Emily walked home from school in high spirits. Today, her class had collected money for flowers and a gift for their form tutor. And Daniel had said girls love roses—looking at her in a way that made her heart skip. She took it as a hint for his upcoming Mother’s Day gift. The other girls would be so jealous.
She’d liked him since he first walked into class. Last year, his father had been transferred to the military base near their town in Kent. Daniel was confident, independent—unbothered by what others thought. That drew her in. Emily, on the other hand, always worried about slipping up, about looking silly.
The class respected him instantly. He wasn’t the loudest, but even teachers listened when he spoke.
Late February, but spring teased at the edges—birds singing, icy droplets tapping rooftops as they melted. Her chest ached with the thrill of something new.
Then she opened the front door. Shouting. Again. Her mood plummeted. It never used to be like this—family holidays in Brighton, New Year’s Eve with sparklers. What if they divorced? Would any of that ever happen again?
Sophie’s mum had tried to take her own life when her dad left. Sophie cried in lessons. Meanwhile, Lily said it was fine—her divorced parents spoiled her with gifts and cash. But was happiness really about that?
The yelling stopped. On tiptoes, Emily peered into the kitchen. Dad stood by the window, back turned. Mum sat at the table, face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking.
“Calm down, Emily’ll be home soon,” Dad muttered without turning. “What do I have to do to make you believe me?” Then he glanced over and spotted her.
“How long have you been eavesdropping?” he snapped.
“Long enough,” she shot back.
“To understand what?” Mum lifted her face—puffy eyes, smudged mascara. Emily gritted her teeth. *Does she not see how this pushes him away?*
“You’re getting divorced,” Emily blurted.
Dad scowled but stayed silent.
“Did you even think about me? Who I’d live with? There are *three* of us. Or does my opinion not matter? I don’t want to pick—I want *both* of you! If you’re sick of each other, fine. I want new parents! I *hate* you!” Her voice cracked.
She spun, slammed out of the flat, and ran—no lift, just the stairs. Outside, she tugged on gloves. Where to go? None of her friends would get it. Not when her own parents couldn’t.
She walked. By evening, the melted ice had refrozen. After two bus stops, she ducked into a corner shop to warm up. The sight of sausage rolls made her mouth water.
She scraped together coins from her coat and bought one. Outside, she devoured it.
“Hey.”
She turned—Thomas, from the year above.
“All right?” He grinned. “Out for a stroll?”
Mouth full, she nodded. The dry pastry stuck in her throat.
Thomas pulled a water bottle from his gym bag. “Here. Don’t choke.”
She gulped it down. “Ta.”
“Your house is the other way.”
“None of your business.”
“It’s dark. Not safe alone, and shops’ll shut soon. C’mon, I’ll walk you.”
They trudged back, chatting about his football matches, teachers. Near her street, she stalled.
“Here?” He smirked. “Don’t wanna go home? Parents being prats? Been there.”
“They’re splitting up,” she whispered.
“Ah. When my dad left, I ran off. Thought if they searched together, they’d make up. Shared grief and all.”
“And?”
“Made up while looking for me. Still split, though. Slept in a shed two nights till police found me. Stank for weeks.”
“Your dad now?”
“New wife. Young, pretty, total nightmare. Mum’s better.”
“And she’s…?”
“Got someone? Nah. Just me. Though I wouldn’t mind if she remarried. Still loves him.”
“You say it so… easy.”
“What’s the point in stressing? Can’t change it. At least it’s quiet now. Before? Proper rows, even punches. Silver linings, yeah? If he’d stayed, he’d still cheat. Mum would’ve suffered longer. Quick cut’s kinder. Fancy coming back to mine? Cuppa, warm up?”
“Your mum won’t—?”
“Glued to telly after nine. We’ll sneak to my room. In or not?”
The street was empty. Even traffic had died.
“Alright,” she sighed.
His room was narrow, plastered with old motorbike posters and action heroes.
“Kid stuff. Never took ’em down.” He vanished, returned with tea and a plate. “Eat up.”
She wolfed it down, then dozed off on his sofa.
She woke needing the loo. He’d draped a blanket over her.
“You mind coming with?” she whispered.
In the hallway, he flicked the light.
“Actually… I should go home,” she said after.
“Now? Half-two. I’ll walk you.”
Outside, icy pavements glittered under streetlights.
“Thanks,” she said at her door.
Inside, Mum pounced. “We phoned every hospital—!”
Dad appeared. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She brushed past to her room. At the door, she paused. “Night, Mum. Dad.”
Next morning over breakfast—Dad already gone—Mum sighed.
“If this is about the divorce… we’re not. For now.”
Emily stabbed toast. “Because of me? Suffer longer? If the shouting starts again, I *will* leave.”
Mum flinched. “We were terrified. Do I… look awful?”
Emily studied her. “You’ve looked like this for years. New haircut, brighter makeup—maybe Dad wouldn’t sneak his phone in the loong. You asked.”
Mum blinked.
“Saw you with that boy last night,” she said suddenly.
“Thomas. Year above. Nothing happened.”
For days, the house stayed quiet. No fights.
Days later, Thomas waited after school.
“Alright?” he asked.
“Truce,” she said.
He handed her a small box. “Open it later.”
Daniel had ignored her—no flowers, no card. Oddly, she didn’t care.
At her door, Thomas asked, “Fancy town tomorrow?”
She grinned. “Yeah.”
Next morning, she clasped his gift—a silver heart pendant.
Downstairs, Mum had chopped and dyed her hair sleek black. She looked years younger. Dad cleared his throat.
“We got you paintball vouchers. Bring friends—the more, the madder it gets.”
“You’re coming?”
“If you’ll have us,” Mum said. “Bring your lad, too.”
Emily hugged them. “Love you.”
Divorce wrecks kids, no matter their age. Sometimes, families can’t be fixed. But if parents try again? Maybe, just maybe, the second go-round works. New starts aren’t always happier. And the past? It sticks, no matter what.
