12March
Dear Diary,
Im writing this while the rain drips against the flat above the old brick tenement in Manchester, trying to make sense of the mess that unfolded with Poppy Greene and my own family.
It began when my mother, Irene Clarke, rushed over with an apologetic smile, calling me Love as if she could smooth over the harsh words Id thrown at her. Forgive me, dear, she said, I didnt mean any harm. Perhaps youll drop by sometime? She added that Victorwell, mewas still on his own after separating from you, still lost in video games and never finding a proper path.
Poppy and I had been together for nearly two years. To her, the relationship seemed solid; she was a regular guest at my parents house, where the reception was polite but not warm. She believed we had a sturdy future. Though I could be a bit lighthearted, I had a certain charm and could appear determined when needed.
Our idyll shattered when I failed an essential English exam. My laziness during the lockdownspending hours on gaming consoles and neglecting my studiesput me in danger of being expelled.
In the heat of that crisis, Poppy let loose at my mothers face:
I wont settle for a man who achieves nothing. I need a selfsufficient partner, not a housemaid. I want us to share the chores and the earnings!
Her words hung heavy in the air, instantly clouding any hope for us.
My mother took the outburst as a personal insult. Shed spent her whole life providing for my father and me, believing her role was to care, not to demand results. Now she expected Poppy to behave the same way.
What a laugh, she muttered. She wont be a maid. A womans first duty is to keep the hearth warm, and a man is the head of the household!
Poppy kept silent, not wanting to fan the flames. After that, the door stopped opening for her. Our communication dwindled to secret messages, occasional calls, and brief meetings in neutral cafés. I suffered from not seeing her, yet instead of honesty I fell back on manipulation.
Poppy, we need to talk to my mum, I urged over the phone. You have to tell her you dont feel that way. Im tired of hiding. Make peace with my parents, will you?
She snapped back, Why should I prove anything to your mother? She didnt raise me. This is your problem, not mine. Why should I bend?
Because you love me and I love you. Its the only way to fix things. If you dont, well lose each other forever, I replied.
With a heavy heart, she agreedready to make a humiliating attempt to explain herself to a strangers mother.
When Poppy arrived, I let her in the hall. At that moment my father, John Clarke, stormed down:
Victor, whats this girl doing here?
I was stunned. Poppy felt her face go pale as if the blood were draining out. The question sounded as though Id introduced a random acquaintance, not my own girlfriend.
Dad, Poppy, we wanted I began, but he cut me off:
I see who this is. Get her out of here!
From the living room my mother emerged:
Whos making that racket? Victor, whos with you?
My father, ignoring Poppy, spat:
The very one who taught you how to live.
Poppy realized she was unwanted. Humiliation and anger drove her to act on instinct.
Im leaving, and you stay, you pathetic, motherboy! she hissed before bolting out, slamming the door behind her. I was too shocked to even try to stop her.
The moment she stepped onto the pavement, my phone buzzed. My voice was raw with fury, not remorse:
Why did you say that?! You ruined everything!
What did I ruin? Your father just turned me into a callgirl!
Doesnt matter who he put me where! You caused a scene! Now Mums furious and Dad wants me to never see you again!
Then he added the final blow:
And you know the worst part? I wont be allowed to sit at my computer any longer.
Poppy felt her pain turn into cold resolve.
Youre blaming me for not being able to game? Your familys problems are yours. You should have dealt with them yourself, not made me the scapegoat.
It became clear he hadnt changed; he remained the same immature lad looking for someone to fault. He never stepped up for her.
I cant put up with this any longer, Victor. This is over, Poppy declared firmly. She blocked me everywhere. The breakup was abrupt but necessary. His familys baggage was his cross to bear, not mine.
A year later, Poppy recovered and started a new chapter. She met a fellow named Liam Hart, and after three months they were heading toward marriage.
One afternoon, while shopping for groceries, she ran into my mother, Irene, by chance.
Poppy! My dear, hello! she exclaimed, rushing into an embrace.
Poppy stiffened.
Hello she managed.
Irene clutched her, peppering her with questions:
Its been ages! How are you? Hows life? I heard you and Victor split hes gone mad with his games! He wont work, just sits by the computer. When you were together he was far more responsible You must come over sometime!
Poppy replied politely, Im sorry, Mrs. Clarke, Im busy with work and home.
Irene noticed a ring on Poppys finger.
Whats that? Are you married?
No, were only engaged. The weddings this summer.
A smile turned into a sneer on Irenes face.
Well, that explains everything! Good thing Victor left you. We dont need someone like you.
Poppy shrugged and turned toward the shelves. My mothers words rang true in one way it was fortunate she had let Victor go but a pang of regret lingered for the time wasted on him.
Looking back, I realise I was a coward who let fear dictate my actions, dragging both Poppy and my family into needless drama. The lesson I take from all this is simple: you cannot repair a broken foundation by shouting louder; you must either rebuild it with honesty or walk away before the walls collapse.
