**Diary Entry 14th October**
She told me to wait on the bench I didnt see her again for years, not until the pain had already carved its place inside me.
My name is Oliver. I grew up in what seemed, to my childs eyes, an ordinary familyfull of love, warmth, a fragile little haven of peace. My mother, Eleanor, and my father, Henry, appeared inseparableat least, thats how I saw it through the lens of childish innocence. Dad was a manager at a small factory in a quiet village called Wellingborough, nestled in the gentle hills of the Cotswolds, while Mum stayed home to look after me. I was their only son, and in those days, I believed our little world would last forever.
Then, one day, everything collapsed, as though fate had struck us with one brutal blow. Dad lost his job without warning. I didnt understand what it meant then, but I saw him changehis laughter faded, replaced by a grim, smothering silence. He found new work quickly, but money in the house began to vanish like leaves swept away in an autumn gale. At night, Id hear Mum screaming at him, plates shattering in the heat of their rows. Their voices thundered through our cramped house like a storm, and Id hide under the covers, shaking, praying for the nightmare to end.
Then came the blow that shattered my life to pieces. Dad discovered Mum had been secretly seeing another man. Our home became a battlefieldshrieks tore through the air, tears soaked the floorboards, and the door slammed shut with a crack as Dad stormed out, leaving Mum and me in the wreckage. I missed him so much it felt like my heart had been ripped in two. I begged Mum to take me to him, but shed snap back, Its his fault, Oliver! He abandoned ushes a wretched man! Her words cut like knives, but they couldnt dull the ache I felt for my father.
One frosty morning, Mum approached me with a smile I hadnt seen in agesa ghost of the past. Pack your things, lovewere going to the seaside! she announced. My heart leaptthe seaside! It sounded like a fairy tale, something Id barely let myself dream of. She was already stuffing clothes into an old, battered suitcase. I tried to take my toy cars, but she stopped me. Well buy you new ones therebetter ones. I believed herhow could I not? She was my mother, my safe place.
We arrived at the bus station, loud and chaotic. Mum bought tickets, then said we had time to spare and an errand to run. We boarded a rickety old bus that rattled over every pothole. I stared through the grimy window, picturing waves and sandcastles Id build. Finally, we stopped outside a rundown block of flats, its walls peeling and windows grimy. Mum pointed to a bench by the entrance. Wait here, Oliver. Ill fetch ice creamstay put, dont wander off. I nodded, sat on the cold wooden bench, and watched her disappear inside.
Time dragged endlessly. An hour passed, then another. Mum didnt return. The sun dipped low, the wind turned biting, and fear tightened my throat like a noose. I stared at the windows, one by one lighting up, willing her silhouette to appear with ice creams in hand. But she never came. Darkness swallowed the courtyard like a heavy curtain, and I, a little boy, was left behind. Tears burned my cheeks as I called her name, but my voice vanished into the night. Exhausted by fear and cold, I curled up on the bench and fell asleep.
I woke not outside, but in a warm bed. I opened my eyesthe room was unfamiliar, bare and strange. For a moment, I thought Mum had come back for me. Mum? I called, but the door opened, and in walked Dad. Behind him stood a woman I didnt know. I scrambled up, my heart pounding. Dad! Wheres Mum? She went for ice cream and never came back! What happened?
Dad sat beside me, his face stern, etched with quiet pain. He gripped my hand and spoke words that branded my soul: Oliver, your mother left you. Shes gone, and she wont be back. It hit me like lightning. Left me? Impossiblemothers dont do that! I cried, screamed that it was a lie, that shed promised the seaside, but Dad only held me tighter and repeated, Shes not coming back, son. It was the cruel, naked truth.
Years passed. Dad and I moved to Brighton, a seaside town where waves crashed endlessly on the shore. The woman at his side was named Margaret. She was kind, though I kept my distance at first. In time, I called her Mumnot the one whod betrayed me, but the one who truly cared. We had a little sister, Emily, and for the first time, I knew what a real family felt likewarm, steady, free of shouts and deceit.
When I grew older, Dad told me more. Mum had called him the morning after shed left me on the bench, her voice icy as she told him where I was, then hung up. She lost custody, and I never knew where shed gone. Life moved onwe got a bigger house, I did well in school, then university. I graduated with honours, found a good job. My salary grew, so I bought my own flat in central Brighton.
One stormy evening, returning from work, I spotted a figure on the bench outside my buildinga ghostly reflection of my childhood self. She looked up and whispered, Oliver. I froze. Im your mother, she added, her voice trembling. I stared at this aged stranger, stunned. Why now? After all these years? I pulled out my phone and rang Dad and Margaret.
They came at once, their presence dissolving my fear. Dad said, Its your choice, sonwhether she has a place in your life. I looked at herthe woman whod left me alone that freezing nightand felt nothing but emptiness. A knock at the door broke the silence; Dad answered, and she stepped inside. I couldnt bear it. Youre not my mother. I have parentsthe ones who raised me, who stayed when you ran. I dont know you, and I dont want your excuses. Leave, and dont come back, or Ill call the police. She wept, but I stood firm. She had walked away, and I watched her dissolve into the dark.
I turned to Dad and Margaret, hugging them tightly. I love you, I choked out. Thank you for everything. They were my family, my shelter in the wreckage. That woman? Just a ghost from a nightmare Id survived.
Never abandon your children. They didnt ask to be bornyou brought them into this world, and you owe them love and care. I, Oliver, know that better than anyone.
