**Diary Entry**
Today was just one of those days.
I knew it would happenthese moods always dobut it still wore me down. I found myself thinking about life. What have I really achieved? Nearing forty, Ive done all the usual things: school, college, a stint in the army. Ive got a flat, a wife, two kids, and an old banger of a car that takes me to our ridiculous little cottage in the countryside.
Its not the sort of place where you can just kick back with a pint and forget the world. No, theres always somethingdigging beds, weeding, hauling compost in the wheelbarrow, mowing the lawn. The roofs sagging, the fence is rotting, and the whole place feels like its held together by sheer stubbornness.
The tram rattled and screeched like an old tin can as it swayed along the tracks. I sat by the window, watching the streetlights flicker in the dark, forming a bright chain into the distance. My mind wandered.
Ive got everything youre supposed to wantfamily, job, the cottage, paycheques, kids, parents, in-laws. Weekends are for football and a pint after a sauna at the cottage. Holidays and birthdays spent with family. Its all perfectly ordinary.
And then it hit meeverything had become so routine, so safe, so dull. I wanted something more, something alive. For the first time, I realised Id spent my whole life being *convenient*convenient for everyone else. Like Id never once stepped off the path laid out for me.
What if I could start over?
Out of nowhere, I thought of Emily, my first love. Holding hands, dreaming big, that first reckless kiss. A pang of sadness twisted in my chest. Things couldve been so different.
Emilybright, bubbly, always grinning. I was a wreck when we split. Then I met Claire. The complete oppositesteady, dependable. With Claire, everything was sensible. No games. No stolen flowers from the park (Do you *want* a fine? Or a public scolding?).
After the wedding, she started calling my parents «Mum and Dad» straight away. Slipped into family life like she was born for it. My parents adored herclever, kind, the perfect homemaker.
But was this what *I* wanted?
Back then, I chickened out. Didnt take that leap. And Emily? She just vanished. Later, I heard shed married someone else.
The tram jerked to a stop, doors groaning as people poured out and others shuffled in. I stood and pushed toward the backthree stops to go. I rarely take the tram anymore, too used to the car, even if its held together with duct tape.
Then I heard ita voice, bright and familiar.
«Oi, Andrew, hold still, would you?»
I turned, scanning the crowd. Tired faces, lost in their own worlds. A stout woman gripping her sons handa boy of about ten, squirming, desperate to tell her something.
*»Mum, guess what? At school, Lucy»*
*»Andrew, I said behave.»*
*»But I want to tell you *now*! At home youll be cooking, then listening to Annie drone on about her boyfriends, then Jack yapping about uni. Then you and Dadll natter about that stupid cottagewhen do *I* get a turn?»*
*»What nonsense. Youve got a lovely name.»*
*»Yeah, right. Andrew the sparrow, fell off his horse, crashed into a tree, lost his trousers! Thats what they chant. Mum»*
An old woman in a red beret cut in. *»You should listen to your boy. One day, youll want to talk, and he wont want to.»*
The mother scoffed, then glanced at me. Our eyes metjust for a secondbefore she bent down. *»Fine, tell me. But keep it down.»*
The boy babbled excitedly.
And then it struck me.
*Emily.*
Of course. Thats her. *Thats* the life I didnt live. That couldve been *my* son she wasnt listening to, *my* older kids she was fussing over, *my* cottage she was complaining about.
But would I have been happier?
She didnt even recognise me. Just another stranger on the tram.
Suddenly, the weight lifted. My life didnt seem so grey anymore. The cottage? I love it. Claire? She *always* listens. And next weekend, the lads and I are going fishing.
Maybe the car breaking down was a blessing. If it hadnt, Id still be stewing over regrets.
At my stop, I leaned toward the boy and whispered something. His eyes widened, then he laughed.
*»What did he say?»* Emily asked as I stepped off.
*»That man? He taught me how to shut the bully up.»*
*»Oh?»*
*»If Im a sparrow, youre a starlingall squawk, no brains!»*
*»Always did have a sharp tongue,»* she murmured.
*»Who, Mum? You know him?»*
*»No one. Dont be silly.»*
I ducked into the florist near homejust before closing. Only three white carnations left.
*»How much?»*
The exhausted shopkeeper waved me off. *»Take em. Theyre past it anyway.»*
*»Here, at least let me»*
*»Just go.»*
At home, I handed them to Claire. For once, she didnt scold me for wasting money. Just smiled softly.
*»Whats this for?»*
*»Dunno. Fancied spoiling you.»*
Later, stretched on the sofa, I overheard her on the phone. *»Mine brought flowers today. No reason always been a bit of a romantic, that one. The rain tapped gently against the window as I listened to her laugh, low and warm, into the phone. The kids were finally asleep, the cottage creaking in its usual places, and the old car sat parked out front, stubborn as ever. I closed my eyes, not wanting to change a single thing.
