**Diary Entry**
He left me with three children and elderly in-laws to run off with his mistress. I couldnt stop him. It all began on my birthday.
Back then, I lived in a tiny village, money was tight, and the shop windows in town were filled with beautiful thingsmy eyes couldnt decide where to linger. One pair of sandals caught my heart. I stood there, imagining myself wearing them, strolling down the high street, turning heads Then someone nudged me lightly.
I turned to see a man smiling at me.
“Lovely, arent they?” He nodded at the sandals.
“Yes” I murmured, still staring.
“Fancy a coffee? If I buy them for you, will you go on a date with me?”
I knew I must have seemed naive, but in that moment, I didnt care.
“Alright,” I said.
I wanted the gift. I wanted to feel special, even if just for an evening.
We sat in a café, he ordered me cake, and I told him my storyhow my parents had died. That was half true. Id buried my father, but my mother Id buried her in my mind years agoshed left me as a baby. I spun the tale to win his sympathy. And it worked.
Thats how it started. I visited town more often, and we met. His name was Lawrence. He welcomed me into his home, showered me with attention. First the sandals, then dresses, jewellery, fine perfumes. But no, I didnt become his mistress for the gifts. I loved him. I thought he loved me too.
But I was naive. I made a mistakeI got pregnant. I expected him to say anythingexcept what he did:
“Move in with me. Well raise this child together.”
I couldnt believe my luck. We married. I thought fate had finally smiled on me.
Then one day, a knock at the door. I opened itand nearly fainted. There stood my mother, holding a bag of pickled onions as if wed just spoken yesterday. A neighbour had told her where I lived. She wanted to make amends.
And Lawrence found out the truth. He realised Id lied. Just like that, his love vanished. He yelled, called me a deceitful country girl, demanded to know if my father was next to rise from the dead since I erased people so easily. Then he threw us outme, my mother, and her pickled onions.
I went back to my grandparents. Sent my mother away. And there I was, alone with my child.
But Lawrence returned. “Come back,” he said. “We have a son.” And I believed him.
Naive. I thought love could conquer anything.
Yet he didnt take me back to his flat. We moved into his parents old houseelderly people who needed care. I agreed. I did everything for him, for them, for our son.
Then I got pregnant again. One night, we argued, and he snapped, “Dont forgetyoure only a guest here!” Those words cut deep. Still, I stayed. I believed love would endure.
When our second child came, he said money was tight, his business had failed. Now we were equalboth had nothing.
Then the third arrived. I thought nothing would change now.
He worked longer hours, left early, came home late. I thought he was striving for us. I didnt see the collapse coming.
One day, he announced, “I cant live like this. Theres no future here. Im going abroad.”
I believed him. He looked exhausted, broken. I even agreedlet him go, try his luck elsewhere.
Then I found the truth by chance. At the airport, there were two tickets for Italy. One in his name. The othera woman hed been seeing for years.
I understood. But I couldnt stop him.
He left.
And here I am. With three children. With his parents, who arent strangers to me anymore. In an empty house and a heart full of pain.
I dont know how to carry on. I just hope, one day, it hurts less.
