**Diary Entry 18th June**
I came home to find my husband gonehis things vanished without a trace.
Why are you looking at me like that? Sophie smirked. Stan just wanted to prove hes a real catch. Thats all.
What on earth are you talking about?
The truth, sweetheart, drawled Stans ex-wife.
I dont understand Emily faltered.
Ah! Theres Stanhell explain everything, Sophie nodded toward the door.
Mum raised me like a delicate hothouse flower.
Margaret Whitmore was a stern woman, running her own timber yard with an iron fist.
But with me, her only daughter, she softenedher voice turning gentle, her eyes warm with affection.
So I grew up sheltered, trusting, with little experience of hardship.
I attended a regular school and music lessons, enjoying the piano, though Id never be a prodigy. Still, I became a decent teacher.
All that remained was a good marriage, and soon enough, charming Daniel appeared.
He courted me beautifully, spending his modest wages as a delivery driver on little gifts and sweet words.
Mum didnt like him.
Lazy fool! was her verdict.
But I love him, I protested, my blue eyes welling up.
Fine, she relented. But youll live with me.
Our spacious three-bed flat had room enough, and Daniel didnt mindhe had nothing to his name anyway.
After the wedding, his true colours showed. He drank, vanished for hours, snapped at me.
Around Mum, he behavedjust.
I refused to see his faults.
Nine months later, our son Tommy was born. A fragile boy, demanding endless care. Daniels temper worsened.
I endured, hoping.
Then Mum passed suddenly, just a year after meeting her grandson.
Her old friend, Robert Davies, handled the funeral. Daniel didnt show until it was overonly to find his bags packed in the hall.
He threatened lawsuits, division of assets.
I stood silent.
Robert, a sharp solicitor, tossed him out.
We never saw him again.
I couldnt run the timber yardRobert hired managers instead. We wanted for nothing.
But grief and loneliness weighed heavy. No friends, no familyjust Tommy, needing me.
Men? Unthinkable.
Then, one rainy afternoon outside the clinic, a car pulled up.
Hop in! The driver flung the door opena man Id seen there before with his own son.
Stan.
Grateful, I gave him my numberthen panicked.
I dont see married men.
Im divorced. The next day, he handed me the papers.
Why did I let him walk us home? Stay for dinner?
Perhaps loneliness. Perhaps the way Tommy adored him.
A month later, he proposed.
I said yes.
Stan adopted Tommy, calling him son before the ink dried.
Always wanted two boys, he said, darkening at the thought of his own childkept from him by his ex.
I never told him about the timber yards profits, tucked away for Tommys future. Roberts advice: *Keep it quiet.*
But the idyll didnt last.
Stan grew distant, snapping, irritable.
Just work stress, hed mutter.
Then, in the park, a woman in a scarlet coat sat beside me.
Shouldnt have let him adopt. Poor kid.
SophieStans ex.
He married you to spite me, she said, smirking.
Stan arrived, tense.
Shes right, he admitted. I wanted to prove I could start over. New wife, new son.
And now?
He hesitated. Dunno. Ive grown fond of you.
But by morning, he was gonehis things vanished.
I sighed and dialled Robert. Again.
**Lesson learned: Some men dont lovethey collect proofs of their own worth.**
