**Diary Entry**
My name is Matthew, and for the longest time, I was certain I had the happiest family imaginable—a small, fragile world filled with warmth and light. To my childish eyes, my parents, Claire and Leonard, seemed unshakable, like a rock in the middle of a stormy sea. Dad ran a small garage in the village of Old Oaks, nestled in the endless fields of the Cotswolds. Mum didn’t work; she devoted herself to the house and to me, her only child. Back then, I truly believed our cosy little world would last forever.
Then, everything changed. Swiftly. Without warning. Like thunder cracking open a clear sky. Dad lost his job. I didn’t fully grasp what was happening, but I felt his laughter fade, his footsteps grow heavier. He found other work, but money was tight. Every night, I’d hear Mum shouting, dishes shattering against the wall, the dull thud of resentment. I’d bury myself under the blankets and pray for it all to stop—for the quiet and love to return.
And then, the final blow. Dad found out Mum had been seeing another man. Our home crumbled—arguments, tears, slammed doors. Then one day, he walked out. Just left, shutting the door behind him, leaving me and her behind.
I missed him so much it felt like my heart might split in two. I begged Mum to let me see him, but she’d shout,
*”He abandoned us, Matthew! He’s a coward and a liar! Forget about him!”*
Her words cut deep, but they couldn’t silence my longing.
One cold morning, Mum approached me with a smile I hadn’t seen in ages—a faint echo of the warmth she used to have.
*”Pack your things, love—we’re going to the seaside!”* she said.
My heart leapt. The seaside! Sand, waves, endless fun! She hurriedly stuffed clothes into a worn-out suitcase. I grabbed my favourite toy trains, but she stopped me:
*”Leave them. We’ll buy you new ones—better ones!”*
How could I doubt her? She was my mum.
We arrived at the coach station—people bustling about, the air thick with petrol and dampness. Mum bought tickets and said we had a little time, needed to make a stop first. We boarded a creaky old bus to some run-down part of town. I stared out the window, dreaming of sandcastles.
The bus stopped outside a shabby building with grimy windows. Mum pointed to a wooden bench by the door:
*”Wait here, Matthew. I’ll bring you an ice cream. Don’t move.”*
I nodded and sat obediently, waiting.
An hour passed. Then another. The sun dipped low, shadows stretching long. I kept staring at the door, hoping to see Mum with an ice cream in her hand. But she never came. The wind chilled my skin; fear clawed at my chest.
I cried out for her. I sobbed. My little heart shattered with loneliness and terror. When I had no strength left, I curled up on the cold bench and slept.
I woke up somewhere else—not outside, but in a bed. A strange room. My heart hammered—had Mum come back for me?
*”Mum?”* I called.
The door opened—and there stood Dad. Behind him, an unfamiliar woman.
I scrambled up:
*”Dad! Where’s Mum? She went for ice cream and never came back! What happened?”*
He sat beside me, took my hand. The pain in his eyes made me want to scream.
*”Matthew… your mum left. She’s gone. She’s not coming back.”*
I refused to believe it. Mothers don’t do that. I screamed, cried, swore she’d promised me the seaside. But Dad just held me tighter and repeated:
*”She’s not coming back, son.”*
He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t sugar-coating it. He just told me the truth—harsh and unflinching.
Years passed. Dad and I moved to Brighton, right by the sea I’d once dreamed of. Julia, the woman with him that day, became my second mum—the real kind, not the one who’d betrayed me. She cared for me, tolerated my silences and outbursts. In time, I called her *Mum* myself. Then my little sister, Sophie, was born—and for the first time, I understood what a real family felt like: steady, safe, loving.
When I was older, Dad told me more. That night, after my desperate wait, Mum had called him. Coldly told him where I was, then hung up. She lost custody. Vanished. For good.
Life moved on. I graduated top of my class, got a good job, bought a little flat near the beach. Everything fell into place as it should.
Then, one dreary autumn evening, I saw a woman on the bench outside my building. Hunched, wrapped in an old coat. As I got closer, she lifted her gaze and whispered:
*”Matthew…”*
*”I’m your mum,”* she said, voice trembling.
I froze. This wasn’t her—just a stranger, worn and weary.
*”Why?”* I managed. *”Why now?”*
I called Dad and Julia. They came straight away. Their presence steadied me.
Dad looked at me and said, *”Your choice, son. Only yours.”*
I studied her—the woman who’d left me on that bench in the cold. And I felt nothing. Just emptiness.
When the buzzer sounded, Dad went to answer. She moved to follow—I stopped her.
*”You’re not my mum,”* I said. *”My mum is the one who stayed. Who loved me. You’re just a stranger. I don’t want you in my life.”*
She wept. But I stood firm.
She left. Disappeared into the dark, just like before.
I hugged Dad and Julia as tight as I could.
*”I love you,”* I whispered through tears. *”Thank you—for everything.”*
They were my family. My home. My truth.
And her? Just a shadow from a past I’d long since left behind.
Don’t abandon your children. They didn’t ask to be born. They deserve your love. And I, Matthew, know that better than most.