***
James Harrington and his wife Eleanor were on their way to Manchester to visit their daughter. Right outside the building where their Emily lived, James noticed how nervous Eleanor seemed.
“Ellie, love, what’s wrong?” he asked, giving her a concerned look.
“Oh, nothing, just… We haven’t seen Em in ages, and it’s all hitting me now,” Eleanor tried to smile, but her voice shook.
They made their way up to Emily’s flat. James pressed the buzzer firmly. No answer.
“Strange, is she not home?” he muttered, glancing at Eleanor before pressing it again.
The lock clicked, the door creaked open, and James froze, stunned by what he saw.
***
Her father stood there, face flushed with anger. Eleanor grabbed his arm, pleading,
“Jim, calm down, love! Think of your blood pressure! Let’s just talk to Emily first!”
But James yanked his arm free, his voice low and dangerous. Emily, standing in the doorway, felt a chill crawl down her spine—her dad had never looked at her like this before.
“Let go, Ellie! You should’ve been holding onto our daughter, not me!”
“Jim, darling, please!” Eleanor’s eyes darted between him and Emily, desperate to defuse the tension.
Six months ago, James had suffered a hypertensive crisis—the doctors had strict orders about keeping stress at bay. But yesterday, he’d snapped:
“Pack a bag, Ellie. I can’t sit still anymore. Three months of excuses, and she won’t visit? There’s something off. You’re her mother—why aren’t you saying anything?”
Eleanor *had* stayed quiet, though. Not because she didn’t know—but because she knew too much. She and Emily had kept the truth from James, hoping to sort things out before breaking the news. But now—what could she say?
“She’s just exhausted, love. Studying, working part-time—she promised she’d come home soon,” Eleanor babbled, but James was already grabbing his coat.
He snatched his wallet, keys, phone—then took Eleanor’s mobile too.
“And don’t you dare warn her! Am I her father or not? I saw how she was acting last summer—posing in the mirror, flipping her hair, fiddling with her ear. Then clamming up when I asked. Something’s wrong. We’re going to see her.”
On the train, Eleanor tried explaining, but she gave up.
“You’re rushing things. Emily wanted to tell you herself once everything was sorted! She didn’t want to upset your blood pressure.”
“Ellie, enough about my blood pressure! I’m her father—I deserve to know what’s happening! I’ve got a bad feeling about this!” James cut her off.
“Alright, ring the bell, then,” Eleanor sighed, squeezing his hand.
The door didn’t open straight away. Emily must’ve peeked through the spyhole, hesitating. But she couldn’t leave her parents standing outside forever.
“I *knew* it! Emily, who is he? Whose baby is it? Why hide this from us?” James’s voice shook with hurt and fury.
He staggered onto the landing and slumped onto the steps, gripping his chest.
“Dad, why are you sitting out there? Come back inside!” Emily, her bump clearly visible, looked lost and helpless.
His little girl—his pride—had left for uni, got a scholarship, and now… What now? James swallowed the lump in his throat. If he didn’t protect her, who would? He had to find this bloke, talk some sense into him—do *something.*
“Dad, I was going to tell you later, once everything was settled. But now… He was in an accident—he’s in hospital!” Emily burst into tears like a child.
James stood, dusted off his trousers, and suddenly stilled. So what if she was pregnant? They were all alive. They’d manage—they’d been through worse.
Emily had been their miracle baby, born when they’d given up hope. Always the smallest in class but so serious—never misbehaving, buried in books, straight-A student. Got into uni, worked part-time, shared a flat with mates. Last summer, those friends had visited their village—everything seemed fine…
“Ellie, did you know? You knew and didn’t say?” he asked his wife, instantly regretting his sharp tone.
Eleanor looked down. “Jim, you were ill—we had to keep you calm…”
“Alright, fine. Let’s go inside, Em. Start from the beginning.”
Emily explained how she’d met Liam. He worked at the same place she did part-time. Helped her out, then they started dating. Liam said he wanted her close forever—to be his wife. But he’d confessed: he’d been married. They’d rushed into it after school—their mums, old friends, had pushed for it. He and Julia, his ex, had always been more like mates. They’d split when she fell for someone else, but dragged their feet with the paperwork. Then Julia claimed she was pregnant and wanted him back. The new bloke had dumped her, and now she wanted Liam.
“And you believe him? That the baby’s not his?” James asked sternly.
“Yes, Dad. Liam doesn’t lie. He was always with me—she was in another city. He went to talk to her, and the accident happened. But he’ll recover—he’s coming back!”
“Alright, don’t upset yourself. Give me his name, the town, his number.”
“Dad, no!”
“I won’t do anything drastic—especially if he’s in hospital. I just want a word. He’s the father of my grandkid, isn’t he? Might be my son-in-law one day.”
James wiped Emily’s tears and grinned.
“Remember our little rhyme? ‘Dry your eyes, pet, don’t you fret—Daddy’s tough, don’t you forget!’”
“I remember, Dad,” Emily smiled through her tears. “Here’s Liam’s number. Thank you!”
“I’m coming too,” Eleanor said at once.
“Fine, but I talk to the lad alone. What if he’s lying? Or just a wrong’un? Got to know the truth. Ellie, you’ll be on standby.”
Liam really was in a hospital outside Manchester, just moved from ICU. James flashed an old ID at reception.
“Retired Major Harrington. Here to see Liam Carter. Fifth ward? His ex-wife there? Doesn’t matter—I won’t be long.”
In the room, a pretty girl sat by Liam. James didn’t hesitate.
“You Liam Carter? I’m Emily’s dad.”
Liam, weak but alert, lit up.
“Mr Harrington? This is Julia—my ex. Childhood friend, really. She lost her head over some bloke, he messed her about, and she decided I was suddenly perfect. I went to sort it, ended up in this mess. Lucky to be alive! I promised Emily I’d fix this—she trusts me!”
“And this baby Julia’s carrying? Think I don’t know?” James smirked.
“Julia made it up to get me there. No baby. We filed for divorce online. I love Emily, sir. I want to marry her. Our baby’s on the way. Will you let me?” Liam struggled to sit up.
“He only loves Emily—this is my fault,” Julia cut in.
“You’re a right pair,” James sighed. “What a mess.”
“I’ll prove I’m good enough. Soon as I’m back on my feet, I’ll make it right!” Liam insisted.
“We’ll see. We can raise the baby without you—but we’ll settle things proper when you’re healed,” James said, turning to leave.
“Thank you, sir! I won’t let you down!” Liam called after him.
Liam kept his word. Before the birth, he and Emily married. He collected her and their newborn daughter from the hospital—a proper husband and father now.
“Your dad’s going to be a brilliant grandad. We’ll have to give him a grandson next,” Liam whispered to Emily as the nurse handed him the baby. “He trusted me—I won’t fail him. Main thing is, we’re together.”
James stepped forward, hand outstretched.
“Well then, son-in-law—congratulations.”
“And you, sir—a granddaughter! Thank you. For Emily, for everything.” Liam shook his hand firmly.
“Be happy, kids,” James smiled. “Nothing matters more than that.”
