**Diary Entry**
Little Emily could never understand why her parents didnt love her. Her father was always irritated by her, and her mother seemed to go through the motions of caring for hermore concerned with keeping her husband happy than with their daughter.
Her paternal grandmother, Margaret, insisted it was because they worked so hardher father as a lorry driver, her mother at a local shopso Emily would never want for anything. But the truth came out when she was eight, after overhearing her parents argue.
“Susan, this soup is too salty again!” her father roared. “Cant you do anything right?”
“John, honestly! I tasted itit was fine!” her mother protested weakly.
“Everythings ‘fine’ with you! Couldnt even give me a son. The lads at work take the mick’John the girl-dad!'”
She doubted anyone actually laughed at himhe was a stern man, respected in his workbut the resentment in his voice stung. Now she understood why they sent her to Grandmas whenever he returned from a haulhe couldnt stand the sight of his “not-son.”
At Margarets, Emily was happy. They baked, sewed, and did homework together. Still, it hurt knowing her parents didnt want her.
Then, soon after that argument, John and Susan abruptly announced they were moving to Londonhoping for a fresh start, maybe even a son. Of course, it was Johns decision, and Susan just nodded along.
There was just one problemthey didnt want Emily coming with them.
“Youll stay with Gran for now,” her mother muttered, avoiding her eyes.
“I dont even want to go!” Emily snapped, chin high, though her chest ached. “Im happier here!”
Fine. Shed stay with Gran, her friends, her teachers. Let her parents live as they pleasedshe wouldnt care anymore.
Just after her tenth birthday, John and Susan had their long-awaited sonOliver. Her father announced it over a video callneither had visited in years, just occasional phone calls and empty “love to Emily.” They sent Margaret small sums now and then, but mostly, Emily was her responsibility.
Then, a year later, Susan suddenly insisted Emily move in with them, arriving in person to collect her.
“Sweetheart,” she chirped, “well all be together now! Youll finally meet your brother!”
“I dont want to,” Emily said flatly. “Im happy here.”
“Dont be difficult! Youre old enough to help now.”
“Hold your horses, Susan!” Margaret cut in. “If you think Ill let you turn her into a free babysitter, youre mistaken!”
“Shes *my* daughter!” Susan snapped.
But Margaret wasnt easily silenced. “Push this, and Ill report you for abandonment. Youll lose custodyhowd that look?”
They arguedEmily didnt hear the rest, sent to fetch groceriesbut Susan never mentioned moving again. She left the next day.
Ten years passed without a word. Emily finished school, then college, and landed a bookkeeping job through Margarets old friend, Arthur. She met a kind lorry driver, James, and they planned to marryuntil Margaret passed.
Her parents showed up for the funeral, leaving Oliver with a friend”no place for a boy.” Emily barely registered their presence, numb with grief.
Then, at the wake, her father mused, “Place needs work. Wont fetch much.”
“John” Susan hissed.
“What? Weve got things to sort. Olivers home alone.”
“Planning to sell, John?” Arthur asked.
“Obviously. Oliver needs a flat someday. Thisll cover the depositwell pay the mortgage by the time hes eighteen.”
Emily stared out the window, hollow.
“Youd toss your own daughter out?” Arthur pressed.
“Shes grown! Let her husband house her!”
Arthur sighed. “Margaret was right about you. But it wont work. The wills legalthis flats Emilys now.”
John scowled. “Turned Gran against us, eh? Well contest it.”
“And lose,” Arthur said calmly. “Try it, and Ill make sure you regret it.”
A quick legal consult proved Arthur right. John switched tactics. “Have you no shame? Youll marryOliver *needs* this! Give up the flat!”
“No.”
“Well pay youfifty grand. Enough for your own deposit!”
“I said no.”
“You ungrateful!”
“Leave,” Emily said coldly, “or Ill call the police.”
John hated dealing with the law. They left that nightsilent for four years.
By then, Emily and James had married and had a daughter, Lily. Money was tight, but they were happyuntil Susan called, shrieking:
“This is your fault! If you hadnt clung to that flat, John wouldnt have taken extra haulshed be alive!”
Emily clenched the phone. “You need help with the funeral?”
“I need nothing! Olivers orphaned because of youlive with that!” The line went dead.
James squeezed her shoulder. “You know none of this is your fault.”
She sighed. “Maybe if Id”
“Dont. They left *you* years ago.”
A year later, Susan reappeared, lips tight. “We need money. Olivers starting uniyou owe him.”
Emily scoffed. “I owe nothing.”
“Margaret poisoned you against me.”
“Speak ill of Gran again, and Ill throw you out. Ive no money for you.”
Susans eyes flicked over their new furniture (saved for, partly loaned). “Liar.”
“Ask about your granddaughter, at least.”
“She has parentsshes fine. *We* need help!”
“Enough. Get out.”
Susan leftbut returned a week later with a court summons, demanding support for Oliver.
In court, Susan played the grieving widow, spinning tales of necessity. The judge pitied heruntil Emily spoke, calm and clear. The ruling was swift: Susans income and Olivers survivor benefits disproved her claims.
Defeated, Susan shot Emily one last glare and left without a word.
But Emily knewshed be back someday. And shed be ready.
*Lesson learned: Blood doesnt make family. Love does. And no one gets to use you twice.*
