**Personal Diary Entry**
*Aunt Margaret, you need to leave our house. Mum wants to come back and live here, and I’m glad. She’s my real mother, and you’re nothing to us. Please pack your things as soon as possible.* Margaret looked sadly at Emily, the girl she’d raised for the last ten years, filling the role of mother for her and her brother.
Now, she was being cast aside. Margaret wouldn’t have stayed anyway, but to be told so bluntly by someone she’d loved and cared for… that stung. The suitcases were packed, and all that was left was to call a cab. At least she had somewhere to go—her late husband had made sure of that.
Ten years ago…
*”Margaret, let’s live together properly. How long can we keep hiding?”*
*”William, we should talk to your children first. What if they don’t want me here?”*
*”They won’t—I’ve already spoken to them. They miss having a mother’s warmth.”*
Margaret had her doubts. What about her little flat? Her only son had taken monastic vows—there was no one left to inherit it. Renting it out would only lead to trouble; tenants could ruin a place beyond repair.
William suggested selling it and putting the money into a savings account, letting it grow with interest. She agreed. Packing only the essentials, she moved into William’s home. The flat sold quickly, and the money went straight into Margaret’s account.
William was a successful farmer, a steady man with two school-age children. His ex-wife had drowned herself in drink and disappeared years ago. He met Margaret through mutual friends—her quiet kindness struck him. After years of battling his wife’s demons, he’d forgotten what it was like to be with a good woman.
Margaret had been a music teacher, divorced long ago, living alone. Her son had dreamed of the priesthood since childhood, and she’d supported his choice, though it meant no grandchildren—barely even a son left to her.
With William, she felt beautiful again. He brought her flowers, took her to the cinema, treated her to dinners. His children didn’t scare her, so she moved in without hesitation.
*”What should we call you? Aunt Margaret?”*
*”Of course, Oliver. Now come to dinner—I’ve baked a pie and made fresh lemonade.”*
The children devoured her home-cooked meals with delight. She left her job eventually—the savings were enough. The kids accepted her gladly, happy to have a kind aunt.
Emily turned sixteen. William refused to let her go to the disco.
*”William, she’s grown. When else will she get to dance if not now?”*
*”Honestly, Margaret, it’s nonsense. She ought to focus on her studies!”*
*”She’s doing well—what more do you want?”*
William sighed in defeat. *Fine, do as you like.* Emily winked at Margaret and dashed off to get ready.
Oliver got into a fight at school. William reached for his belt. Margaret caught his wrist.
*”No, William. Boys fight—it’s normal. Let him stand up for himself. Don’t humiliate him like this.”*
William lowered the belt. His father had done the same to him—he’d thought it was discipline. But Margaret made him see it differently.
Heartbreak came next—Emily sobbing over a boy who didn’t love her back. Margaret stroked her hair, murmuring reassurance, then suggested face masks, berry tea, and a film. Emily dried her tears and agreed.
Time passed. Emily went to university, married, had a son—Margaret helped babysit. Oliver joined the army, signed a contract, sent letters. Life was good.
Then William died suddenly. His heart gave out before the ambulance arrived. The funeral was well-attended; he’d been respected. Margaret arranged everything, though she couldn’t believe he was gone.
*”Margaret, look—William’s ex-wife is here. Turned up for the funeral. Didn’t care about the kids for years, and now…? Drunk as ever.”*
Margaret saw her then—a dishevelled, bloated woman hovering near Emily.
Before he passed, William had a strange feeling.
*”Margaret, let’s withdraw the savings and buy you a flat. Shouldn’t have sold yours—prices have gone up.”*
She shrugged but agreed. By luck, her old flat was back on the market, so they bought it and rented it out. William was relieved.
Now, Margaret was no longer needed. The real mother was back—that was natural. Forgiveness was her right.
Closing the door softly, Margaret took one last look at the home where she’d been happy. Time to start again—without William, without the children. They’d made their choice, and she accepted it.
Turns out, she was nobody to them. It hurt, but life went on.