**Diary Entry**

I’m 57 now, with no family or children of my own, but I’ve got a bit of advice for parents out there—don’t meddle in your sons’ and daughters’ lives. Don’t force them to live by your rules, because what makes you happy might not do the same for them.

I’m living proof of that. In my parents’ eagerness to secure the best for me, they drove away the woman I loved more than myself.

Emily came from a poor family, while mine boasted inherited land and property—plenty to brag about. When I brought her home to meet them, they outright refused her, saying they’d never accept a penniless daughter-in-law. She walked away—wounded, but with her head held high. She refused to run off with me, insisting that sooner or later, my family would tear us apart.

In time, she married a neighbour—someone as poor as she was. But they worked hard, built a house on the outskirts of town, and raised three children. Every time I saw her in the street, she was smiling, content.

Once, I asked if she loved her husband.

She said she’d learned that stability and understanding matter more in a marriage—love alone isn’t enough to survive. I disagreed but couldn’t argue. I had no right.

I never got over Emily, and unlike her, I never married. I couldn’t picture raising children with someone I didn’t love. My parents tried setting me up with girls *they* approved of—proper matches, they said—but I refused every one. Eventually, they begged me just to choose *someone* to carry on the family name.

But I didn’t want anyone else. By then, Emily had built her life, and I wasn’t part of it.

My parents aged, grew ill, and passed one after the other. I was left alone in our massive three-storey house.

I see friends less now—they’re busy with grandchildren and don’t have time for me. Truthfully, I avoid them too. I’m glad for their happiness, but it stings.

Weekends, I pass the time painting and repairing swings, slides, and climbing frames in the local playgrounds. Sometimes I tidy up nursery gardens too—all voluntary. I don’t need the money. Making other children happy is enough.

I sold off all the land and property I inherited. The money went to schools and orphanages.

A mate once asked why I didn’t donate to care homes as well. I won’t. Harsh as it sounds, this is my revenge—my parents left me alone, so I’ll leave their generation wanting.

Children need care, good starts. The future lies with them.

When I die, my house goes to my old school. They can use it, sell it—so long as it does some good.

**Lesson learned:** Don’t sacrifice your child’s happiness for pride. You might live to regret it, but by then, they’ll have moved on—and you’ll be left with nothing.