I Love USA

I Love USA 😀😀

"Natalie, you won't believe what I've just heard!" Irene, usually so composed, sounded utterly shaken. "It's completely ...
06/10/2025

"Natalie, you won't believe what I've just heard!" Irene, usually so composed, sounded utterly shaken. "It's completely beyond belief!"

"What’s happened?" Natalie asked, startled by her friend’s uncharacteristic intensity.

"I can’t tell you over the phone. I’m nearby—can I come round?"

"Of course," Natalie replied, curiosity prickling.

* * *

"Well, out with it!" Natalie urged as she set down a fresh-baked apple pie, two fine china cups, and a glass teapot steeping fragrant herbs.

"I don’t even know where to begin," Irene murmured, distracted.

"Start at the beginning," Natalie suggested.

"The beginning? Alright..."

Irene fell silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts, then asked, "Remember Dr. Evelyn Thompson from our old paediatric clinic?"

"Dr. Thompson? Of course! She was wonderful—saved my boy’s life, and so many others. Diagnoses like magic, always available, never turned a child away. A true healer."

"Exactly," Irene nodded. "She saved my daughter too. Without her... well, I dread to think."

"Why bring her up now?" Natalie frowned. "She retired years ago. Last I heard, she sang in the church choir. I saw her there once."

"Sang," Irene corrected softly. "She’s gone."

"What? But I spoke to her only recently—smiling, bright-eyed, full of life! She wasn’t ill, was she? Though, at her age..."

"Nearly eighty. And in good health."

"Then how?"

"You won’t believe it," Irene said bitterly. "Her own children did it. Drove her to the grave. Literally."

"Don’t be absurd!" Natalie gasped.

"Oh, it’s true." Irene’s face hardened, her eyes reflecting helpless dismay.

* * *

Evelyn Thompson—once just young Evie—had married a cadet from Sandhurst fresh out of medical school. Naturally, she followed her husband, William, to his first posting, working as a doctor wherever they were stationed.

They moved often, living out of suitcases, until finally settling in Manchester. Evie always worked—doctors were scarce in small towns—but here, in the city, she joined a local clinic. By then, they had two children: Jane, her father’s image, and Charlie, the spitting portrait of his mother.

William served; Evie held the home front and treated children.

Only an officer’s wife knows what that life entails. The children, the household, the relentless responsibility—all on her shoulders. Add a demanding husband, and it was... a lot.

But Evie never complained. She managed effortlessly, always cheerful, always radiant. No one, not even her closest friends, guessed the strain at home. Outwardly, the family thrived—a spacious three-bedroom flat, a car, well-dressed children.

Evie wasn’t just a brilliant doctor; she was a homemaker par excellence. Beloved by everyone in the military community. Charlie, though a scamp who’d rather strum his guitar than study, was the life of every party. Jane, however... A straight-A student, mature beyond her years, but cold. She clashed with Charlie, kept to herself. Evie worried she’d struggle with people later.

She was right.

* * *

The family’s stability shattered overnight. One Sunday morning, William walked out without a word, abandoning wife and children. The kids were nearly grown.

Evie had suspected his infidelity but swallowed her pride—for Jane, for Charlie. They were old enough to understand, and the humiliation of public scandal was unthinkable. So she stayed silent, pretending not to see.

William, emboldened, stopped hiding his affairs. Then, one day, he packed his things and left—for the widow next door. Whether it was love or loneliness, nobody knew. The gossip swirled, but soon he retired, took his new family, and vanished.

* * *

Evie grieved. Twenty years together wasn’t nothing.

They’d started with nothing—moved from base to base, sometimes living in barracks. The children came close together, just two years apart. He was always away; she was always alone with them. When they finally started school, she took work at the clinic, refusing to idle like some officers’ wives.

She’d never imagined William would betray her. Not in their youth, anyway. But as grey crept into their hair, she felt an invisible wall rise between them—until she saw it made flesh.

Still, she stayed. Not for herself. For the children.

And then they blamed her for their father’s desertion.

* * *

An unseen war began in Evie’s home.

The children stopped respecting her. Every word, every gesture, was met with scorn or silence.

She endured, smoothing every conflict, hoping they’d mature.

They didn’t.

Jane left for university in London, married some businessman, and lived in luxury. She bought a flat in Manchester—not to live in, but to rent out. She visited rarely, sometimes not even stopping to see Evie. Charlie? Barely acknowledged.

Strangers.

* * *

Years passed. Evie grew accustomed to Jane’s absence, pouring herself into her work, healing other people’s children.

Then Charlie—her darling boy—unraveled.

By forty, he’d burned through two marriages and two children. His wives, tired of his drinking and guitar-strumming idleness, threw him out.

Where did he go? To Evie, of course.

A leech.

Another mother might’ve disciplined him, but not Evie. She blamed herself—for depriving him of a father, for failing him. So she indulged him as he spiraled: first into drunkenness, then into fleeing child support.

"Good Lord," Natalie murmured. "I had no idea."

"Oh, it gets worse," Irene said grimly. "When Charlie skipped out on alimony, Evie—devoted to her grandchildren—went to court and took on the payments herself. Can you imagine?"

"Why?" Natalie sat forward.

"So her grandchildren wouldn’t suffer. So Charlie wouldn’t be punished."

"That’s madness!"

"Yes. But Evie couldn’t do otherwise. She worked double shifts until retirement. Then, suddenly, Charlie returned—with a new girlfriend. Where did they stay? With Evie, of course. She became their maid, their cook. They drank, they fought. A nightmare."

"Unbelievable!"

"Wait. A year later, Charlie’s girlfriend demanded Evie leave. He packed her things in a bag and threw her out. Just like that."

"No!"

"Oh, yes. Neighbors found her weeping on the stairs. They offered help, but she refused, insisting Charlie would ‘cool off.’ He didn’t. Days passed—she slept in the hallway. Finally, someone tracked down Jane. She arrived two days later, dumped Evie in her own flat, and sneered, ‘Live here. Pay the rent yourself.’ Then she left."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

* * *

For months, Evie lived in peace. Alone. Quiet. No drunken rages.

She started attending church. Someone noticed her voice, and soon she sang in the choir.

Life improved.

Until—

One evening, Charlie turned up drunk, demanding money. Evie handed over what she had. It wasn’t enough. He took her pension card—her lifeline.

‘Mum, how will I live?’ she whispered.

‘Figure it out,’ he slurred. ‘Dig into your savings, or let the nursing home feed you.’

There were no savings. Too proud to borrow, Evie rationed her food, stretching supplies for months.

Then Jane appeared.

‘Why haven’t you paid the rent?’ she shrieked. ‘Now there’s a fine!’

‘Darling, I couldn’t—Charlie has my card—’

‘You gave him everything?’ Jane cut in. ‘If you love him so much, go live with him. Pack your things.’

Evie barely had time to protest before Jane had her coat and bag ready.

‘I helped you, and you threw it away. Since Charlie matters more, he can take care of you. I’m renting the flat out.’

She drove Evie to Charlie’s, rang the bell, dropped the bag, and left.

Without a glance.

* * *

A bleary-eyed Charlie opened the door—then shut it again.

Evie collapsed on the

ILoveUSA

– You’re so lucky, Emily, with your man, – sighed Natalie dreamily. – Picks you up from work every day in his car. The f...
06/10/2025

– You’re so lucky, Emily, with your man, – sighed Natalie dreamily. – Picks you up from work every day in his car. The flat’s just been done up, too. And that promotion you got? Makes a girl jealous, honestly. But don’t take it the wrong way—I mean it in the best way.

Emily kept packing her bag. Andrew was due to collect her in five minutes, and she didn’t like keeping him waiting.

– Oh, come off it, Nat. We’ve had our rows too. Nearly split up over that renovation. And I worked five years for that promotion—you weren’t even here when I started gunning for it. Every house has its troubles, you know.

Natalie pouted like a child.

– You don’t see how good you’ve got it, Em. My bloke? Lazy as sin, filthy, and burns through money like it’s nothing! Spent half a year trying to get him to find proper work. And what does he say? "I’m tired of working for someone else, Nat. Want to start my own business." With what? The wages he blows on those stupid games? Businessman, my foot.

Emily studied her friend. They’d only known each other a year, but she’d grown fond of her colleague—knew all the ins and outs of her marriage. Michael really did grind Natalie’s nerves daily, and showed no sign of stopping.

– It’ll sort itself out, Nat, I’m sure, – Emily’s phone buzzed on the desk. – Oh, Andrew’s here. Right, best dash. See you Monday, love.

Natalie nodded, watching her go with a strange, distant look Emily didn’t catch.

By the time Emily slid into the passenger seat, they’d already pulled away from the office. Andrew noticed her expression.

– Trouble at work?

Emily shook her head.

– Natalie’s Michael’s at it again. Don’t think she’ll stick it much longer.

Andrew shrugged. – Their business, not ours.

Emily frowned. His coldness grated sometimes. But she let it lie—Natalie’s woes weren’t worth a row.
..She’d been right. A month later, Natalie arrived at work red-eyed.

– We’re splitting, – she blurted. – And Michael’s thrown me out. Me! Like some stray cat! Where am I supposed to go?

Emily hugged her.

– Don’t fret, Nat. Stay with us a while. Sort the divorce, find a place, get your head straight.

Natalie sobbed—loud, messy gulps.

– Em, I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Emily patted her back, already wondering how to break the news to Andrew...

As expected, he wasn’t thrilled about their guest. But he held his tongue over dinner while Natalie prattled, mixing complaints about Michael with gushing over the flat.

– Michael wouldn’t lift a finger in five years. But this place? Perfect! You can tell real thought went into it.

Emily flushed—most of the decor had been her doing. The praise warmed her.
..Natalie proved the ideal lodger. Quiet, tidy. By day three, she offered to cook dinners to spare Emily after work.

– Making stew tonight, – Natalie chirped from the backseat. – Got everything in. Oh, it’s heaven not taking the bus anymore. Worlds apart!

Emily smiled. Natalie had settled in quickly but made clear she wouldn’t overstay—already flat-hunting.

Dinners grew livelier. Turns out Natalie and Andrew shared music tastes—hours dissecting albums, critiquing lyrics, praising vocalists.

Emily watched her usually reserved husband emerge from his shell. Her introvert struggled with people, yet Natalie had melted right through.

*And not just through his reserve*, Emily thought, catching them snogging like teenagers in the car park one evening...

– Couldn’t you at least pick somewhere discreet? – she said drily.

They sprang apart like schoolkids caught smoking. Andrew spoke first:

– Em, listen... It’s not what—

– Inspecting each other’s fillings? With tongues? – Emily cut in. – And you, Nat. Took you in, helped you through the split, and this is my thanks? Some friend.

Natalie lifted her chin.

– What’s the harm? We fell in love! Andrew said himself—he’s happier with me than he’s been in ages with you!

Andrew went sheet-white.

– Natalie, what rubbish—Em, darling, I—

Emily cut him off.

– Save it. I’m staying at Mum’s tonight. You two pack your things—and take the bedsheets, Christ knows what you’ve done on them. Keys. – She held out her hand.

Andrew meekly handed over the car keys. Emily started the engine.

*Don’t cry. Don’t give them the satisfaction.*

Natalie’s voice reached her:

– Why should we be the ones to leave?

At her mum’s, Emily drank tea by the gallon, weeping endlessly. Her mother soothed as best she could, but guilt gnawed—she blamed herself, Andrew, Natalie, fate...

– Why did I even offer to help? This is all my fault!

Her mum stroked her hair.

– Love, you couldn’t have known. You meant well.

– And lost husband and friend in one go.

– It’ll mend, you’ll see.

Emily nodded, unconvinced. No need to upset Mum further.

Next morning, peeling herself from bed felt impossible. Burying herself forever

ILoveUSA

"Come visit, just leave the grandkids at home." "If they’re my grandkids, and if they’re such a bother to you—" "Lucy,...
06/10/2025

"Come visit, just leave the grandkids at home."

"If they’re my grandkids, and if they’re such a bother to you—"

"Lucy, just wait! I invited *you*. Just you. We were going to stroll along the pier, maybe catch a play, remember? How’s that possible with children? I’ve only got a one-bed flat. Four kids... where would we even put everyone?"

"You’d find a way if you wanted to. But I get it—you don’t."

"Lucy... At my age, hosting a nursery is exhausting," Marina sighed. "I can barely handle one. I just can’t manage. I thought we’d chat, have tea, reminisce. Instead, I’d be cooking by the potful and, no offense, listening to endless shrieking. If you’re set on bringing them, I can help you find a rental nearby."

"Right. Got it. You know, Marina, where my grandkids aren’t welcome, neither am I," Lucy said firmly. "Guess we’re on different paths. Happy New Year."

The line went dead. Marina sighed, rubbing her temples. When had Lucy become such a mother hen? Then again, they’d always been different...

Marina and Lucy had met through mutual friends at sixteen. Three years later, they married around the same time—Marina was Lucy’s maid of honour, and Lucy hers. They christened each other’s firstborns, then Lucy had a second child.

Marina stopped at one daughter. An introvert by nature, she’d raised Polly, a whirlwind of energy who demanded constant attention. Nursery school was her only respite—time to cook, clean, breathe. Sick days were dark times: Polly grew fussy, clingy, impossible to please.

Lucy, though, was a marvel. Two kids, yet never a complaint. Always bright-eyed.

"How do you do it? Doesn’t it wear you out? I’m climbing the walls with just one."

"It was hard at first, but I learned to let go. Didn’t wash their hands properly? Immune boost. Dressed backwards? Stylish. Ate the cat’s food? The cat’s problem. Plus, they entertain each other—I can relax. Mostly. As long as they don’t wreck the house."

Marina could only stare. She bundled her daughter in layers against colds, held her hand everywhere. Maybe Lucy’s way worked—but Marina wasn’t built for it.

With grandkids, nothing changed. Marina had one granddaughter, Ellie—needy, just like her mother. After her husband died, Ellie’s constant chatter, her refusal to play alone, left Marina drained. An hour with her was sweet; three, and her head throbbed. She’d hide under the covers, desperate for silence.

Lucy thrived in chaos. Four grandsons, summer photos of them trampling flowerbeds, hosing each other down.

"How do you keep up?"

"The eldest is nine—he watches the others. They’re independent. Find their own fun."

Marina saw just how "independent" they were when she visited Lucy’s countryside home after decades apart.

"Come stay! You’ve only seen my cottage in pictures," Lucy had said.

Marina agreed, craving a break from her dull routine. She imagined quiet evenings on the porch.

She was wrong. Two grandsons were there by arrival; the others swarmed in by lunch. Chaos erupted—food fights, wailing, toy cars hurled. Oatmeal dripped down Marina’s cheek as the boys howled with laughter. Lucy scrubbed walls, half-hearted scoldings lost in the din.

By day three, Marina packed early. "I need quiet," she said. The unspoken tension lingered.

Now, history repeated. A month ago, Lucy lamented her kids "abandoning" her 

ILoveUSA

The Ugly Heiress "Paul, look... Is that David?" Nina, digging in the garden, lifted her head at the sound of the creaki...
06/10/2025

The Ugly Heiress

"Paul, look... Is that David?" Nina, digging in the garden, lifted her head at the sound of the creaking gate.

"Yes, it’s him. And he’s got a big bag with him." Paul and Nina exchanged knowing glances.

"Looks like he’s packed his things
 Did Margaret finally kick him out? Serves him right, the Casanova."

Paul brushed the dirt from his hands—he and his wife had been planting seedlings—and went to greet his brother. Nina stayed back, watching from a distance. *Let Paul deal with him. Why should I run after that self-absorbed git?* She was about to go back to work when she noticed David waving at her with a stiff, guilty smile. She waved back, thinking, *Like a cat that got the cream. He’s definitely done something wrong and had nowhere else to go—turning up on his family’s doorstep like a bolt from the blue.*

Paul didn’t talk long with his brother before returning to the garden, while David headed inside.

"You were right, Nina," Paul said when he came back. "Margaret threw him out. Not that he’ll admit fault—it’s always her, isn’t it? But we know the truth. She must’ve had enough."

"And who could blame her?" Nina sighed. "She turned a blind eye for years—his drinking, his temper, the way he raised his hand to her more than once. It’s no wonder. She was so lucky to land him—six years younger, handsome. And she had a daughter with him after five years of failing to conceive with her first husband. Probably scared to lose him."

"With her looks?" Paul smirked. "You know what they called her at her old job? The Wicked Witch!"

Nina’s eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious. And she’d laugh it off, answer to it even."

"She’s got a sense of humour, I’ll give her that. But that doesn’t help when your home life’s in tatters."
..Paul had met Margaret at work. She was twenty-eight then, a dispatcher at a taxi firm, while he repaired and tuned their radios. She was married to the firm’s young director—Maxwell—but after five years, no children. Paul had always wondered what a charming, decent-looking man like Maxwell saw in such a plain, brusque woman.

Then one day, Paul’s younger brother David stopped by. It was Margaret’s birthday, and she’d invited the lads and the other dispatchers to celebrate in the office. A good time was had, until Maxwell got called away an hour in. Left alone, Margaret and David—who flirted with every woman in sight—hit it off instantly. She laughed at his jokes, and he basked in her attention, spinning even taller tales.

Paul never noticed the spark between them, but it happened. November, it started—by March, Margaret announced she was divorcing Maxwell.

"What’s the point of this marriage? My clock’s ticking, and still no children. I’ve been checked—I’m fine. But Max refuses to see a doctor. Clearly, kids aren’t in his plans. And he’s cheating—I know it. Everyone looks at me like I’m a fool. They point and whisper, *Look at the Wicked Witch—what does he even see in her?*"

When David told his family he was getting married, his parents rejoiced—Paul was stunned.

"Who to?"

"Margaret!" David grinned.

"But she’s years older than you, and—"

"Ugly, you mean? So what? She’s loaded. Her aunt’s a director at a design firm. Margaret’s getting me a job there soon. Her mum and brother live in Israel—they’ve got their own business, sending her parcels every month. Everything from socks to smoked salmon! And her flat—two bedrooms, fully renovated. They even send her pounds for bills. It’s in her mum’s name, but still. Plus, there’s the cottage—two floors, big garden, veg patch. We’ve been there
 She’s an heiress, plain and simple."

"Money’s good," Paul said. "But do you even love her?"

"Course I do! She’s got a cracking personality!" David laughed. "And she cooks like a dream!"

No one could argue with that.

Soon after, David and Margaret married.

When Margaret discovered she was pregnant, her joy knew no bounds.

"I *told* Maxwell it was him! Three months with David, and here we are—a baby on the way!"

The little girl was born healthy, bringing joy to parents and grandparents alike. By the time she turned six months old, Margaret and David started leaving her with Granny on weekends while they went to the cottage. There was always work—the garden, the veg patch.

But Margaret once confided in Nina that David often dropped her off and drove back to the city, claiming work. He did odd jobs, always had cash. Paul and Nina sometimes visited to help.

Years flew by—soon, little Emily turned three. The family gathered in Margaret’s flat for a celebration. The table was laden with delicacies—gifts from the Israeli relatives. Emily was dressed head to toe in designer clothes from her overseas grandma. But all evening, her father kept slipping away to take phone calls. Margaret eyed him suspiciously.

"David, really? Who keeps ringing? We’ve got guests—pay them some attention!"

"It’s just work," he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

Two years later, David worked with Margaret at the design firm—easy job, good pay.

Then one day, David told Paul they were all going to Israel.

"Her parents want to see Emily—they’ve only met her on Skype. Her mum’s saved for three years to pay for this trip. And they can’t wait to meet their favourite son-in-law." He grinned smugly.

The trip was a triumph. David couldn’t stop gushing.

"Her mum wouldn’t leave me alone! ‘David this, David that’—fed me till I put on three kilos!"

"My darling son-in-law!" Margaret laughed, ruffling his hair

ILoveUSA

**Sunny** She was due any day now. A massive three-year-old Rottweiler named Isla. But to her family, she was simply Su...
06/10/2025

**Sunny**

She was due any day now. A massive three-year-old Rottweiler named Isla. But to her family, she was simply Sunny. I can’t recall who first let slip that odd little endearment, but it stuck fast. So the dog lived with two names—one for those closest, another for the rest of the world. And she didn’t mind: Sunny it was, then. It didn’t bother her.

Auntie Lucy, her owner, was kindness itself—hospitable, gentle, utterly smitten with her darling. The Rottweiler knew it and took full advantage. Though Isla had completed her obedience training with me and even passed the exam with flying colours, under her owners' lenient rule, she allowed herself many liberties. She slept exclusively in their bed, often disregarding hospitality entirely—pushing Uncle Jack onto the floor at dawn with her powerful paws, sprawling across the freed space, and snoring loudly to finish her dreams. She ate like a proper family member at the kitchen table, her heavy head resting on Auntie Lucy’s lap. Sometimes she’d even swipe a choice morsel straight from a plate, entirely without remorse.

Her owners indulged her every whim, and at the slightest whimper or hint of discomfort, they’d rally half the town. This time was no different.

Back then, mobile phones were unheard of, but people managed—knowing where to find someone and relying on taxis. So when Auntie Lucy brought me to her home, she tried, as usual, to steady herself. Sunny met us at the door, swollen and heavy, perfectly healthy though panting. Understandable—a mother-to-be, and by my quick estimate, she’d bless her owners with a dozen pups. No fewer.

“Well?” Auntie Lucy’s voice was tense. “Is it time?” Her anxious gaze flicked to the dog.

“Auntie Lucy,” I said, flustered, “at least let me take my coat off and wash my hands before examining her.”

Sunny, anticipating undivided attention, yipped joyfully, wagging her rear and grinning with all the width of her great muzzle. Labour was at least twelve hours away. No complications, nothing requiring my immediate intervention—I reassured her owner quickly.

“What?” Auntie Lucy gasped. “You’ll leave us alone tonight? What if the pups come early? What if one gets stuck?” Her eyes glazed with fear. The dog, sensing it, whimpered anxiously and fixed me with a pleading stare.

“I’ve told you—she’s fine. She’ll whelp in the morning, closer to noon.”

“Lorraine,” the older woman begged, “if anything happens to Sunny, I won’t survive. You remember how ill she was?” I nodded.

“Remember when she nearly died?” Another nod. “I almost died with her. Do you want a repeat?” She arched her brows, questioning. Truthfully, that time, her hysterics had frightened me—lying on the carpet beside her parvovirus-stricken pup, reacting as if the world were ending. Never in my career had I seen such panic over a dog. It took effort to make her pull herself together so I could treat the actual patient. I didn’t fancy a repeat.

“There now,” the calmed owner said, pleased at how easily she’d talked me into staying, and bustled off to make tea.

Sunny’s memory suddenly sparked. She recalled that a trained dog’s place wasn’t in the kitchen but near the front door, in the hall.

“Where’s Sunny?” Auntie Lucy fretted, noticing the dog’s absence, and rose to check the corridor. The Rottweiler lay on her mat, head low between her paws.

“Sunny,” her owner called. The dog slid her knowing gaze over but didn’t move.

“Ah,” Auntie Lucy realised, “you’re scared of Lorraine? She won’t let you into the kitchen, eh? Nasty trainer.” She laughed, almost childishly.

I never ceased marvelling at dogs’ cunning. Here, spoiled daily, allowed every indulgence—yet she remembered an instructor wouldn’t stand for it. Clever Sunny.

The flat wasn’t small by local standards—two bright rooms facing south, on the second floor of a snug wooden house. After a light supper (forced down at Auntie Lucy’s insistence), I was shown to the spare room. The bathroom had hot running water—a luxury not all homes in town enjoyed then—so I couldn’t refuse.

Steamy and relaxed from the shower, I stepped out—only to find Sunny waiting.

“Keeping watch?” I asked sternly. She hesitated. “And what does our expectant mother want?” I added, watching her adoring gaze.

Sunny bolted for the lounge where her owners were, then glanced back, as if asking permission to sleep in her usual spot. Crafty creature. But she changed her mind, returning to the hall.

Soon, Uncle Jack came home from work. More tea, more chatter. But Sunny refused to sleep with them that night—much to their surprise.

Outside, a blizzard brewed. Clouds smothered the sky, ready to dump snow. The moon, barely risen, vanished again. Winter, in a word.

By midnight, all retired. Sleep eluded me—I’ve always been a night owl. To spare myself futile sheep-counting, I picked up a magazine from the nightstand. Pages turned, eyelids grew heavy. I clicked off the lamp, settled in. Left the door ajar—just in case.

Then the pain hit.

I woke to a stabbing ache from neck to heart. My medical bag was in the other room. The pain swelled—standing was impossible. Air fled my lungs. Dizziness, weakness—trouble multiplied. I needed help.

I called for Auntie Lucy, but my voice failed. Sunny appeared, immediately agitated.

“Sunny,” I whispered, clinging to this slim hope, “fetch Lucy.”

The dog stared, deliberated—then 

ILoveUSA

**Diary Entry** I’ve never been one for secrets—but today, something stopped me in my tracks. “Jenny! Jen, what are yo...
06/10/2025

**Diary Entry**

I’ve never been one for secrets—but today, something stopped me in my tracks.

“Jenny! Jen, what are you doing, standing there like a statue? We’ll be late for the cinema! And we still need to get popcorn,” my friend Emily called out, impatient.

“Huh—?” I blinked, snapping back to reality, my heart suddenly pounding.

“What’s wrong with you? Come on, the others are waiting!” Emily huffed, already turning away.

“Em, honestly, I don’t feel well. You go ahead—I’m heading back to halls,” I managed, forcing steadiness into my voice.

“Do you need a doctor? You’ve gone completely pale,” she said, frowning.

“No, no
 Just apologise to Steve for me, alright?” I gave her a weak smile, though my hands were shaking.

“Fine, but go lie down. Exam stress, maybe?” she suggested, already walking off.

“Yeah, probably,” I murmured, though I knew it wasn’t that.

Once she was gone, I slumped onto a bench, gulping water and pressing my fingers to my temples. The tightness in my chest eased slightly, but the memory lingered.

I hadn’t told Emily what had unsettled me. Just minutes earlier, a pregnant woman had walked past, pushing a pram with two toddlers in tow. Emily hadn’t noticed, but I—

I wiped my face, suddenly ten years younger again.

------

“Jenny, what’s taking so long with those dishes? Hurry up—I still need you to fetch nappies,” Mum snapped, storming into the kitchen.

The plate slipped from my hands, clattering into the sink. From the next room, baby Luke’s wails pierced the air.

“Clumsy fool! Look what you’ve done—go settle him! I just got him to sleep!” she barked.

“I’m going—” My voice cracked as I trudged toward the cot.

As the eldest, I’d been the second parent since Dad left before I turned two. Mum cycled through boyfriends, each leaving behind another sibling—Sophie, Grace, Harry, and now Luke. Cooking, cleaning, nappies—all fell to me.

“Has he stopped crying?” Mum asked, slamming a jar of jam onto the counter.

“Yeah
” I mumbled, turning back to the dishes.

“Leave those—get the nappies first. You can finish later, after school.”

“Mum, I’ll be late again. My form tutor’s already—”

“Ten minutes won’t kill you. I skipped school all the time, and look at me—fine, aren’t I?”

On my way back from the shops, nappies in hand, I ran into classmates licking ice creams.

“Oi, look—it’s ‘Mum’ Jenny!” one of them sneered.

The nickname had stuck ever since they’d seen me pushing the pram. I wanted to be like them—gossiping about boys, going to parties, reading books for fun—not scrubbing bottles and wiping noses. I didn’t hate my siblings, but I resented Mum for it.

------

By eighteen, I was desperate to escape: university, a new city, a life of my own. After Luke’s maternity leave ended, Mum went back to work.

Then, one May morning, I found her pale and queasy at the table.

“Mum, are you ill?”

“Just
 nauseous. Make yourself eggs—the smell’s turning my stomach.”

“What’s wrong?” I whispered, dread pooling in my gut.

“Oh, don’t be daft—I’m pregnant. Me and Dave are having a baby.”

“But you’re forty—”

“Like I had a choice? Dave insisted. Oh, and he’s moving in, so we’ll need to squeeze tighter. Now, go cook.”

That night, I made my decision. I aced my A-Levels, packed my things, and left in August, the slam of the door drowning out her shouts.

------

The city was a fresh start. I waitressed, made friends, vowed never to have children. I’d live for myself.

***

“Miss? Are you alright?” A man’s voice snapped me back to the present.

“Sorry—just tired, I think.”

“Tired? Fancy a coffee, then? There’s a nice cafĂ© just round the corner.”

I agreed. His name was Daniel. We hit it off, started dating—but the 

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