The Secret That Tore a Family Apart
In a cozy riverside town where lanterns glowed at dusk, Emma wiped down the kitchen counter. The scent of a freshly baked apple pie still lingered when the phone rang. The screen flashed the name of her old friend Olivia, whom she hadn’t spoken to in years.
“Liv! Hello! I’m so happy to hear from you!” Emma exclaimed, drying her hands on her apron.
After exchanging pleasantries, Olivia suddenly asked, “Em, did you and James get divorced?”
“What? No! Where did you get that idea?” Emma froze, her heart skipping a beat.
“Strange. Then how do you explain this?” Olivia’s voice was tense.
A second later, a message popped up on Emma’s phone—a photo. She opened it, took one look, and felt the world collapse around her.
—
“God, I’ve had enough!” James stormed into the flat, tossing his keys onto the hallway cabinet.
“James, what’s wrong?” Emma asked, startled. She always got home from work before him, tidying up and cooking dinner.
“What’s wrong? Everything!” he snapped, yanking off his jacket. “This job, the routine, the drudgery! No light at the end of the tunnel, no life! Em, let’s just get away—somewhere quiet. The Lake District, a seaside B&B, anywhere. I’m at my limit!”
“But we’d need to take time off,” Emma mused. “We promised your dad we’d help with the garden shed…”
“To hell with the shed!” James cut in. “It’s not going anywhere in two weeks, but I’m about to crack! What’s more important—flower beds or me?”
“Of course, you are,” Emma said softly, seeing the seriousness in his eyes. “I’ll talk to work. They owe me leave—I haven’t taken any in two years.”
“So, should I book the tickets?” James rubbed his hands together eagerly.
“Go ahead,” Emma nodded. She longed for an escape too—between their son’s graduation, his move to university, and the plumbing disaster upstairs that wrecked the living room, she was drained.
“Right then,” James declared. “The Lake District’s too pricey—we’ll do a B&B. Scenery, nearby walks, and it won’t break the bank.”
Emma didn’t argue. She rarely did. Even when James picked cheap wallpaper after the flood instead of the one she liked, or when he talked her out of a better-paying job, saying,
“That’s halfway across London! You’ll neglect the house. So what if the pay’s good? Don’t I earn enough? There’s a till job at the corner shop—close by, and you’ll get staff discounts.”
She gave in. The shop job bored her, but at least she kept the house running. The one time she stood firm was when James tried pressuring their son into a different university.
“No!” Emma had said sharply. “He chooses where he studies. Don’t you dare bully him!”
James, unused to defiance from his agreeable wife, backed down—but never missed a chance to complain he was “being sidelined.” Emma always reassured him otherwise.
The B&B was booked, bags packed, leave approved. Two days before departure, James’s father, William, called.
“Em, hello,” his voice quivered. “Can’t reach James. Is he alright?”
“Hello, William. He popped out to Boots—left his phone here. Is everything okay? You sound upset.”
“My back’s gone,” he sighed. “Can’t stand, can’t sit. Could James come round? Just to rub in some ointment—it’s agony. The nurse charges a fortune, and the neighbour who helped moved away.”
“I’ll tell him. He’ll be back soon, and we’ll come by,” Emma promised.
When James returned, he scowled at the news. “Brilliant timing. Why now?”
“James, what’s wrong with you? He’s your father! Illness doesn’t wait for convenience. Let’s go check on him.”
“He’s got a sister, remember?” James grumbled.
“His sister can barely walk herself!” Emma snapped. “Enough. We’re going.”
Grumbling, James followed. William’s front door was ajar. He stood hunched by the kitchen window, wincing in pain.
“Twisted wrong,” he muttered guiltily. “Wouldn’t bother you if Margaret were still here.”
Margaret, James’s mum, had passed years ago. William lived alone since, rarely visited—though their grandson had dropped in often before leaving for uni.
“Dad, why now?” James huffed. “We’ve got a trip planned!”
Emma elbowed him sharply.
“Sorry to be a burden,” William’s voice cracked, and Emma’s heart ached.
“Don’t be silly,” she said gently. “Where’s the ointment? Let’s sort you out.”
Half an hour later, William could straighten up, leaning on Emma as he shuffled to the sofa. She checked his fridge—enough food for a day.
“We’ll stop by tomorrow. More ointment, and I’ll cook something,” she promised.
At home, they argued.
“Have you lost the plot?” James fumed. “We’re leaving, and you’re playing nurse?”
“He’s your father! Who else will help him?”
“Call an ambulance! Let the hospital deal with it!”
“You know he won’t go. And they might not even keep him. He’ll recover faster at home.” Emma was stunned by his callousness. “Maybe he’ll improve by tomorrow.”
But William was worse the next day—barely mobile, unable to cook or wash.
“James, we have to stay,” Emma sighed.
“Do what you want!” he snapped. “I’m going on holiday—with or without you. I didn’t slog all year to babysit an old man!”
Emma hoped he’d rethink, but the next morning, James and his suitcase were gone.
“Screw duty! Screw guilt!” James thought as the train clattered on. “I’m owed this break!”
While Emma sacrificed her holiday to care for William, James enjoyed the B&B. He answered her call just once, barking, “Don’t bother me.”
By week two, he’d started an affair with Laura, the local bartender. Soon, he’d forgotten about home.
But in small towns, word travels. Friends of Emma’s, staying at the same B&B, spotted James with Laura. Back home, they cautiously asked if she’d divorced. Her silence and denial said it all.
Meanwhile, James’s only message read: “Delayed—no tickets.” Emma cried but hid it from William. Yet rumours reached him anyway.
“The bastard!” William seethed. “What kind of son—what kind of husband—abandons his wife, who gave up her break for me?”
“William, please, calm down,” Emma begged. “You’ll hurt your back again. Have some chamomile tea—it helps. I’ll manage. Our son’s grown; he’ll be fine. And I’m taking that job James talked me out of. They asked me back.”
“Em, forgive me and Margaret,” William wept. “Thank God she didn’t live to see this disgrace. I don’t know how we raised such a son.”
A month later, James returned—having quit his job remotely.
“Em, we’re divorcing,” he announced. The flat was in Emma’s name, so he had no claim. But he had another plan. With the divorce settled, he went to his father.
“Dad, I’m leaving. Getting remarried. I want my share of the flat and the cottage.”
“Over my dead body!” William roared. “You’ve got the gall to show your face? Who sat by my bed? Cooked for me, helped me bathe? You? You get nothing! It’s all Emma’s and our grandson’s. Try this again, and you’ll regret it!”
Stunned, James slunk back to the B&B with divorce papers. Laura, learning he had no money or home, dumped him for the café manager.
James left to find work abroad, cursing his luck. Too late, he realized he’d wrecked his own life—and there was no way back.
