**Diary Entry – 2nd October 2023**
I carefully arranged the plates on the table, smoothed out the napkins, and glanced at the clock again. Robert would be home from work in half an hour, which meant it was time to fry the sausages. The mashed potatoes were ready, the salad was tossed, and the bread sliced neatly. Everything as it should be, just the way he liked it.
“Mum, can I go over to Emily’s tonight? She’s got some new films from London,” called our eighteen-year-old daughter, Lucy, from her room.
“No, love. Dad’ll be home soon—we’re having dinner as a family,” I replied without turning. “You can go after.”
“This is ridiculous! I’m eighteen!” she protested but didn’t argue further. She knew I wouldn’t budge.
I smiled to myself. Eighteen? Still a child. I’d been married by then, and yet Lucy still acted so naïve. Maybe it was better this way—let her stay my little girl a while longer.
The door clicked open, and in walked Robert. A broad-shouldered man with greying temples, tired but content. His job in construction was exhausting but paid well, and that’s what mattered.
“Hello, love,” he said, kissing my cheek. “Something smells good.”
“Your favourite—bangers and mash,” I smiled. “Sit down, I’ll bring it out.”
“Where’s Lucy?”
“In her room. Lucy! Dad’s home!”
She darted out, hugging him.
“Dad, can I go to Emily’s after dinner? They’ve got these amazing films—”
Robert frowned.
“What films? None of that rubbish from America, I hope. You need to focus on your studies. College is coming up.”
“Dad, it’s not rubbish, just normal films—”
“I said no, and that’s final!” he snapped. “Margaret, have you let her run wild? She’s getting out of hand!”
I stepped in quickly.
“Now, Robert, she’s just young and curious. Lucy, sit down and eat—we’ll talk later.”
Dinner passed quietly. Robert talked about work—how management kept raising demands while cutting bonuses. I nodded along, refilling his tea. Lucy barely spoke, eyes fixed on her plate.
“Mum, what do the neighbours say about the Wilsons?” Robert asked suddenly, finishing his last bite.
“What about them? They keep to themselves.”
“Not that. Heard Mrs. Wilson got some office job. Now Mr. Wilson’s at home with the kids.”
I set my cup down carefully.
“What’s wrong with that? Maybe it works for them.”
“How’s that work?” he scoffed. “A man should provide for his family, not play nanny! A woman’s place is in the home. That’s not how things should be.”
“But if she earns more—”
“No buts!” He slammed his fist on the table. “Order in the family—man leads, woman supports. End of.”
I nodded silently and cleared the plates. Arguing was never my strength, nor did I want to. Why stir trouble when silence kept the peace? Maybe he was right. I’d stayed home all my life, and we were fine.
Lucy glanced between us, then asked quietly,
“Can I still go to Emily’s? Just for a bit.”
“No!” Robert barked. “I said no! Go study or read a book. No gallivanting about!”
She sighed and retreated to her room. I watched her go, my chest tightening. Poor girl—hardly ever out, always cooped up. But what could I do if Robert said no?
A few days later, I ran into our neighbour, Mrs. Thompson, at the market. She was beaming.
“Margaret, have you heard? My Sarah got into university—in London! Can you believe it?”
“That’s wonderful,” I said genuinely. “What’s she studying?”
“Economics. Wants to be a financial analyst, manage companies. I was nervous at first—so far away, all on her own. But then I thought, why hold her back? Let her find her way.”
“And your husband? Was he against it?”
She sighed. “We had a right row over it. He kept saying—what does a girl need higher education for? She’ll just marry and have children. But I told him—times have changed. A woman needs her own footing. We argued for days, nearly came to blows. But I stood my ground. She won’t regret it.”
I nodded silently. At home, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Lucy would soon apply for colleges too, but where? Robert had already made his thoughts clear—no need for university. Teaching college would do—steady work, then marriage.
But Lucy dreamed of journalism. Wanted to study at uni, write articles, interview people. She’d light up talking about it—when Robert wasn’t home. Mention it in front of him, and he’d cut her off.
“Journalism’s no job for a woman. Traveling, mixing with strangers? Not proper.”
And I stayed quiet. Didn’t defend her, didn’t challenge him. Just silent, as always.
Summer flew by. Lucy applied to teaching college, as Robert insisted. She got in easily—she’d always been bright. On enrollment day, she came home sullen.
“Well, love, congratulations!” Robert grinned. “We’ll have a teacher in the family! Fine choice.”
“Thanks, Dad,” she mumbled before disappearing into her room.
I watched her go, that familiar pang in my chest. But what could I do? Start a fight? Ruin the peace? No.
College came easily but brought no joy. She attended like it was a chore, barely speaking of it. I’d try to ask—
“How’s school?”
“Fine.”
“Teachers alright?”
“Fine.”
“Made any friends?”
“Some.”
That was all.
One evening, while Robert was working late, Lucy suddenly burst into tears at dinner.
“Love, what’s wrong?” I asked.
“Mum, remember Emily? My old school friend?”
“Of course. What about her?”
“She got into uni—studying journalism. Saw her yesterday. She loves it—meeting people, learning so much. And what am I doing? Singing nursery rhymes to toddlers.”
I didn’t know what to say. Stroked her hair like when she was little.
“Teaching’s noble work, love. You’re shaping young minds.”
“But I didn’t want this,” she whispered. “I wanted to write, to see the world. Now what? Stuck in a classroom forever?”
“You’ll marry, have children—you’ll be happy.”
“What if I don’t want that yet? What if I want to find myself first?”
I was lost. In my day, it was simple—school, then work or marriage. Now she spoke of things I didn’t understand.
“You’ll figure it out in time,” I said finally.
She wiped her tears and left.
Another year passed. Lucy grew quieter, more withdrawn. Barely spoke at home. I worried but didn’t know how to help.
Then the unexpected happened. Lucy met a boy—David—and within a month announced they were marrying.
“Marrying?” Robert sputtered. “You hardly know him!”
“I do, Dad. He’s a mechanic. Good man.”
“And college? You’ll drop out?”
“Yes. Why bother? I’ll be a wife, then a mother.”
Robert hesitated. “But you’re nearly qualified—”
“Don’t need it,” she cut in. “David says wives shouldn’t work. He’ll provide.”
I listened, uneasy. Her words were right, but her voice was flat, her eyes empty.
“Lucy, do you love him?” I ventured.
“Of course,” she said too quickly. “Isn’t it obvious?”
It wasn’t. But I stayed silent.
They married quietly at the registry office. Lucy looked beautiful but distant. Smiled when expected, said the right things—but none of it real.
They moved into David’s tiny flat. No fights, but no joy either. He was domineering; Lucy obeyed without question, as if she’d given up.
Six months later, she was pregnant. I was thrilled—a grandchild!—but Lucy just nodded.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Is David happy?”
“Yes.”
“Are you?”
She paused. “Does it matter? It’s what’s expected.”
The words struck me. *Expected.* My own mantra. Was she following my path?
They had a girl—Sophie. David kept his word—providing, though his wages barely covered things.
“Maybe Lucy could work part-time?” I suggested once.
“No,” David said firmly. “Wives stay home. If money’s tight, I’ll work harder.”
And he did—long hours, coming home exhausted and irritable. Lucy tiptoed
