Dear Diary,
Ive always felt like an outsider in the very house that should have been my sanctuary. Mum clearly dotes on my older sistersClaire, three years my senior, and Sophie, five years oldershowering them with affection and attention. That constant favouring cut deep, and I learned to swallow my bitterness, always trying harder to earn a sliver of Mums love.
Dont even think about staying with me! The flat will go to your sisters. Youve always looked at me like a stray pup since you were a child. So go wherever you please! Mums words echoed in my ears the day I turned eighteen, and she threw me out on the doorstep.
I tried to argue, to point out the injustice. Claire and Sophie had both finished university on Mums dime; no one had rushed them into adulthood. I, on the other hand, was the perpetual odd one out. No matter how good I behaved, the love in our home was superficial at bestif it could even be called love. Only Granddad Arthur ever treated me kindly. Hed taken in his pregnant daughter after her husband vanished without a trace, and he became my refuge.
Maybe Mum worries about my sisters? They say I look a lot like them, I told myself, desperate for a reason behind her coldness. Id tried to sit down with her for an honest hearttoheart many times, each attempt spiralling into a shouting match or a dramatic scene.
Granddad Arthur was my real support. My happiest memories belong to the summer months we spent in the little Yorkshire village of Little Wren, where we tended the garden, milked the cows, and baked pies. Those chores were my escape from a home where every day brought contempt and criticism.
Granddad, why does no one love me? Whats wrong with me? I would whisper, fighting back tears.
I love you very much, hed answer, his voice gentle, never mentioning Mum or the sisters.
I wanted to believe him, to think I was loved in a special way. But when I was ten, Granddad passed away, and the familys treatment of me grew even harsher. My sisters mocked me, and Mum always chose their side.
From that day onward, I never received anything newonly handmedown dresses from Claire and Sophie. Theyd tease:
Oh look, a stylish top! Go and sweep the floor, Emilywhatever needs doing!
If Mum bought sweets, the sisters devoured them, tossing me the empty wrappers:
Here, love, collect the bits!
Mum heard all this yet never scolded them. Thats how I grew up as a stray puppyalways begging for love from people who saw me as a nuisance, a piece of unwanted furniture. The harder I tried to be good, the more they seemed to despise me.
So, when Mum finally chased me out on my eighteenth birthday, I found work as a hospital orderly in Harrogate. Endurance and hard work became my new routine, and at least I earned a wagethough it was modest. Here, no one hurled malice at me. If youre treated kindly when youre doing your best, thats already a step forward, I told myself.
My employer even offered a scholarship to train as a surgeon. In that small town, a qualified surgeon was a rare commodity, and Id already shown promise while assisting the nurses.
Life was tough. By twentyseven I had no close relatives left. Work swallowed my whole existence; I lived for the patients whose lives I helped save. Yet loneliness clung to me like a cold draft: I slept alone in a staff dormitory, just as I had before.
Visiting Mum and the sisters was a continual disappointment, so I avoided it whenever I could. Whenever they stepped out to gossip and smoke, Id retreat to the porch and let the tears flow.
One bleak afternoon, my fellow orderly, James, stopped by my station.
Why are you crying, love? he asked gently.
Dont call me love, I muttered, feeling foolish.
Id always considered myself plaina grey mousenever noticing that, at nearly thirty, Id become a petite blonde with bright blue eyes, a neat nose, and a strict bun that seemed ready to burst free.
Youre actually very beautiful! Value yourself and lift that head. Besides, youre a promising surgeon; your future looks bright, James encouraged, offering me a chocolate barhis first real conversation with me after two years of working side by side.
I broke down and told him everything. He suggested I get in touch with Dr. David Beaumont, the elderly gentleman Id rescued during his stroke treatment.
Maybe you should give David a call? Hes wellconnected, James said.
Thanks, James. Ill try, I replied.
And if that doesnt work, we could get married. I have an apartment and I wont treat you badly, he added halfjokingly.
His eyes softened, and I realised he meant it. He saw not a pitiful orphan, but a woman who deserved love.
Alright, Ill keep that option in mind, I smiled, feeling for the first time in ages that I wasnt just a workhorse, but a young woman with a future.
That evening I dialled Davids number.
This is Emily, the surgeon. You gave me your number and said I could call if I needed help I stammered.
Emily! Splendid to hear from you! How are you? Lets meet for tea and have a proper chat. We oldtimers love a good natter, he replied warmly.
The next day was my day off, so I went straight to his cottage. I explained my situation and asked if he knew anyone needing a livein carer.
Emily, I understand youve been working hard, but you look exhausted. I can get you a junior surgeon post at a private clinic, and you could stay with me. I wouldnt be here without you, he said.
Of course, David. Will your family mind? I asked.
My relatives only turn up when Im away. They care only about the house, he sighed.
We moved in together. Two years later, a tender romance blossomed between James and me, often over steaming cups of tea. David, however, never liked James and kept reminding me:
James is a good lad but rather softhearted. You cant rely on someone like that. Dont get too attached.
Its too late, David, I replied, beaming. James proposed two years ago, and now Im pregnant! I announced, my cheeks flushed with joy. Youll still be important to me. Ill visit you every dayyoure family now.
Emily, Im not feeling well. Tomorrow well go to the solicitor and put a cottage in the village in your name. Youve always loved country life; perhaps itll be your dacha or you can sell it if you wish, he said, his voice faltering.
I hesitated. The cottage turned out to be on the very plot where Granddad Arthur had once lived. His house had long been demolished, the land sold, strangers now occupying it. Yet the thought of my own little corner there filled me with warmth and memories.
I dont deserve this, but thank you, David, I whispered, gratitude trembling in my voice.
Just one condition: dont tell James the cottage is in your name. And dont ask why, he warned, his tone serious. I promised.
Later I learned David was battling both a lingering stroke and terminal cancer, refusing surgery. In the end, I arranged his funeral and moved in fully with James.
Problems surfaced around the seventh month of my pregnancy. James suggested I pick up parttime work before the baby arrived. I had already quit the clinic, hoping my savings and Jamess support would be enough. His suggestion stung.
Maybe I replied, uneasy. Id been buying groceries, and Jamess stinginess was evident. Yet the baby grew, and I didnt want to abandon our wedding plans.
A week before the ceremony, while James was away, a tall, thin blonde woman named Lena slipped into our flat with her own key.
Hello. Im Lena. James and I have been seeing each other, and hes just too scared to tell you. So Im here to say youre no longer needed, she declared, confidence dripping from every word.
My wedding is in a few days! Weve already paid for everything! I sputtered, bewildered. I had covered most of the modest café celebration costs.
Its fine. James will marry me. I have contacts at the registry office; well sort it quickly, Lena said, as if the decision were already made.
When James returned, he muttered, Emily, Im sorry Its true. Ill help with the baby but I cant marry you. Lena added, Well do a paternity test, placing her hand on his shoulder.
Paternity test? Youre my only love! I shouted, lunging at him.
Shell scratch you up, love! Shes almost thirty but behaves like a schoolgirl! Lena sneered.
James stood mute, offering no defence. It became clear: Lena held the reins; James was a passive observer.
I packed my things. There was no point fighting a man who would easily abandon me. Lena claimed she and James had dated long agoshed been married, now free. I was just a temporary placeholder until her dream woman resurfaced.
The cottage, though lacking running water, had a sturdy stove, a wellstocked woodpile, and a solid shed. Snow lay at the doorway, waiting to be cleared. It was a true haven in the cold.
David had introduced me to the neighbours as the new mistress and wife of his son, so no unnecessary questions arose. I called Mum and the sisters; as expected, they urged me to give the baby up to an orphanage and warned, Next time, dont get involved with anyone before the wedding. They also gossiped about James not repaying the wedding moneyhalf of which Id already paid.
No one knew about the cottage. Now I could hide, regroup, and think.
While raking coals in the stove, my poker struck something hard. I slipped off my gloves and pulled out a wooden box, neatly sealed with large letters on the lid: Emily, this is for you. I recognised the handwriting instantlyDavids.
Inside lay photographs, a heartfelt letter, and a small tin. My hands trembled as I unfolded the note:
Dear Emily, you should know I am your grandfathers brother, the man he asked to look after you. Years ago a bitter rift split our families, but before he died, he asked me to find you after you turned eighteen. He also left you an inheritance his own daughter would never have given away.
The letter explained that Davids family had hidden my address, but fate had brought us together in the hospital. He wanted to tell me earlier but never had the chance, so he gave me the cottage Granddad had bought, knowing his daughter would never leave anything to a granddaughter.
Another shock lay within: my mother was not my biological mother. I was actually the daughter of my late auntwho I had envied and hated. The photos showed my aunt and her husband hugging a baby girl. I survived because Granddad had taken me that day of the accident.
Tucked in the box were fivethousandpound notes left by Granddad. Holding them warmed my heart; tears streamed down my cheeks. Now both I and my baby were safe.
When I lit the stove, the flames seemed to consume all my fears, betrayals, and resentments. I would start anewfor the baby, for myself.
I will, in time, forgive those who hurt me, but Im done with their cruelty. This cottage will be my refuge.
David always said a good house belongs to someone who cherishes it. He built it with his own hands in his youth, using the finest timber.
Not just a house, but a wonder! It will stand for two hundred years! he used to say. The village is reachable by busjust two stops away.
Yes, the pay is modest and help with the baby remains uncertain, but I have a roof, savings, a profession, youth, beauty, and a son on the way. For the first time, I truly feel happy.
Emily.