**Diary Entry**
*Monday, 12th September*
«You were nothing to him. Im his mother,» my mother-in-law whispered, her voice sharp as a blade.
«You shouldnt have called that private doctor,» Margaret said, adjusting the black scarf over her grey hair. «Our GP has looked after us for yearshes perfectly capable.»
I set another plate of Victoria sponge on the table without a word. The guests had thinned out, leaving only close family behind. The kitchen was too cramped for so many people, but no one dared eat in the sitting roomnot with the coffin there.
«Cat got your tongue?» Margaret pressed, her eyes hard. «Was it the money you begrudged? Fifteen thousand pounds for that surgery, and what good did it do?»
«Margaret, not now,» Auntie Claire murmured, but she wasnt listening.
«When, then?» Her eyes were rednot from tears, but fury. «He was *my* son. I carried him, raised him, put him on his feet. And you you just married him.»
I tightened my grip on the tea towel. I wanted to scream, to run, to hidebut I couldnt. Today was Stevens funeral. I had to hold it together.
«Mum, thats enough,» William said wearily. Stevens younger brother looked exhausted. «Today isnt the time.»
«And when *is* the time?» Margaret snapped. «After we bury him? Im to keep quiet while *she* takes charge? This is *my* home. Steven was born herethis is where he belongs!»
I flinched. Wed argued all week about where to hold the wake. Margaret insisted on her little terraced house, while Id suggested a quiet pub. But as always, she had her way.
«Ill just air out the sitting room,» I muttered, slipping away.
The room was stifling. The scent of lilies and incense mixed with the smell of roast beef and potatoes. Steven lay in the coffin, unfamiliar in his black suit. He *hated* suitsalways said they were stiff. Preferred jumpers and jeans.
«Why did you leave me?» I whispered, stepping closer. «How am I supposed to do this alone?»
Footsteps behind me. Auntie Claire rested a hand on my shoulder. «Dont torment yourself, love. It wasnt his fault. That damned illness.»
«She thinks I didnt fight hard enough. That I skimped on his care.»
«Pay her no mind. Grief makes people cruel. He was her only son, her pride and joy.»
«And what about *my* grief?» I turned, and she saw my tears. «Twelve years, Claire. *Twelve years.* I nursed him through it all. Gave up my job to take him to appointments.»
«I know, love. You were a good wife.»
«And she says I was *nothing* to him. How? We married in church. We wanted children»
I stopped. That hurt too much. Wed tried. Then Steven fell ill, and everything else faded.
From the kitchen, Margarets voice carried. She was telling someone how Steven had fallen off his bike as a boy and broken his arm.
«I took him to A&E myself,» she said. «Middle of the night, in a cab. The doctor said another hour, and it mightve set wrong.»
I remembered Steven laughing about that story. How hed said *she* was the one who panickednot him. The doctors had calmed *her* down.
«He was always brave,» Margaret went on. «Stood up for the smaller lads at school. Knew how to handle himself. Then the Armymade a fine officer of him.»
I thought of his letters from basic training. How he missed roast dinners and proper tea. And how he wrote about methe girl hed met just before enlisting, the one he swore hed come back to.
«Come look at the photos,» his cousin Emma called from the kitchen.
An old album lay open on the table. Margaret turned the pages, annotating each snapshot.
«Year One,» she said, pointing. «Serious little thing. Top marks, always.»
I sat beside her, studying the boy in the pictures. A gap-toothed grin, a teddy bear clutched in his arms, sandcastles at Brighton beach.
«Here he is grown,» she said, flipping the page. «Technical collegetrained as a mechanic. Hands of gold, that boy. Could fix anything.»
«He never minded when I mucked up the car,» I said softly.
Margaret shot me a look. «Well, he was kind to *everyone*not just you.»
An awkward silence. Emma coughed and asked for more photos.
«After the Army,» Margaret said, tapping a picture of Steven in leathers by his motorbike. «Handsome devil. Girls flocked to him.»
I remembered our first meeting. Hed given my mate a lift home from work, and Id tagged along. Hed charmed me silly with stories all the way.
«So many girls,» Margaret sighed. «But none serious. Too young to settle, hed say.»
«Mum,» William cut in, irritated.
«What? Its true. Then suddenlymarried. Took me by surprise.»
My cheeks burned. Steven had hesitated to introduce us. Said she was set in her ways.
«Lovely wedding, though,» Claire offered. «That cake was divine.»
«*I* ordered the cake,» Margaret corrected. «*I* bought her dress. She had no savings.»
«I *worked*,» I said quietly. «It wasnt much.»
«Exactly. Steven earned well. Promotions every year at the factory.»
I thought of our dream to buy a house. Every penny savedthen spent on treatments.
«He wanted children,» I blurted. «Always said, Once Im well»
Margaret shut the album with a snap. «We should lay the table. The vicar will be here soon.»
Later, when the others had scattered, only William and I remained. He smoked on the patio while I washed up.
«Dont take it to heart,» he said, coming inside. «She loved him. Maybe too much.»
«I know,» I said, scrubbing a plate. «But nothing to him? That cuts.»
«You werent. You were his *wife*.»
«*Were*,» I echoed. «Now what am I? A widow? Sounds like someone elses life.»
«Youre family. Always.»
But I knew better. After tomorrow, Id go back to the flat wed rented. No more Christmas invites. No more birthday calls.
That night, when the vicar had gone and the house was quiet, Margaret found me by the coffin. I held a photo of Stevenyoung, grinning, alive.
«Tomorrow,» she said softly. «Highgate Cemetery. Beside his father.»
I nodded. Wed agreed that this morning.
«And his things will you take them, or shall I keep them?»
«I dont know yet.»
«Fine. Theyll keep.»
We stood inches apart, separated by something unseen. Two griefs, neither yielding.
«You were nothing. Im his mother,» she whisperedor did I imagine it?
Exhaustion blurred everything. I looked at the photo in my hands. Stevens smilethe one he wore when wed just married, when the future stretched bright before us.
«Forgive me,» I breathed, unsure who I meant.
Outside, dusk settled. Somewhere beyond it, a life without Steven beganone where Id have to learn who I was without him. Just Emily. Not his wife. Just Emily.
