**Diary Entry – 15th March**
Life has never been easy, but I always believed I’d raised my son to be a decent man. One evening in our little house in Windermere turned that belief upside down, making me wonder if I ever truly knew him at all. My son, Edward, brought home a girl—slender, with soft blue eyes. Her name was Gemma. He grinned at her and announced, “Mum, we’re in love. We’re moving in together.”
I studied them, and a sharp pang gripped my chest. “If you’re living together, you ought to marry,” I said, masking my unease. Edward nodded, “Right then, Mum.” I praised him, called him a real man, but deep down, doubt gnawed at me. Gemma seemed sweet and genuine, but Edward? He’d always had his head in the clouds. I knew he’d broken hearts before, and I feared Gemma would just be another casualty of his restlessness.
Gemma grew up in care, yet she was sharp, practical, and warm-hearted. We got on well, and soon she felt almost like a daughter. One day, she came home glowing. “Mum, I’m pregnant,” she whispered. My heart leapt. “What wonderful news! I’ll help however I can,” I promised, hugging her. But Edward? His reaction was ice-cold. A muttered “Alright,” nothing more. I brushed it off as a bad day, but unease settled in my gut.
Time flew, and soon Gemma gave birth to twins—two beautiful girls. For me, it was pure joy, as if sunlight had flooded the house. I adored those babies, their tiny fingers, their little smiles. But Edward didn’t share my happiness. He grumbled, “Two more mouths to feed.” His words cut like a knife. “How can you speak of your own children like that?” I snapped. “Is life really so hard for you?” I tried to reason with him, but he shrugged me off as if my words meant nothing.
Then it got worse. Edward started disappearing—staying late at work, off with mates. Then he dropped the bombshell: “I’m filing for divorce.” The floor might as well have vanished beneath me. Gemma sat silent, lips pressed tight, while my anger boiled over. “You’re abandoning your wife and children? Have you no shame?” He flared up, “It’s my life, Mum! You always take her side!” But how could I not? Gemma and the girls didn’t deserve this betrayal. I told him they’d stay with us—our home in Windermere was their sanctuary. With that, he slammed the door and vanished. For three long years.
Life without him was tough, but we managed. Gemma surprised me with her strength—working, raising the girls, while I helped where I could. Then came the letter: a court summons. Edward wanted to divide the house. My heart seized. This house was our fortress, my inheritance, the home where my granddaughters grew up. But Gemma, ever wise, stayed calm. “I knew this might happen,” she said. “I’ve been saving for a flat.” She’d set aside wages, foreseeing this very moment.
Soon, we moved to a cosy little flat on the outskirts of Windermere. I assumed she’d leave me behind in the old house, to grow old alone. But she insisted I stay with them. “You’re like a mother to me,” she said. “We wouldn’t have made it without you.” I argued, “Gemma, you’re young, lovely—find someone new.” She just smiled. “I’ve got my girls and you. That’s enough.”
Those words melted my heart. Gemma wasn’t just my daughter-in-law—she was my daughter, my closest kin. The girls, Lily and Daisy, fill our home with laughter. And Edward? He calls sometimes, tries to explain himself, but I can’t forgive him. He made his choice, turning his back on those who should’ve meant everything.
I don’t know what lies ahead, but this I know: in our small corner of Windermere, we have love, warmth, and family. And that’s worth more than any house, any fortune.
Gemma, the girls, and I carry on, and every day I thank my stars for them. Let Edward chase his happiness elsewhere. I’ve found mine—in my granddaughters’ giggles and Gemma’s eyes, which look at me like a daughter’s. The road’s been rough, but it taught me this: family isn’t about blood. It’s about who stands by you, no matter what.