’s always in a foul temper. No reason for it, but everything I say or do sets him off. It’s like he wants to drag me down too.”
“Honestly, Jules, I’d never have guessed. You two always seemed perfect.”
“It’s like he’s looking for excuses to pick fights. First, it was my job—he accused me of flirting with colleagues if they texted. So I quit. Then it was money—‘Stop wasting it on manicures and dresses.’ Fine, I let him handle the shopping. Then the gym—‘You’re just eyeing other men there.’ So I stopped going.”
With all her free time, Julia started wondering: was there another woman? She checked his phone—something she’d never done before. Nothing suspicious, except his mum calling constantly—sometimes at work, sometimes at home, with Anthony stepping away to talk.
One day, his mother rang while he was in the shower. Julia answered and heard:
“Anthony, have you done as I said? Your wife’s out gallivanting while you sit at home like a fool. You’re spineless—can’t even control her!”
“Hello, Margaret,” Julia said evenly. “Anthony’s in the shower. I’ll pass that on.”
She expected an apology. Instead, Margaret lashed out before hanging up.
Now Julia understood—his mother was poisoning him.
“She wants him miserable like her,” Julia realised. “But what can I do? I can’t stop him talking to her. And I love him. I could ignore his moods, but I hate seeing him like this. Sometimes he apologises, but after speaking to her, he’s right back to being bitter.”
She considered therapy—maybe that could help. For now, she’d book an appointment.
**Lesson:** Sometimes, the battles we fight aren’t our own. And the hardest wars are the ones waged in silence, by those who claim to love us.
