**Diary Entry – A Lesson Too Late**
I watched as Dr. Whitmore smiled warmly, patting Margaret on the shoulder. “Well, Mrs. Williams, you’re all patched up. Just remember—don’t overdo it. Take it easy now,” he said, holding the door open as she shuffled out with her bags.
Margaret clenched her jaw, a lump in her throat. The hospital stay had been unpleasant, but at least she’d had a break. And God knew she needed one. The last few years had drained her dry—working like a packhorse, too afraid to even ask for weekends off. The headaches, the dizziness, the exhaustion—all ignored. Then came the breakdown, the heart scare, the month in hospital. Her mother nearly collapsed from worry.
Greg, though? Her husband hadn’t batted an eyelid. Whether he hadn’t noticed her absence or simply didn’t care, she wasn’t sure. The moment she was gone, his mother had moved in, pots, rags, and sermons in tow.
“Oh, Margaret dear, you must understand—my Greg is like a child. Who else will look after him? Your mother’s there for you, and I’ll take care of my boy,” she’d simpered over the phone.
Margaret gritted her teeth. Years of teaching Greg independence—washing up, taking out the bins—had vanished like sugar in tea. Now she was the villain again, and his mother the saintly saviour, shielding her poor boy from his “tyrant” wife. Never mind who’d been doing the hard work all along.
Their early marriage hadn’t been any better. His mother had hovered like a ghost, even calling their bedroom. “Are you asleep? Or is something… *not right* in there?” Chilling.
They’d met by sheer absurdity. Margaret had stormed out after a row with a so-called friend—who turned out to be a snake. She’d been fuming, cursing the world’s cruelty, when a man nearly fell on her. Or rather, the branch he was clinging to.
“Have you lost your mind? Trying to break your neck?” she’d snapped.
“Was rescuing the cat!” he’d huffed.
There was no cat, of course. Whiskers had bolted, but Greg stayed. She fetched a ladder, rope, helped him down. And just like that, their love story began—sweet on the surface, rotten underneath.
After the wedding, reality set in. Greg wasn’t just helpless—he was a child. Whining over dishes, moaning about taking the bins out. Meanwhile, she carried the mortgage, her job, her ailing mother. He’d whimper to his mum, who’d then scold *her*. Eventually, she’d dug in, determined to teach him. And, to her surprise, she’d succeeded.
Greg had changed. Learned to cook, clean, even took initiative. His mother retreated—though she still sniffled in corners, mourning his “suffering.” But it was under control. Until the hospital.
Now, back to square one. She called Greg—silence. Odd. Mondays were his day off; he should’ve been breakfasting. His mother didn’t answer either. Her stomach twisted. She took a cab home, dread creeping in.
Key in the lock—then the door swung open. A stranger stood there.
“Who are you?” Margaret demanded.
“Claire. Greg’s *real* love. You, sweetheart, don’t live here anymore. Be a dear and vanish.”
Margaret froze. Before she could process it, the door slammed.
“Your things’ll be right out,” Claire chirped from inside.
Soon, bags tumbled onto the step. Margaret planted her foot in the door, sat on her tartan suitcase, and dialled the police. She hadn’t slaved away just to hand everything to a traitor.
When the officers arrived, she turfed them both out—Greg and his little “Priscilla.” He stood silent, but Claire squawked, “This is his flat too! You can’t throw us out!”
“I can,” Margaret said calmly. “It’s in my name. Go cry to Mummy.”
The door shut. For the first time in years, she breathed. Air out the rooms, burn the bedsheets, file for divorce. At first, it hurt. Then—freedom.
A month later, lounging in bed on a Sunday, her phone rang.
“Greg,” she muttered, answering.
“Meg, my love… I miss you. No one here cares. It’s all Mum’s fault. Please, take me back…”
She listened. Then she snorted.
“You’re joking, right? After all this?”
He babbled like a schoolboy. She hung up, tossed the phone aside, and smirked.
“Well then,” she said. “I thought my life was over. Turns out—it’s only just begun.”
