Emily and the Unknown Child
It wasn’t that Emily disliked her stepfather—it was more that she couldn’t accept him. What kind of father was he to her? She’d never had one, and this “Uncle Tom who eats bears” wasn’t a father either. Still, for her mother’s sake, she’d suppressed her resentment from the first day they met.
Eleven years old now, she understood her mother longed for a family, for someone to care for her. Tom was decent enough, just aloof. But he was a stranger to her, barely acknowledging her presence. At least he didn’t drink like the uncle of her best friend, Zinnia, who was practically her cousin.
Tom, too, seemed oblivious to the fact that his beloved wife had a growing daughter. He accepted Emily’s existence as fact, focusing on building future plans with the hope that Jane might bear him a son, or even twins.
They married quickly and quietly, merging their two flats into one spacious London home where Emily finally had her own room. A tense peace brewed between her and Tom instead of the bitter arguments that once filled the air. After school, Emily would retreat to her room, avoiding their awkward dinners. Tom didn’t push for closeness.
When Jane began morning sickness and dizziness, they all rejoiced—pregnancy! Emily dreamed of a brother, Tom a son. But tragedy struck instead: Jane was diagnosed with aggressive brain cancer. Emily became an orphan at eleven, her future leading straight to an orphanage.
She hadn’t yet considered her fate, crushed by grief, when she overheard Zinnia’s drunk aunt wailing in the kitchen, justifying herself to Tom: *“I’d take her, you know, Jane’s my cousin. But we barely keep Zinnia out of trouble. I can’t manage another burden. We’ve no one else.”*
Emily hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the revelation cut deep. Social services were coming to take her away. Tom had fought to delay the decision, pleading for days to find Jane’s relatives. Now, he stood before her in the morning, voice trembling.
*“Emily, we need to talk.”*
*“Go ahead. I already know I’m going to the orphanage.”*
*“It’s not that. I’ve applied to be your legal guardian, now that we’re married. They say it’s possible, if you agree. I know I’m a lousy father—I *can’t* send you there. Not after Jane. Please… for her sake.”*
She’d never seen a man cry, least of all Tom, who’d stood like stone at Jane’s funeral. Yet now, his shoulders shook. Emily pulled him into a hug, soothing him like a child.
It worked. For the first six months, they clung to each other—nobody could say who leaned on whom more. They learned to cook stews, to talk. Tom was still quiet, but Emily grew used to his silence. Gratefulness turned to respect, then admiration; he was just, standing up for her at school, small kindnesses—cream cakes after work, cinema tickets for Zinnia and her.
Aunt Vivian dropped by to help with bills or stay for the night. Zinnia’s visits carried her own warmth. Grief softened. Tom attended school meetings, set aside a portion of his salary without asking for receipts. Emily tried not to disappoint him. Yet she never called him *father*, refusing to make him feel he owned her, knowing she’d always be his *outsider child*.
It wasn’t until “well-meaning strangers” at the orphanage told Emily she was lucky to have such a guardian that she began to doubt herself.
At fourteen, Tom broached a new conflict—his plan to marry. A colleague, Linda, was expecting, and with no room in her cramped apartment, Tom asked: *“If I bring her here, do you think we could… live together?”*
They kept up appearances. Linda clucked around the house like a matron, Tom’s rare smiles returning. Emily smoothed tensions. She’d outgrown her teenage years overnight, while Linda struggled with her own changes.
Emily ignored Linda’s sneers, the way she’d curl her lip when Tom closed his door. It wasn’t until Linda outright hissed *“You don’t belong here,”* that Emily retreated further, living like a ghost. Tom remained clueless until their son, Stefan, was born. Linda began whispering to him: *“She doesn’t own a square inch of this home. We’ll pay her share and be done. Let the state take her.”*
Tom, usually silent, slammed his fist on the table: *“Enough.”* Then, he took Emily to Jane’s grave, where they sat in quiet.
*“It’ll settle, Em. Soon, Stefan will start nursery, Linda will work—she’ll have no time to torment you.”*
But Linda adapted. Under the pretense of protecting Stefan’s health, she banned Zinnia’s visits, barred Aunts, controlled finances. Emily had no access to shared funds. She started asking Linda for basic needs, both girls blushing at the request. She didn’t want to be the cause of their arguments. She liked seeing Tom’s joy with Stefan.
The breaking point came when Tom learned Emily’s skipped meals due to Linda’s theft of her allowance. Her schoolteacher confronted him: *“Madam, your daughter is skeletal. We can’t risk another liability.”*
Tom’s guilt was a living thing. *“Forgive me, Em. I’m an idiot. Here—*I’ll open you a separate account. I’ll deposit everything I’m owed. You’ll never want for anything.”*
Emily didn’t hear the words. His call of *“Daughter”* instead of *“Child”* echoed louder.
Linda raged when the money bypassed her. She demanded “fair shares” of guardianship funds, lamented her savings disappearing. *“How else to buy Em new clothes? Shoes?”* she’d whine.
*“We’ll take a holiday when I get my bonus,”* Tom offered.
*“Not that dreary spa again. I want the *sea*!”*
Years passed in whispered bickering. Linda tried to wound Emily; Tom shielded her. Emily ached, knowing she fractured their home. The only comfort was her and Zinnia’s dream: graduate, work, and split a flat. Zinnia married young, desperate to escape her dad’s squalor. Emily’s plans shifted—college with dorms became her goal.
Tom understood, calculating mortgages, but Linda resisted, shouting *“She’s had a privileged life. Let her fend for herself.”*
The answer came unexpectedly. Tom inherited a sprawling cottage in the Cotswolds. There, Emily had secretly wanted to study hospitality—only she thought it unattainable. Tom gifted her the house, handed her an account filled to cover her fees. He joined her for enrollment, a rare break from Linda’s antics.
*“Lucky girl you are with a father like him,”* neighbors told her.
*“He’s the best,”* Emily replied.
At her wedding, as Tom danced with her, he’d made everyone wait—insisting she leave only when he arrived in a brand-new car, stalled twice on the journey.
In the end, the quiet man who silenced his offices spoke in the loudest way.
A Stranger’s Child and the Unexpected Bond
