**Diary Entry**
The cloth in my hand stood no chance against the stubborn oil stain sinking into the cheap carpet. It felt like a metaphor for my lifeconstantly cleaning up messes I didnt make. A pile of laundry towered beside me, the sharp scent of washing powder rising from the plastic bucket. This was my world: small, quiet, and always in need of tidying.
Then the phone rangharsh, jarring, slicing through the afternoon silence. The screen flashed: *Emily*. My daughter. Love and fear twisted inside me. Wiping my hands on my apron, I answered, my heart hammering.
Her voice was faint, laced with pain:
*Mum stomach hurts. I dont feel right*
Before I could speak, the line went deadjust a choked breath, then silence.
*Emily?!* I called back immediately. No answer. Ice-cold dread gripped me. *EMILY!* I screamed into the empty house, already knowing it was pointless.
I didnt hesitate. Grabbing my coat and bag, I ran out, leaving the door wide open.
Outside, the suns glare hit me like a wall. Heat rose from the pavement, sweat beading on my forehead. I flagged down a cab. *14 Oak Lane. Hurry!*
The driver mustve seen my paniche hit the accelerator. As we sped off, I dialled *Robert*, my son-in-law.
*Emilys ill. Where are you?*
No reply. Straight to voicemail. My fear curdled into anger. *Where are you when she needs you, Robert?*
When the cab stopped at her house, the front door was ajar. My stomach dropped. I rushed inside.
*Emily! Love!*
The living room looked ransackedshattered glass, an overturned chair, a dark red spill on the table. Her phone lay in the corner, screen still lit.
Then I saw her. My daughter, curled on her side, pale as paper, one hand clutching her swollen belly.
*Emily!* I knelt, shaking her gently, then harder. *Wake up, darling! Mums here!*
Nothing. Her forehead was clammy, cold. Hands trembling, I dialled 999.
*14 Oak Lane. My daughters unconsciousshes pregnant! Please hurry!*
The wait for the ambulance was agony. I stroked her hair, whispering, *Hold on, my love. Im here.*
The paramedics worked fast. *Babys alive, but heartbeats weak,* one muttered. The other slid a needle into Emilys arm. She didnt flinch.
*Ruptured membranes, severe bleeding. Prep the OR!* crackled over the radio.
At the hospital, the doors burst open. *Emergency C-sectionnow!* a doctor barked. I tried to follow, but a nurse blocked me.
*Wait here. Well do everything we can.*
The doors slammed. I collapsed onto a plastic chair, each minute stretching into hours.
Finally, the doctor emerged. *Youre Emilys mother?* I nodded. *The babys herea boy. Hes premature, in the NICU. Your daughter she lost a lot of blood. Shes in a coma.*
The words gutted me. A grandson. A coma.
I spent hours torn between the NICU and Emilys bedside. My tiny grandson fought in his incubator, fists clenched. *Be strong, little one,* I whispered.
Emily lay still, her face ghostly under the harsh lights. *Wake up, darling. Your son needs you.*
I called Robertno answer. Texts went ignored. Then, in the hallway, I overheard nurses gossiping about a *wild yacht party in Brighton.*
Then I saw iton a girls phone. *Robert.* Smug in a white suit, proposing to a woman in a red bikini. Fireworks. Cheers.
While my daughter fought for her life, he was *celebrating.*
My hands shook as I opened Emilys phone. A text glared back:
*Your husband is mine.*
AttachedRobert embracing the same woman. Sent minutes before Emily collapsed.
The security footage confirmed it: Emily reading the text, whispering *Robert, where are you?* before collapsing.
Tears fell, but my hands were steady. I saved the video, screenshotted everything. I wasnt just a grieving mother anymoreI was gathering evidence.
At Emilys house, I found more: flight tickets in his name, a luxury hotel receipt, a £15,000 Rolexall paid from *her* account. Hed been funding his double life with her savings.
Using her power of attorney, I froze every account. Robert called, raging: *Unlock it, Margaret. Or youll regret it.* I recorded every threat.
My solicitor, *James Whitmore*, reviewed the evidence. *This isnt just infidelity. Its fraud. Well ruin him.*
Court was brutal. James laid it all outbank statements, receipts, the proposal video. When they played the footage of Emilys collapse, the room held its breath.
Robert paled. His smirk vanished.
When the judge gave me the floor, I stood. *While my daughter and grandson fought to live, this man proposed to another woman. He stole her money, her trust, and nearly killed her. I dont want mercy. I want justice.*
The verdict was swift: full custody to Emily, a restraining order, every penny returned.
Robert screamed Id *pay for this,* but his mistress, *Chloe*, spat in his face: *I dont date losers.*
He left alone, bankrupt, cameras flashing like vultures.
Months later, Emilyholding baby *Oliver*launched our charity, *New Dawn,* for abandoned mothers. Her eyes shone again.
We survived the storm. And I knew wed never walk this path alone.
