**Personal Diary Entry**

What a day. My feet dragged along the pavement as if moving on autopilot. Between back-to-back meetings, a supplier dispute, and reports I had to redo because of an intern’s mistake, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. All I wanted was to get home, kick off these wretched heels, sink into a hot shower, and collapse into bed.

Just as I rounded the corner, my phone buzzed in my bag. I fished it out, half-expecting a text from my husband, Oliver, asking what I wanted for dinner. Instead, an unknown number flashed on the screen. Normally, I’d ignore it—too many spam calls these days—but something made me answer.

“Hello?” My voice was flat, tired.

“Where the hell are you, you daft cow? We’ve been waiting outside your flat for an hour, starving!” The voice on the other end was sharp, laced with irritation.

I froze mid-step, pedestrians swerving around me. The world kept moving, but my brain stuttered to a halt. That voice—nasal, brimming with impatience—belonged to Oliver’s aunt, Margaret.

“Excuse me?” I managed, hoping I’d misheard.

“Deaf now, are you?” She scoffed. “We’re here! Me, your mother-in-law, and Simon. At your doorstep. Did you forget?”

My brow furrowed. There were no birthdays, no holidays. No warning.

“Margaret, I had no idea you were coming,” I said carefully.

“How’s that possible? Oliver arranged this a week ago! He was supposed to tell you.”

I exhaled slowly. Classic Oliver. His selective memory struck again—conveniently forgetting anything that required responsibility.

“He didn’t mention it,” I said firmly. “I’m just leaving work. I’ll be home in forty minutes.”

“Forty?!” Her voice pitched higher. “We’re knackered and starving! Can’t you hurry?”

Annoyance flared in my chest. They show up unannounced, bark orders, and expect me to drop everything? What if I’d stayed late at a friend’s? Or gone on a work trip?

“Listen, I wasn’t expecting guests,” I said, keeping my tone level. “Give me time to get there.”

“We don’t have time!” She huffed. “Simon’s about to climb the walls! He hasn’t eaten since noon!”

Ah, Simon. Oliver’s cousin—a grown man who still lived with his mum and couldn’t boil an egg.

“Where’s Oliver?” I asked, my patience thinning.

“How should I know? He’s not answering his phone. Probably working late,” she snapped. “Are you coming or what?”

I ended the call without a goodbye. My pulse throbbed in my temples. I dialled Oliver. Ringing. Voicemail. Tried again—same result. He’d mastered the art of vanishing when things got uncomfortable.

*So he knows.* The realisation burned. *And he’s left me to handle it.*

My phone buzzed again—this time, my mother-in-law, Elaine.

“Lydia, darling, will you be long?” Her voice dripped sweetness. “We’re freezing out here, and Margaret’s in a state.”

“Elaine, I’m sorry, but I wasn’t told you were coming,” I replied, forcing politeness. “Oliver never mentioned it.”

“Really?” Her surprise sounded painfully fake. “He swore he’d sorted it! Oh well, these things happen. Do hurry, love. Margaret’s unbearable when she’s hungry.”

I closed my eyes, counting to ten. Again, the expectation that I’d rush home to fix a mess I didn’t create.

*Why is this my problem?* The thought echoed. *Since when is this normal?*

Suddenly, my anger wasn’t just at them—it was at the whole ridiculous dynamic. The assumption that I’d drop everything to cater to their whims.

“Elaine, I’m on my way, but don’t expect dinner the moment I walk in,” I said firmly. “I’ve had a long day. If you’re hungry, there’s a café down the road.”

“Lydia!” Her tone turned wounded. “A café? We’re family! Besides, Simon’s allergic to restaurant food.”

*Really?* I bit back a laugh, recalling him inhaling a kebab like a man stranded on a desert island.

It hit me then—they were used to being pandered to. The clouds overhead darkened, mirroring my mood. Why *should* I race home for people who couldn’t be bothered to call ahead? Why was Oliver hiding instead of dealing with this?

And then it struck me—*What if I just… didn’t?*

I turned on my heel and walked the other way. Around the corner was a cosy Italian place with heavenly carbonara and tiramisu I’d been meaning to try. The hostess smiled as I took a window seat.

“Evening,” she said. “What can I get you?”

“Carbonara and a glass of white wine,” I said, suddenly ravenous. “And tiramisu, please.”

My phone buzzed—Margaret again. I declined. Elaine called next. Then a text from Oliver: *Where are you? Mum says you’re ignoring them. They’re outside.*

I smirked. *Finally he surfaces.*

“Got held up at work. Be late,” I replied curtly and muted my phone.

The wine arrived. One sip, and the tension in my shoulders eased. What was the worst that could happen? They’d wait. Or figure it out. The world wouldn’t end.

The phone kept vibrating—Elaine, Margaret, Oliver. I turned it off entirely. For the first time in ages, I felt a strange mix of guilt and liberation. My friend Natalie’s words floated back: *”You keep solving problems you didn’t create, and they become yours.”*

Why had it taken me so long to see it? The running, the apologising, the bending over backwards—for what? To be called a “daft cow” by Oliver’s aunt?

The pasta was divine. Maybe because I’d chosen *myself* for once. I savoured every bite, lingered over dessert, sipped my coffee slowly. A small rebellion, but it lifted a weight I hadn’t realised I carried.

Eventually, I headed home, bracing for a scene. Instead, the flat was silent. Just two takeaway containers dumped by the door—their petty revenge, I supposed.

Oliver was glued to the telly, his expression sour. He tensed when I walked in.

“Finally gracing us with your presence,” he muttered, but without his usual bluster.

I hung up my coat, switched my phone on, and nearly whistled—dozens of missed calls and texts. Elaine played the victim: *”How could you treat us like this?”* Margaret went nuclear: *”You selfish cow!”*

“Seen these?” Oliver nodded at my phone. “Mum rang me every five minutes. I looked like a right idiot showing up to find them huddled on the bench like vagrants!”

I studied him. He was rattled—scared, even, of what I might say. A first.

“You overdid it,” he mumbled weakly. “They’re family.”

I sat across from him, oddly calm. “You’re right. Family matters. But that doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate rudeness. Your aunt called me names, and you didn’t even warn me they were coming.”

“I meant it as a surprise,” he grumbled, staring at his shoes.

“A surprise?” I snorted. “A surprise is flowers. Or a back rub. Demanding I feed uninvited guests is just entitlement.”

Oliver blinked, lost for words.

“Here’s the thing,” I continued. “Next time they visit, *you* handle it. I’m not a servant.”

“Mum and Aunt Marg are furious,” he tried. “Maybe just call and apologise?”

I shook my head, pulling up a grocery delivery app.

“What are you doing?” He gaped as I loaded the cart with premium steaks, truffles, champagne.

“Helping your family,” I said sweetly. “If I’m expected to feed them, here’s the food.”

I entered Elaine’s address and listed *her* as the payer.

“You’re mad!” Oliver choked. “They’ll lose it!”

I clicked *order* with a shrug. “They wanted dinner. Now they’ve got it.”

An hour later, my phone erupted.

“What is this?!” Elaine screeched. “A delivery man just turned up with half a butcher’s shop and handed me a bill for £500!”

“Oh?” I feigned innocence. “You said you were hungry. Consider it a treat.”

A stunned silence. Then, grudgingly: “Lydia, perhaps we were… hasty. Let’s forget this, shall we?”

“Gladly,” I said. “But next time, call ahead. And no insults.”

She agreed hastily before hanging up.

Oliver stared at me like IAnd from that day on, Lydia made it clear—her time, her peace, and her kindness were gifts, not obligations, and she’d no longer hand them out to those who mistook them for weakness.