28October2025
Dear Diary,
I woke up this morning still reeling from the endless arguments with Mother, Margaret Harper, and I felt compelled to write everything down, if only to make sense of the chaos that has become my life.
From whom did you have a child? Margaret demanded, her voice sharp as ever.
It was from Tom! I snapped back, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
She wasnt talking about who the man was; she meant that Id found someone to give birth to a child for. I could see the suspicion flicker across her face. Did you act in a moment of passion, then? she pressed.
I swallowed hard. Mom, you wont believe it, but it was an accident. I forced a shy smile.
Accidentally getting pregnant is one thing, dear, but giving birth and raising a child by accident is impossible, she retorted, eyes narrowing. Or are you saying you did it while you werent thinking clearly?
Yes, I got pregnant, then thought, What now? and the next thing I knew my little boy was babbling his first Hello, mum.
Not everything was like that, I stammered, biting my lip. It happened when things were good for us.
Good? Youve had five years of good and bad periods, darling! You should have known by now that a relationship with Tom is a deadend, she said, shaking her head.
I thought hed changed, I whispered.
A decent person can change, but not someone who behaves nicely one moment and makes you wish hed just vanish the next, Margaret exploded, waving her hands. Hes already drained you of nerves, and yet you keep returning to him as if you cant help it!
Its like stepping on rakes. Everyone else learns quickly, but I keep tripping over the same thingnow Im the one with a son.
If you dont like that Im back in your life, I can leave, I said, feeling the sting of humiliation.
To Tom? she asked, laughing.
I managed a smile too. The idea of moving out was a nonstarter; it was simply not an option.
I could rent a flat, I offered. I have savings, even a childs allowance. I wont disappear.
Fine, Margaret sighed. No ones chasing you away. Whats your plan now?
Well raise little Eli together, then Ill find a job, maybe work in a garden, and get back on my feet, I replied.
And the father? she asked.
Nothing yet. Tom says he wants to marry me and become his sons official dad, but
Has his name been added to the birth certificate? Margaret inquired.
Whats the point? I shrugged. What could he actually give the child? Hes all talk, a lofty eagle in his head, but I cant even liken him to anything solid.
He once promised me a car for the baby and a flat if I agreed to marry him. When he visited last week to see his son, I asked, Do you want to see him, or just think about the expenses? He handed me five thousand pounds, insisting it would cover diapers and the like. My son was only a month and a half old.
What did you do with the money? Margaret pressed.
I remembered the final scene: I shoved the cash into his hands, told him it wouldnt even buy a pack of nappies, and sent him away.
The next day he called, demanding visitation rights, I recalled with a bitter smile. I told him he must legally acknowledge paternity, or Ill sue for maintenance. He fell silent.
Goodness, Gwen, Margaret muttered, shaking her head. Where do you keep finding these men? First husband, then Andrew, now Tom. Youd think youd learn.
Im not going back to him, Mum. Ive had enough of his smooth words and empty promises, I said, shrugging. Im thirtyfour now; I deserve better.
—
People have turned my tangled love life into a sort of folklore among friends. Whenever my name surfaces, a hushed curiosity follows. Nobody seems to have tangled themselves as badly as I have.
I was blessed with looks and a decent head for numbers, yet Ive always chosen men who, in hindsight, were nothing but a collection of quirks. My first serious relationship began at university, when I moved into a flat with a boxing student named Jack. He was all muscle, no brain. I remember Mother asking, What were you thinking, dating a bloke who cant solve a crossword?
I hoped hed work out both his body and his mind, I had defended myself.
Did you ever tell him your expectations? Margaret would ask, rolling her eyes. Or did you just think youd teach him to dance while he kept punching the air?
Jack eventually left, and after a period of solitude I met Andrew Whitaker. He had the looks and the brainshe adored me almost worshipfully, though his job was a mess and his pay modest. I earned double his salary after university, yet I held onto hope that hed climb the ladder soon.
Andrew never pretended to dominate; he accepted that I was the smarter, more capable partner, calling me the head of our household. We married, though the wedding was funded by my parentsapparently love doesnt need a budget.
Two years later, a jealous colleague led Andrew to a night of drunken flirtation, which spiralled into a violent outburst. He struck me, left me in the hospital, and then we divorced. He barred me from our former flat; I slept on a friends couch while he kept my belongings, the jewellery Id saved for a car, and even some cash.
He claimed ignorance, insisting everything in his flat belonged to him and that I couldnt prove otherwise. The police were called; he discarded most of my stuff in the communal dump, but the jewellery remained, proof enough for me to file a theft report. When he finally returned the money for the car, I withdrew the complaintthough everyone warned me to stay away from that good-for-nothing.
Andrews downfall left me wary, but then Tom Collins entered my life. He was the fifth man, the one who never raised a hand. For five years, I never knew anyone else would call him anything else. Why had I chosen him? Because he loved me obsessively, showered me with compliments, and seemed safeno violence, just endless talk.
Deep down, Id become a punching bag for men like Jack, and I swore never to return to that role. Tom, however, seemed incapable of violence, at least in theory. He talked a lot, promised everything I could wish for, but never delivered. He was all tongue and no action.
I had left my hometown for university, stayed in a larger city, and never owned property. I rented a modest onebedroom flat on the fifth floor of a council block to save money for a future home. When I started seeing Tom, I also met his mother, who beamed at my looks and intelligence. She declared, Well remodel this flat together, then Ill move in with my sister and leave the place for you.
Three years passed, and no renovation happened. Tom kept switching between his mothers house and my flat, never staying long enough to finish anything. One day, while driving over to his mothers, I felt a sudden pain in my abdomen. I rushed to the bathroom, only to discover I was pregnant.
I told Tom, and for a brief three months he acted like a devoted fatherbuying gifts, sending money, claiming hed support us. Then he vanished. He missed the birth, didnt attend the hospital, and only resurfaced when I contacted him through a mutual friend, asking for the money he owed.
He showed up at my door, demanding money for a train ticket home, after having fathered my child. You kicked me out again, but Im not angry, he said, as if he could simply be bought back with a few pounds. I tossed the cash to him, slammed the door, and never heard from him again.
Margaret sighed, With that kind of temperament, youll raise a decent ladbut you wont find a husband, Im sure of it.
I shrugged. At least I have a son. Thats wealth, happiness, a proper family without any more Toms.
So here I sit, thirtyfour, with a little boy named Eli, a mother who worries, and a past full of men who promised the world and delivered nothing. Perhaps someday Ill meet someone who truly respects the effort it takes to build a life from scratch. Until then, Ill keep writing, keep surviving, and keep hoping that the next chapter isnt another disappointment.
