**Diary Entry – If It Weren’t for You…**
Emma and Lily had been friends since nursery, sitting side by side through school. As they grew, Emma blossomed into a striking beauty, effortlessly charming everyone, while Lily remained ordinary—someone you’d walk past without a second glance.
After school, Lily studied nursing, driven by a calling to help others. Emma, convinced diplomas were unnecessary, took a beauty course and worked at a salon, perfecting brows and lashes. They were inseparable, sharing every heartbreak and joy—though Emma did most of the talking, Lily the listening.
Then came Daniel.
Lily met him first. He wasn’t remarkable—just an average bloke—but love could’ve flourished. Fate, however, had other plans.
One evening, Lily dodged a puddle after a downpour when an e-scooter nearly mowed her down. The rider, distracted, sent her stumbling into the water.
“Bloody lunatics!” an old lady shouted, shaking her fist.
The lad—Daniel—apologised, offering her a lift. Reluctantly, she accepted, clinging to the handles as they zipped through London’s streets, the wind in her hair, her heart racing. At her doorstep, he asked her to the cinema. “Tomorrow, seven sharp,” he grinned before vanishing.
The next day, he showed, and Lily’s stomach fluttered. They laughed through the film, walking home afterwards, Daniel abandoning his scooter.
“Who was that bloke?” Emma demanded the next morning.
Lily downplayed it, but Daniel was different. He’d chosen *her*.
Then Emma met him.
She batted her lashes, and Daniel’s gaze locked onto her. Lily trailed behind, forgotten, as they strolled ahead. That night, she switched off her phone. Emma came the next day, breathless: “I’ve fallen for him.”
Lily swallowed her hurt. They stayed friends—even after Daniel married Emma.
Years passed. Lily worked at a private clinic; Emma pampered clients for fun. Daniel earned well. They celebrated birthdays, barbecued—yet Lily’s love for him only deepened.
Then, the call.
“Emma’s gone,” Daniel rasped. A lorry had T-boned their car. She died instantly.
Lily rushed to the hospital. Daniel lay tangled in wires. “I can’t feel my legs,” he whispered.
She helped arrange the funeral, visited daily, but he sank into despair. The physiotherapist they hired vanished after robbing them blind.
“No more strangers,” Lily declared. She switched to night shifts, tending to Daniel herself—massages, exercises, relentless encouragement.
Months later, he stood. Then walked with a cane.
When he no longer needed her, she withdrew.
One evening, she came home to find Daniel at her kitchen table.
“You walked here?” she gasped.
“Thanks to you.” He pulled out a ring. “Marry me?”
Her voice cracked. “I waited so long.”
Two years on, Daniel walked unaided. Lily, heavy with their child, strolled hand-in-hand with him, marvelling at life’s turns.
Love isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up—even when the road’s muddy.
