**Dear Diary,**
Something inside me knew it was serious when Mum called. Her voice was thin, fragile—almost childlike, but strained with worry.
“Emily, can you come home?”
A shiver ran down my spine. I’d only ever heard her sound like this once before—the day Grandpa passed. Back then, the house was chaos, everyone scrambling for something black to wear. My brother William was the only one prepared—teenage goth phase and all. Then came the stifling train ride, and the heavy silence of the flat where Grandpa had spent his final days.
“What’s happened?!” My voice trembled. In the back of my mind, I pictured Daniel—my fiancé—furious at the thought of postponing the wedding again. Last time, I broke my ankle. He’d shouted about wasted tickets, wasted plans. But this wasn’t my fault… was it?
“Granny’s test results are bad. Just got back from the hospital…”
I let out a breath. I knew she’d been unwell, but I’d hoped… Still, if no one had died, we wouldn’t have to cancel. Or—should I hurry, just in case…?
Thinking of Granny dying was terrifying. She’d always been my rock—kind, unshakable. When Grandad walked out on Mum, Granny worked triple shifts to keep food on the table. Even now, scraping by on her pension, she still managed to slip me and William a few quid when we needed it.
“I’ll come,” was all I managed to say.
Granny greeted me with surprising cheer, even mustering a joke.
“Don’t fret, love. A bit of chemo, might do the trick. Shame about my hair, though. Had it all my life…”
“Let’s dye it! You’ll be the prettiest at the wedding,” I forced a smile.
She flustered, digging into her purse.
“Here, take this for the dye. Don’t argue!”
“Granny, I can—”
“You’ve got enough expenses as it is. Here.” Then, with a glint in her eye, “Wait—I’ve got something for you.”
From the wardrobe, she pulled out a pale pink bag. Inside—a handmade, ivory shawl. Old-fashioned, maybe, but so tenderly made I decided then and there I’d wear it on my wedding day.
“It’s perfect! Thank you!”
“Your mum said you’d never wear it… Nothing’s ever good enough for her. Made her a dress once—she ruined it with green dye. Spite, that’s what it was!”
I fibbed gently, “She says it was an accident…”
Over tea and gossip, time slipped away. The doorbell rang—William and his mate Chris had brought a kitten. Ginger, just like Granny’s old cat, Marmalade, who’d passed three years back.
“Chris, love, I’m dying—what d’you bring me a kitten for?”
“No one’s throwing anyone out, Granny. Now you *can’t* die,” William winked.
Chris and I slipped out for milk and biscuits. He was quiet, but as we walked, he murmured,
“Hate seeing her like this. Hope she pulls through.”
“Coming to the wedding?”
“‘Course…” But his silence lingered. And in his eyes, something I didn’t dare name.
The evening was warm. Granny laughed, William praised her new hair, Chris admired the shawl. Only Mum was missing—on night shift. When I checked my phone, dozens of texts from Daniel. I’d completely forgotten—dinner with his parents tonight.
“Where the hell were you?!” he roared. “Mum was worried sick!”
“I was with Granny. She’s got cancer—”
“She’s had her time. *We’re* planning a wedding!”
William drove me home. Chris stayed with Granny.
At home—screaming. Daniel called the shawl a “rag” and forbade me from wearing it.
“I *am* wearing it,” I said. “It’s from Granny.”
“Are you taking the *mick*?”
Arguments festered until the wedding. Then, the night before—Granny was hospitalised. I begged to postpone. Daniel lost it.
“Money’s spent! Everything’s booked! Guests are here! Let the doctors deal with her!”
On the day, I wore the shawl.
“Take that *scrap* off!” he hissed.
“It’s *my* wedding!” My fists clenched.
“And I’m your *husband*. You’ll do as I say!”
“Not yet, you’re not.”
Gasps from the bridesmaids. Parents trying to mediate. But I knew—I couldn’t marry him. I wouldn’t spend my life bending, biting my tongue—
“I need to see Granny. Take me there.”
“Have you *lost it*?!” He grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t *touch* her!”
Chris’s voice. Face dark with rage.
“My *wife*, my problem!”
“No. She’s *not*!”
Then—William’s fist connected with Daniel’s jaw. “Let’s *go*!”
Shouting, crying, the mother-in-law’s curses—it all blurred. But I followed my brother.
And Chris, who fell into step beside me, past the wedding arch, its balloons twisting in the wind—useless now.
