**Diary Entry – 5th February**
From the moment my son married Emily, I held onto hope that our family would find happiness. But right from the start, I knew—this woman and I would never see eye to eye. It wasn’t jealousy, as some might assume. I’d long accepted that my son had grown up and found love elsewhere. I’d have welcomed her with open arms if she’d let me. But the more I saw, the clearer it became—she loved no one. Not me, not my son, and worst of all, not even her own child.
Emily had always put herself first. I noticed it before the wedding but told myself motherhood might soften her. How wrong I was. She stayed just as cold. My son was nothing more than a convenience to her—useful only when it suited her needs.
They hardly ever visited. Family gatherings were the rare occasions she showed up, always immaculate—manicured nails, styled hair, designer dresses from London’s finest boutiques. But every time I looked at my son, my heart ached. He seemed exhausted, unkempt, lost—like a man trapped in a loveless marriage rather than a husband cherished at home.
“Honestly, Emily, you’re not looking after him at all,” my sister muttered carefully over Sunday roast.
Emily just smirked. “I didn’t sign up to be his nanny. He can take care of himself.”
I bit my tongue. Didn’t want to ruin the day for my boy. But the thought gnawed at me: *Does she even care what happens to him? As long as her eyelashes are glued and her nails polished—*
Not long after, my son called, voice weak. “Mum, can I come stay for a bit?”
An hour later, he arrived—pale, feverish, barely standing. I nearly collapsed when I saw him. Turned out the doctor had prescribed twice-daily injections, strictly timed. And Emily? She’d said, “I’m not setting alarms for this. If his mum’s so worried, she can do it.”
So there he was. So much for a *wife*. No care, no concern. I thought that might finally make him consider divorce. Instead, months later, they decided… to have a child.
My grandson was born, but I never saw an ounce of love from Emily. Everything was clinical—feed, change, sleep. No cuddles, no tenderness. A robot, not a mother. They once planned a holiday. Emily refused to bring the baby—”He’ll just ruin it”—and proposed leaving him with a friend. Not with me or her in-laws—we all had jobs. My son refused; he wouldn’t abandon his child. So she went alone.
He stayed, cooked, walked him, cared for him—all on his own. For the first time, divorce crossed his mind. But, as always, he hesitated, hoping she’d change. She didn’t. They’re still together, but more often than not, he ends up on my sofa after another row he can no longer swallow.
Emily lives like she’s alone. A husband? Just a flatmate. A child? An inconvenience. I don’t understand—why marry if you don’t want a family? Why have a baby if you don’t want to be a mother? For the sake of ticking a box?
My son suffers. I see it. But he still clings to hope. And I still wait for the day he finally realises—some people cannot be fixed. Only then, perhaps, will his real life begin. No cold wife, no empty marriage. Just him and his little boy, loved properly at last.
**Lesson learnt: A ring on the finger doesn’t make a home. It’s the heart inside that does.**
