The ambulance sped through London with its blue lights flashing and sirens blaring. Cars tucked to the kerb, clearing the way as it raced down the middle of the road.
“Dad, please… just stay with me. Don’t leave me,” whispered the girl beside the stretcher.
He couldn’t hear her. All he saw was another girl—one smiling at him, her eyes glowing with a soft, warm light. It drew him in, impossible to resist. He wanted nothing more than to dissolve into it. His body felt weightless, almost as if he wasn’t there at all.
But something pulled him back—a firm grip dragging him away from that light. He tried to say, *Let me go*, but no words came. Then—a sudden jolt in his chest, throwing him backwards. The girl’s face vanished. The light died. His body turned to stone. Do stones feel pain?
Sounds returned from the darkness—sobbing, someone calling his name, fingers clutching his hand. He wanted to plead for release, to call out for the vanished Emily. But then he fell—somewhere beyond even the dark. Nothing. Not even himself.
***
**The day before**
“Dad, can I go to Brighton with Sophie and Ellie? Ellie’s aunt has a place there. I only need money for the train, plus a little extra.” Her voice was pleading, hopeful.
William always knew when she was lying. Sometimes he pretended to believe her. Not today. He set down his newspaper and studied Emma closely. Definitely lying. Her ears burned red, she avoided his gaze, fingers nervously twisting the hem of her skirt.
“How long would you be gone?” he asked calmly.
“Two weeks,” Emma said, brightening. “The sea, fresh air. I’m sick of sitting in this stuffy city.”
“With Sophie and Ellie?” William repeated.
Hearing the sarcasm in his tone, Emma realised her lie hadn’t fooled him.
“You’re rubbish at this. I spoke to Ellie’s dad yesterday. They’re going to the Lake District.”
Her ears weren’t just red—they were on fire. The flush spread down her neck as she lifted her chin defiantly.
“I knew you’d say no if I told you it was with Jack, so I lied. His aunt *does* live by the sea.”
“You guessed right. Not a chance,” William said coolly. “I get it—young love and all. But is that really enough reason to jet off alone with a boy?”
“I love him,” Emma said, voice breaking. Her face paled.
“Does he love you? Love and wanting aren’t the same. I’ve been a bloke his age. Trust me, when a lad invites a girl away, it’s not for what she thinks it is.”
“So that’s a no?” Emma asked flatly.
“Yes. My holiday starts next month. We’ll go then.”
Emma bit her lip, lost in thought. William’s chest tightened. She looked just like her mother—same lip-biting when angry or unsure. His daughter was all grown now. How could he explain he’d lost too much already? He couldn’t lose her, too.
“Dad, *please*. It’s just the train ride alone. We’d stay with his family after,” she pressed.
“No. If you really want, we’ll visit them—together—next month.”
“I didn’t think you’d be like *this*,” Emma snapped. “I could’ve just left a note. I’m an adult. But I *asked* properly.”
“You didn’t run off, so my opinion matters. If it does, then listen,” he said, reaching for the paper again. He didn’t read it, just held it in his lap.
“One day, you’ll look back and see this differently.”
“Dad, we *love* each other.”
“You might. Him? If he did, he wouldn’t push you to lie.”
“Oh, you know *everything* then?” Emma’s voice sharpened—then she froze. She’d crossed a line.
“Because I’ve been there. Some mistakes last a lifetime,” William said quietly.
“Yeah? Gonna tell me how *hard* it was, raising me alone? How you gave up your whole life for me?” Her brows knit together, eyes pleading. “I’m grateful, Dad, but *I* get to make my own mistakes.”
“No.” He opened the paper, a clear dismissal.
Emma scoffed, spun on her heel, and slammed her bedroom door behind her.
William set the paper aside. How could he focus on news now?
***
How long had it been? Felt like yesterday he’d begged Emily to sneak off to Edinburgh for the weekend. He never asked—had she lied to her parents, or told the truth? They’d let her go.
The trip was perfect. They’d come back changed. Then Emily left for Manchester for university. He stayed behind, met Jessica at uni, lost his head over her—forgot all about Edinburgh, Emily, the promises he’d made. Not love, though. He remembered *that* clearly.
Then Emily showed up, pregnant. He panicked—not about the baby, but losing Jessica. Emily came straight from the station. He begged her to *sort it out*, rambling about youth, not being ready, how safe it was now…
Emily cried. “It’s been twelve weeks.”
“Then why *wait*?” he’d shouted. “Twelve weeks is still—”
She left. He assumed she’d *taken care of it*—heard nothing for three years. If she’d kept the baby, he’d have known. Her parents would’ve dragged him to court.
He married Jessica. Honeymoon in Cornwall—tickets bought, bags packed. Then the doorbell rang. He barely recognised the pale, frail Emily holding a little girl’s hand.
“Hello,” she forced a smile.
William froze.
“Who’s here?” Jessica called from the living room.
He knew she was behind him—saw it in Emily’s trembling lashes. Turned.
“Who’s *this*?” Jessica stared at the girl.
William looked back at Emily. Pain flickered in her eyes. Shame burned through him. He hadn’t killed anyone, but he felt like a criminal caught red-handed.
“Old friend from school,” he forced out.
“You’ll let them stand in the hall?” Jessica smiled stiffly.
Emily stepped inside, stopped. As William shut the door, he spotted a large duffel bag. A horrible thought struck—those were the girl’s things.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, hating the false lightness in his voice.
“Leaving. I can’t take her.” Emily looked down at her daughter. “No one else to leave her with. You’re not a stranger. If I come back… I’ll take her then.”
He wanted to say *we’re leaving too*, but instead asked, “Where are you going?”
“Far. Her things are in the bag. Documents, clothes. There’s a list—food allergies, likes.” She lifted the girl, kissed her, then set her down and left.
“*Yours*?” Jessica hissed after the door shut.
“She was supposed to—” William mumbled.
The little girl cried, realising her mum was gone. William picked her up. Jessica exploded. He defended himself—*it was before you, I never knew*—but their new marriage already cracked under the weight.
He checked the documents. His name was listed as the father. Three days alone with the girl nearly broke him. On the fourth, Jessica returned.
She tried so hard to love the quiet, clever child—so like Emily. A year later, they learned Emily had died of leukaemia. When Emma turned six, Jessica left. William didn’t stop her. He’d seen the strain.
***
William went to Emma’s room and told her everything—even as she sat there, headphones on, pretending not to listen.
She’d learned about Emily when Jessica left. William never hid the truth.
“I was young. Didn’t think. Rushed into everything with Emily. Then I met Jessica, fell *properly* in love. And you—you showed up so suddenly…”
“There’s *contraceptives*,” Emma said, headphones gone now.
“Yeah. But at eighteen, you don’t believe mistakes last forever. Some can’t be fixed. Think about it.” He left her to it.
Next morning, Emma was the one to talk.
“I’ve been thinking. You can’t shield me forever. It’s *my* life. You never remarried because you were scared of messing up again—scared no one could love me like a mum. Jessica couldn’t, so you split. But mistakes *happen*. And I don’t need Brighton to make them. Dad, I’m not *yours* to keep. Mum would’ve understood—”
“But she’s *gone*. I’m your father, a *man*—I *know* how—”
“I’m going. You can’t stop me. I love Jack. We’ll be fine.” Her voice cracked. She cougShe squeezed his hand, and for the first time in years, William truly believed that sometimes love meant letting go, not holding on.
