**Diary Entry – A Father’s Unexpected Journey**
I never imagined I’d become a burden to my own daughter.
My name is William Thompson. I spent my whole life with my beloved wife, Margaret. But four years ago, Margaret passed away, leaving me alone—or rather, not entirely alone, as I lived with my daughter Emily and her family in our old house on the outskirts of Birmingham.
Margaret and I always did our best for Emily. We raised her with love, ensuring she never lacked anything. Every summer, we’d visit the Lake District, cherishing the scenery and time together. Emily grew up, graduated from university, and found a good job. Later, she married Daniel, and they had a son, my grandson, Oliver. Margaret and I were over the moon—grandparenthood was pure joy. But losing my wife shattered me, and I’ve never truly recovered.
I’m 66 now, and though I’m in decent health for my age, my back aches sometimes, and my blood pressure acts up. Still, I never complained much. I lived in that old house with Emily, Daniel, and Oliver—a cosy three-bedroom place. Then, not long ago, Emily told me I’d become a burden. Oliver was finishing school, and she said the house felt too cramped.
I started noticing how my presence irritated them. The telly was too loud, I took up space in the lounge, or I disturbed Daniel while he worked from home. To avoid being a nuisance, I began spending whole days out—walking in the park, fishing by the River Avon, or sitting by the old fountain. I’d return only by evening, but it didn’t help. Emily was still unhappy.
One day, she broached a difficult subject: she wanted me to move into a care home. I was stunned. “Emily, how can you ask that? This is my home! I worked my whole life for it. Why don’t you move in with Daniel’s parents? They have a spacious flat in the city centre, and they live alone!” I argued.
Emily snapped, “I’d never get on with Daniel’s parents—his mother and I barely tolerate each other. Dad, you have to understand—we need space. Oliver will be off to uni soon, and you… you’re in the way.”
I tried reasoning. “Emily, people can make it work if they want to. You just want me gone so you can take over this house!”
She gave me three days to decide, threatening to have me committed to a psychiatric hospital if I refused. Terrified, I agreed—was my own daughter truly capable of this?
That same day, she drove me to a care home on the city’s outskirts. My room was small but tidy. I tried to stay positive—walking in the garden, watching birds, keeping to myself. Then I met Elizabeth Montgomery. She noticed me sitting alone and approached.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” she asked kindly.
“Just a week now,” I admitted.
“Let me guess—became a burden to your family too?” she said with a wry smile.
I blinked. “How’d you know?”
“Same story. I’m Elizabeth.”
“William,” I replied.
We talked for hours, realising how much we shared—both widowed, both cast aside by our children. Elizabeth’s son and daughter hadn’t visited in two years. Her company became my solace.
A year passed. One afternoon, as I sat in the garden, I heard a familiar voice. “Uncle Will? What are you doing here?” It was Sarah, Emily’s childhood friend, staring at me in shock.
“I live here, Sarah. How’s Emily? Does she ever mention me?” I asked, forcing a steady tone.
Sarah frowned. “Emily told us you’d moved to the countryside—bought a cottage. Why are you here?”
“She lied, Sarah. She didn’t want me anymore,” I said bitterly.
Sarah, a doctor, was covering shifts at the care home. Two weeks later, she returned with an offer. Her mother had recently passed, leaving a vacant cottage in a village near Stratford-upon-Avon.
“Uncle Will, come live there. It’s a good house—solid. I’ve no family of my own, and it’s just sitting empty. You could tend the garden, fish in the stream nearby. Say yes!”
I was speechless. Emily had erased me, yet Sarah, practically a stranger, offered me refuge.
“Sarah… could Elizabeth come too? Her children abandoned her as well.”
“Of course!” she said warmly.
We packed our things, and within hours, we arrived at the cottage—spacious, with a sprawling garden and a forest view. Sarah grinned. “There’s a stream full of fish just past the trees. And the woods are full of blackberries. You’ll be happy here.”
Elizabeth and I were overjoyed. “Thank you, Sarah. You’ve given us a fresh start.”
Before leaving, I asked one favour. “If you see Emily, don’t tell her where I am. She chose to discard me—I won’t forgive that. But you, Sarah… visit us whenever you like. You’ll always be welcome.”
Three years have passed. Elizabeth and I live in peace—gardening, keeping chickens, even raising a few rabbits. Sarah visits often, bringing treats and news from the city. I’ll never forget her kindness. She gave us a second chance—a home, contentment, and proof that goodness still exists.