**Personal Diary Entry**
Life had settled into a steady rhythmraising my son, building our home, standing by my husbands side. I had chosen Michael myself. Among all the lads in the village, he was the one who truly won my heart. When he returned from his service, we married. Soon after, our son, Oliver, was born. As he grew, I began longing for a daughter.
«Once we finish the house, Michael, well have a little girl,» Id often say. «A proper family idyll.»
Michael would just smile and nod. Hed have been happy to be a father again tomorrow if he could. He used to carry Oliver on his shoulders, proudly walking through the village, greeting everyone we passed.
Then winter came. The roads vanished beneath the snow, buried under drifts. I waited by the window, watching for his return, but he never came home. Thered been an accident at work.
«Time heals,» the neighbours would say. «Youre not alone in this. Cry, and before you know it, years will pass. Youll find someone else.»
I listened, silent. The tears wouldnt come anymore, and somehow, that made it worse.
A year passed. The harsh realities of the nineties pressed down on even the strongest families. Wages in the village went unpaid for months. Those who had land and werent afraid of hard work fared better.
I felt the weight of it all too soon. Oliver started schoolclothes, shoes, food. The garden became everything. I worked until dark, my hands rough, my smile gone. My heart felt like it had turned to stone.
«Take that bucket, you little rascal!» Id snap when Oliver tried sneaking off to his friends. «Done your homework?»
Hed pick up the bucket without a word, but I knew he remembered better dayswhen his father was here, when I was kinder, happier.
At night, Id cry, hating myself for snapping at him. But by morning, the hardness always returned.
One Saturday, my friends, Fiona and Lucy, came by. I never used to have friendsMichael filled every need for company. But now, these two, both divorced and loud, often turned up «for tea.» Though tea was the last thing on their minds.
Morning began as usual. I didnt even glance in the mirrorI knew my face would look weary. I fed the pig, tossed grain to the chickens, piled dirty dishes in the sink, and ordered Oliver to wash up before school.
That evening, I wasnt expecting anyone, though I knew one of the «regulars» might turn up. I didnt care muchif they came, fine. If not, they wouldnt be invited back. Most men took one look at Oliver, muttered something about «baggage,» and left.
«Honestly, Tammy, youll scare them all off,» Fiona laughed. «Too picky. Maybe its your beds fault. Need a new sofa?»
«Oh yes, Ill rush out and buy one,» I sighed. «With what money? If you like it so much, take it.»
Fiona annoyed me, but I still set out pickled cucumbers without a word. Staring at our wedding photo, I sighed.
«Forgive me, Mike. Its hard without you.»
«Men are all the same,» Fiona said, as if reading my thoughts. «Come on, Tammycheers to us! Were the best!»
The next morning, I cleared the mess and went to work.
Aunt Margaret, Michaels aunt, visited.
«What are you doing, Tammy? I hardly recognise you since Michael,» she said. «And these friends of yourstheyre no good for you.»
«Oh, so now youre lecturing me? Think Im some failure? Ive got a home, a household, my sons in school» I stopped short, realising I hadnt checked his homework in over a week. His teacher had asked to speak to me.
I didnt know what to say, so I started stacking dishes.
«You used to be different,» Margaret continued. «Kind, hardworking Stop this nonsense.»
«Im not carrying on,» I snapped. «I just need a break sometimes. Dont I have that right?»
«Of course you do,» she relented.
«Then save your sermons. And frankly, keep your nose out of it. The doors open.»
Margaret tightened her scarf and left without another word.
A sharp pang of guilt hit me. I ran after her, catching her at the gate.
«Waittake some carrots. Ive too many this year.»
«No need, dear,» she waved.
«Please. I mean it.»
She stopped. Shed lived long enough to recognise an unspoken apology. I poured carrots into her bag, my eyes pleading.
«Thank you, Tammy,» she said softly before walking away, her heart aching for me.
On Friday, I packed onions and carrots to sell at the market.
«At least Ill get a few quid. Havent seen a penny in ages.»
«Off somewhere?» nosy Mrs. Wilkins asked, peering into my bags.
«Market. Selling veg.»
The bus never came.
«Bloody things broken again,» old Mr. Thompson grumbled before he and his wife gave up and trudged home.
I waited. Hauling the bags back seemed pointless, so I hitched a ride instead.
A stranger stoppeda man a little older than me, from the next town over. He glanced at me, then at my bags.
«Bus is broken. Need a lift?»
«If youre offering.»
He loaded my bags effortlessly.
«Drop me at the market?»
«Could do.»
«Ill pay.»
He only took half the fare.
«Rest tonight. Ill pass by again.»
«Generous,» I smiled. «Lucky me.»
That evening, he drove me home.
«Come in for tea, at least.»
«Just call me George.»
I set the table quickly. Oliver peered in.
«Stop lurking. Homework done?»
«Almost.»
«Then finish it!»
George smiled. «Lets talk. Im George. And you?»
«Oliver.»
«Struggling with anything?»
«Maths.»
«Lets see.»
Half an hour later, Oliver went to bed happy.
«Clear the table,» George said. «Just tea for me.»
«Tea it is.»
I eyed him suspiciously but poured the tea, adding a plate of potatoes.
«I should go,» he said, hesitating. «Youre lovely, Tammy. Can I come by Friday?»
I smirked. Knew this was coming.
«Sure.»
«Im single,» he added, though I hadnt asked.
*Youll forget by next week,* I thought.
When Fiona and Lucy dropped by, I sent them packing early.
«What if he actually comes?»
«Tammy, this isnt fair!» Fiona pouted. «Come to the pub!»
«Me? At the pub?»
«Were seeing a film!»
«No, girls. Ive cleaning to do.»
George arrived before Id finished. He pretended not to notice the mess.
«Borschts cold. Ill heat it.»
He helped Oliver with maths, explained horsepower. When Oliver went to bed, I was tipsy, laughing.
George pulled me up, hands on my waist.
«Ill stay.»
«Whos stopping you?» I breathed.
Morning came. George fetched water without being asked.
«Need logs for the bathhouse?»
«Sure.»
Over tea, he said quietly, «If you want this, Tammy, no more drinking.»
I froze. «Is that a condition?»
«Call it one. I cant stand the smell. And you know Im decent.»
I almost threw him out. But something stopped me.
«Come tonight. For the bath.»
Fiona came later. «Heard you poured it all out. True?»
«True.»
«You madwoman! That was good stuff!»
«Good? It was misery. Go, Fiona. Im busy.»
I scrubbed the floors, changed the sheets. Made blinis instead of borscht. Oliver nibbled them, drinking squash.
Night fell. George never came.
«Foolish me,» I sighed. *Shouldnt have believed him.*
Thenengine sounds. George appeared with sausages, tinned goods, biscuits, butter.
«From a mate at the depot. For you and Oliver.»
I stared. «You cant find these anywhere now.»
«I know. Thats why I brought them.»
«Eat first or bath?»
He chose the bath.
As I set the table, warmth filled mesomething I hadnt felt since Michael.
*If he came tonight, hell stay.*
Autumn days grew darker, but calmer.
Aunt Margaret watched from her gate, smiling as Georges car pulled upagain.
«Good. Let them be happy. Young stillmaybe another child.»
She sighed. «Tammys herself again. Gentle, smiling. Let her live. Life moves forward. Thats what matters. George came every Friday, then every evening. The house filled with quiet laughter, the scent of stew, the sound of Olivers voice asking questions no child should know. One frosty morning, I found George splitting logs, his breath curling in the air, and I handed him a mug without speaking. He took it, our fingers brushing, and something unspoken settled between us like snow on bare earth. Spring came early that year. In the garden, Oliver planted seeds beside George, who taught him how to measure rows and name the stars. I watched from the window, my hands warm around a cup of tea, and realised I was no longer waiting for the past to return. It had. Just differently.
