**Diary Entry – 22nd November**
“You mattered to someone, at least.”
“You don’t need my son—he’ll ruin your life.”
“That’s not true, Margaret. Why would you say such things about Edward? He’s your only child!”
“Exactly why I’m warning you. I know my son better than to doubt my words.”
Margaret walked slowly out of the kitchen, leaving Lily seated at the table in her new evening dress. She’d worn it just to show her neighbour, hoping to impress Edward, the man she’d loved for years.
Lily’s feelings for Edward had begun when she was just a girl—naive, small, but already capable of deep affection. He was seven years older. She was ten when they first met in Littlebury, after her family moved from the neighbouring village where her father had lost his job. Margaret had raised Edward alone for years.
“Such a respectable family,” Lily’s mother remarked after visiting Margaret. Though fifteen years her senior, the women became friends, and Lily and Edward saw each other more often.
A year later, Edward left for university in Manchester, while Lily stayed behind, never forgetting him, often visiting Margaret.
When he married straight after graduation, Lily was crushed. She couldn’t believe he’d found real love—marriage, in her mind, was forever. Her parents had been married twenty years, her grandparents until death. Even Margaret spoke of Edward’s father, gone missing in military service.
“He didn’t even introduce me to his wife,” Margaret complained over tea. “Some city girl, full of airs.”
“You could visit them,” Lily’s mother suggested.
Margaret waved her off. “Why bother? If he didn’t invite me to the wedding, I won’t force myself on them.”
Lily pitied Margaret but grieved more that Edward would never return. Yet barely a year later, he was back in Littlebury with little but his belongings.
“That boy of Margaret’s is back,” Lily’s mother announced.
Lily bolted to Margaret’s house and nearly collided with Edward on the porch.
“Oi, little Lily!” He grinned, winking.
He’d changed—grown into a man. A beard, streaks of grey at his temples, though he was barely twenty-five.
“Hello, Edward,” she said softly, fighting the urge to touch his face. “You’re back?”
He shrugged indifferently. “Dunno. Divorced her. Had to come back to Mum. Lived with her parents—never did anything right. Drove me mad.”
Lily stared, baffled how anyone could think him difficult. He was brilliant, kind, handsome! That city girl must’ve been the problem.
“Maybe we could go to the cinema?” she offered.
He shook his head. “Too busy. Mum’s got me running errands.”
She hid her disappointment. Just having him near—breathing the same air—was enough. Maybe one day he’d see she was the one for him.
Margaret wasn’t pleased he’d returned. She tried getting him work at the farm, then in the city, but he turned everything down.
“I’m sick of his complaining,” Margaret confided. “Now I see why his wife left. It wasn’t her—it was him.”
“That’s not true!” Lily defended hotly. “Edward’s wonderful—you just don’t understand him!”
Margaret scoffed. “Oh, I understand him. He’s as selfish as his father.” She looked away, falling silent. Lily bit back her retort—Margaret seemed too sad.
Edward left Littlebury months later without a goodbye. Lily cried, remembering him as the best man she’d ever known.
Then tragedy struck—her parents died in a crash. At eighteen, her dreams of university vanished. Without Margaret’s support, she’d have drowned in grief.
Edward came to the funeral with a blonde, adoring girl beside him. Lily’s heart ached—he wasn’t alone again.
Two weeks later, Margaret mentioned his remarriage. Lily’s world shattered. She loved him, but hope was gone.
After her parents’ death, Lily stayed in Littlebury, working as a farmhand. She didn’t study, clawing her way out of depression, rebuilding a life without her family—or Edward.
Then, just before Christmas, Margaret said Edward was visiting.
“Is he bringing his wife?” Lily asked, already knowing the answer.
Margaret smirked. “Alone. Why’d he come back to this backwater if things were fine?”
Lily’s heart leapt. Finally! She’d tell him everything.
“You’re wasting your hope,” Margaret warned.
Lily, clutching her new dress, faltered. “Why? I care about Edward—”
“Too much,” Margaret cut in. “He doesn’t deserve it.”
Her tone was so bitter Lily didn’t dare ask more. She bought the dress anyway, returning to show Margaret.
“You don’t need my son. He’ll ruin your life.”
Lily stared. Did Margaret, who’d doted on Edward, really think him unworthy? Did she not see how much Lily loved him?
On New Year’s Eve, Edward came to Lily’s, drunk and angry after a fight with Margaret. He brought champagne and misery.
“Let’s drink,” he said, ignoring her dress.
He stayed that night. For Lily, it was magic. For Edward—a fleeting mistake.
He left two days later without a word. Lily wept, running to Margaret, who only shook her head.
“I warned you,” was all she said.
In February, Lily discovered she was pregnant. She called Edward, meeting him at a café near the station.
“I’ve got twenty minutes,” he said coldly.
The news didn’t move him. She searched his face for joy—found nothing.
“If you think this’ll make me marry you, don’t bother,” he said. “I’ve met someone else.”
Lily blinked back tears. That night was everything to her—nothing to him.
She returned to Littlebury, weighing her choices. Days later, Margaret asked bluntly, “You’re keeping it?”
“How did you—?”
“I’m not blind. Small village.”
“I don’t know,” Lily whispered. “It’s Edward’s.”
Margaret sighed. “Listen or don’t—your choice. Years ago, I fell for a married man. Thought I’d build happiness on someone else’s misery. Had Edward. Do I regret it? Maybe. I could’ve married a decent man, had a child in love. But I chose this path—my mistake, no one else’s. I won’t advise you. Just know this—living with your own choices is easier than blaming someone else’s.”
Lily gaped. “But what’s my mistake? Loving your son?”
“Maybe,” Margaret said. “Maybe you’ll regret the abortion. Or regret keeping a child whose father doesn’t want them. Like me. You’ll spin stories—a missing father, a happy lie—just to hide the truth.”
“Is Edward’s father alive?”
Margaret smirked. “Alive and well. On his fifth wife, probably. Wouldn’t marry me, but skipped from wife to wife without a care. Edward’s just like him—though he’s never met the man.”
Lily left silently. The next morning, she knew—she’d keep the baby.
In October, little Olivia was born. The next Christmas, Margaret passed, having held her granddaughter once. Edward didn’t visit his dying mother—Lily took care of her instead.
At the funeral, Edward barely acknowledged Lily, another woman at his side. She said nothing about Olivia; he didn’t ask.
Six months later, he returned—for the inheritance. Margaret’s house and land should’ve been his. But the solicitor’s words stunned him.
“Margaret left everything to Lily Harper. She took ownership months ago.”
Edward swayed. “What? I’m her son—her blood! Why would she—?”
“I tried calling,” the solicitor said. “Your number didn’t work. You’re still registered at your first wife’s old address.”
“You can contest it,” the man added.
Edward stormed to Lily’s, pounding the door, fury burning—until a stranger answered.
“Who are you?” Edward snapped, then spotted Lily behind him.
“Daniel, it’s fine,” she said, stepping out. “He’s here for me.”
“Found someone to marry you?” Edward sneered. “At least someone wanted you. At least you mattered to someone.”
His words stung, but Lily stayed calm. “Yes, someone wanted me. You’re here about the will? Angry your mother chose me?”
He glowered. “It’s not fair. You’re nobody—I’m her son.”
She nodded. “Shame you only remembered that after she died.”
“None of your business,” he spat. “I’ll sue. The law’s on my side.”
Lily tilted her head, pity and disgust mingling. “You’re wrong. Margaret had a granddaughter—your daughter. Fight all you want, but will your conscience let youBut as Edward turned to leave, Olivia’s laughter drifted from inside the house, and for the first time, he hesitated—wondering if the love he’d spent his life running from was the only thing that could truly save him.
