George glanced at me subconsciously, saying, "Can Mom and I take you there?"

Lydia turned her head, saying, "I don't want Mom to go with us."

Looking at her round back of the head, I couldn't hide the bitterness in my heart.

"It's okay. I should blame myself for spending too little time with Lydia."

I said gently, "Should Mommy make Lydia's favorite dish at home?"

She was moved, looking at me.

"Okay, Lydia wants to eat Mommy's sandwiches."

My heart warmed up a bit.

Then they two left.

I stopped forcing myself, lifted my feet, and collapsed on the bed when I returned to the room.

"If it were the 22-year-old Daisy, she would decisively get a divorce at the first glance of the diary."

...

"She would rather have a fall out than maintain such a peaceful life."

"But the 32-year-old Daisy is a coward."

"She has been immersed herself in the sweet life for seven years, and she has long lost her pride."

"It's just a diary written by an eighteen-year-old. Who hasn't had a crush when they were young? It's time to move on."

I quietly opened the diary and started reading it.

[If I had to be with someone I didn't love in the future, I would rather not have children.]

After reading this, I was crying bitterly.

George didn't want children before. He had said he didn't want me to experience the pain of childbirth.

I never doubted it.

Then due to drunkenness, I got pregnant.

He wanted to persuade me to have an abortion.

I insisted on keeping it, which was how Lydia came into being.

I fell into a deep sleep with tears on my face.

In my dream, I met George, who was twenty-two years old.

I had run away from home after arguing with my father because of his favoritism.

He was silent, silently holding an umbrella for me.

"There will always be someone who loves you. I will always be here."

I cried loudly in the rain for fear of being seen by others.

He stood in front of me, his back soaked in rain. He used an umbrella to shield me from the wind and rain.

When I woke up again, I realized it was late.

I quickly got up. I hadn't cooked Lydia's favorite sandwiches yet.

I stubbornly refused the help of the nanny and prepared a table of dishes myself.

But the father and daughter did not come back until it was dark.

I looked in the direction of the gate repeatedly.

It was empty at the entrance.

The nanny kindly advised, saying, "Mrs. Marshall, maybe they have eaten outside. Why don't you eat first?"