When There Are Secrets to Keep
Edward pulled up beside the shabby five-storey block of flats, parking so the number plates wouldn’t draw attention. He scowled at the peeling, unglazed balconies and the blank, lifeless windows. The modern double-glazed panes stood out like fresh patches on old clothes. The building looked like a tramp—dressed in whatever rubbish it had scavenged.
Tucked among scrawny trees and other tired buildings, the block had weathered countless shifts in government and society, now fading just like its ageing tenants.
For Edward, the place stirred a dull, grinding melancholy. He’d spent his childhood in just such a flat, desperate to escape. And he had—studying hard, getting into the right university, the right degree, then economics. You couldn’t build a successful business without it.
When he’d made it, he moved his parents to a better part of town—a modest but modern house with a neat front garden, trimmed hedges, and bright flowers. His mother, never one to sit idle, had planted vegetables out back.
Women loved Edward, and not just for his money. He was handsome, generous, a proper gentleman. Once or twice, he’d nearly married glamorous women, their beauty carefully sculpted by surgeons. But then he imagined introducing some long-legged bride to his plain, working-class mother and changed his mind.
Emily won him with her quiet, natural beauty and warm smile. He fell hard. Within a month, he took her home. His mother had looked her over, smiled ever so slightly, and given him the smallest approving nod.
Who could resist that kind of grace? Unspoilt, content with little, Emily was gentle and modest. Her father had died young, and her mother followed soon after, claimed by cancer. Edward wrapped her in tenderness. Even a year into their marriage, he still turned shy around her, like a lovestruck boy.
Then his business partner—his closest friend—claimed to have seen Emily in that very same wretched neighbourhood, near that peeling five-storey eyesore. What business could she possibly have there? None.
*And what were you doing there?* Edward had asked in return.
*Got lost avoiding traffic, took a wrong turn.*
*Cheating? Emily? Impossible.* Yet a cold shiver ran down his spine; his fists clenched of their own accord.
*Maybe I was mistaken,* his friend backtracked, seeing Edward’s reaction. *She’s lovely, but not exactly one-of-a-kind. Sorry.*
At home, Emily smiled sweetly, acting perfectly natural, leaning into his touch. A cheating wife would avoid intimacy—wouldn’t she? But Emily only pressed closer, pliant, trusting, surrendering.
No, something was wrong. Either she was an exceptional actress, or his friend had lied. Or perhaps it wasn’t an affair at all.
The mystery gnawed at him. At lunch—the same time his friend had spotted her—Edward parked near the flats and waited. To distract himself, he turned on the radio.
Just as he was about to leave, frustrated, Emily appeared. She hurried to one entrance, unlocked the security door plastered with flyers and graffiti, glanced around, and slipped inside.
*She has a key. Interesting.* His heart pounded like a hound on a scent. He nearly followed but stopped short—no key. If he buzzed random flats, she’d vanish long before anyone let him in.
So he waited, drumming his fingers to the stately melodies of *Il Divo*. Forty minutes later, a yellow taxi pulled up. Emily emerged, climbed inside, and left.
Edward didn’t follow. Back at the office, his mind wouldn’t focus. He left early, poured himself a stiff whiskey—unusual for him—and paced like a caged animal.
The front door clicked. Keys jangled on the hall table. He downed another glass, knowing she’d walk in any moment. Yet when she spoke, he still flinched.
*Why are you sitting in the dark?* Emily’s voice came from behind. He turned. *You’ve been drinking. What’s wrong?*
Her eyes widened. Fear flickered in them.
*Nothing’s wrong. Don’t you have anything to tell me?* His voice was gravel.
*Like what?*
Her surprise seemed genuine. *Bravo, darling.* He smirked inwardly.
*Where were you at lunch?* He eyed the bottle, debating another drink.
*Did you come by work? No one mentioned it.* She hesitated.
Edward watched her. Her shoulders slumped; colour drained from her face.
*Caught now? Go on—tell me who you’re seeing. At least let it be someone respectable, not some hopeless wreck from that slum.*
*Don’t lie to me,* he said aloud.
*I wanted to tell you…* Emily stumbled to the sofa, collapsing onto it.
Edward followed her hunched form with his eyes. *Playing for sympathy? Won’t work.*
*Why keep it secret? How long?* He grasped the bottle.
*I—I couldn’t. Not at first. Then—*
*Go on.* He poured another measure.
*Please, don’t drink. You’ll feel awful tomorrow.*
*Too late. Worry about yourself,* he snapped, downing it.
Fear flashed in her eyes again. She looked away.
*Oh no, sweetheart. Face me.* He spun the sofa on its castors, nearly tipping her off. She gasped, clutching the edge.
His pulse hammered; his head spun. *No more. Keep control.*
*I was afraid you’d send me away. So I kept quiet,* she whispered, gripping the sofa as if dizzy.
*So you’ve been cheating all this time?* He gave a drunken laugh. *Still waters, eh?*
*Please, no more,* she begged again.
*Just tell me. I’m waiting.*
*It—it’s my father. He lives there. Not some lover.*
*Your father?* Edward swayed on his stool. *Didn’t you say he was dead?*
*I did. I was ashamed.* She clenched her hands between her knees. *He drank. Mum suffered. One day, she kicked him out. Later, she looked for him, but… then she got sick. Died. I thought he’d died too. No one could survive like that.*
She paused, meeting his gaze.
*After we married, an old neighbour called. Her husband left her broke. She was living in that block—her mother’s place, but she’d died. Works as a hospital cleaner. They brought in a drunk, hit by a car. Barely alive. She recognised him. Contacted me.*
*How could I tell you? You’re successful, wealthy. My father’s a wreck. I paid her to care for him. Bought food. Never used your money—only my salary.*
Edward looked away.
He remembered that night. Winter, darkness, snow lashing the windscreen. He’d taken a shortcut down a narrow street when a shadow darted in front of the car. The impact jolted him.
Outside, under the wheels, a heap of rags. Not until he crouched closer did he see the man beneath—reeking of booze, unwashed for months. Almost as if he’d waited, stepped into the headlights on purpose.
Edward had nearly driven off. Instead, he called an ambulance—and never spoke of it.
He sat beside Emily, taking her hands.
*I’m sorry. What else does he need? Surgery?*
She blinked. *His liver, his heart… Doctors say operating would kill him.*
*The cottage is empty. Move him here. Hire proper care. Bring your friend too, if you like.* The words surprised even him.
*You’re not angry?*
*No. He’s your father.*
*Oh, Edward, you’re the best husband! I love you!* She threw her arms around him.
*If only you knew. I’m the one who nearly killed him. One day, I’ll confess. But not yet, my love.*
*Just don’t make me see him,* he muttered, wincing.
*Of course. Thank you.*
Later, he’d sometimes spot a plump woman wheeling a gaunt figure onto the cottage veranda, tucking blankets around him. Edward never approached. Shame? Perhaps. The man wouldn’t recognise him—hadn’t seen him that night. Still…
A month later, Emily told him she was pregnant. For a dreadful moment, he thought *Someone else’s child?* Then he saw her glowing face.
*A son! I’m going to have a son!* He spun her in his arms.
By the time her belly swelled, her father died. Edward sighed in relief. He fancied Emily did too.
No man, no guilt.
Fate tangles lives long before we meet. Skeletons in the closet are common enough. But secrets have a way of surfacing. And then?
Perhaps forgiveness finds those who grant it first. In time.
