After finishing teacher training college, Emily returned to her hometown, eager to teach at her old school. Even back when she was a student, everyone in her class knew she dreamed of becoming a teacher—no one doubted it.
“That Emily’s got grit—she’ll make something of herself,” her classmates and even her teachers used to say.
She walked into the school as a confident young woman, heading straight to the headmistress’s office.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Thompson.”
“Good afternoon,” the headmistress replied, glancing over her glasses before standing up in surprise. “Emily Whitaker—is that really you?”
“It is, Mrs. Thompson, just as promised. I told you I’d come back to teach here.” She handed over her documents.
“I’m delighted, Emily… or should I say, Miss Whitaker? Our new history teacher. You’ve gone and done it—made your dream come true.”
And so Emily began teaching history. At first, the older students tested her patience, but in time, she earned their respect—and that spoke volumes.
Before long, she met James, an engineer at the local factory. They courted, married, and settled down. Early on, he’d made it clear:
“Let’s marry, but hold off on kids for a bit—get ourselves steady first. Then we’ll think about starting a family.”
“Fair enough,” Emily agreed. “But not too long—a year or two. What’s a home without children?”
Three years into their marriage, whispers reached Emily—”well-meaning” friends claimed James was seeing a colleague. She believed it at once—he’d always been handsome, quick with a joke, surrounded by people. A row erupted at home, and though James confessed to the affair, he swore it would never happen again.
“Forgive me, Em, please. I promise you—never again. I know I’ve hurt you, and you didn’t deserve it.”
Hurt and betrayed, Emily kept him at arm’s length for months, but in time, he won her back. Or so it seemed—she never brought it up again, and James became a devoted husband. Especially when Emily announced her pregnancy, leaving no room for debate.
“James, I’m having this baby—whether you like it or not.”
“No objections here,” he said at once.
A beautiful daughter, Sophie, arrived, bringing joy and sleepless nights. James adored his girls, never strayed again—the perfect father.
From the outside, they seemed an enviable couple, but Emily never forgot the betrayal. She carried the wound silently, masking it with warmth and care. Years rolled by.
“Girls, we’re off to the circus tonight—got the tickets already!” James announced one evening.
“Oh, Daddy, yes!” Sophie, now in primary school, clapped her hands. “Mum, can I wear my blue dress with the bow?”
“Look at you, my little beauty,” James murmured as she twirled before the mirror, her golden curls bouncing.
Sophie grew into a bright, well-behaved girl, excelling in school. Emily beamed with pride when teachers joked,
“Following in her mum’s footsteps, is she?”
“Not likely—she’s a proper little engineer,” Emily laughed. “Spends more time in the garage with her dad than with books.”
School years flew. Soon Sophie was off to university in another city, visiting on holidays and weekends.
“Keeping up with your studies?” James would ask.
“Top marks, Dad—don’t fuss.”
Twenty-odd years of marriage passed. The topic of another child never came up—neither spoke of it, though perhaps each wondered silently.
Then, as Sophie neared graduation, she announced:
“Mum, Dad—Oliver and I are getting married right after graduation. Start planning!”
They knew Oliver—a polite, steady young man from a good family, studying at the same university.
“Your choice, love,” James said. “Smart, waiting till you’re settled.”
But fate intervened. Emily fell ill.
“Em, you need a check-up. No messing about with health,” James insisted.
“I will—just not yet,” she’d say, putting it off.
By the time tests were done, it was too late. The illness had taken hold.
Sophie and Oliver postponed the wedding. She helped as best she could, but soon, Emily was gone. James was shattered—haunted by guilt, wondering if his long-ago betrayal had hastened her pain.
After the funeral, life limped forward. Then one day, sorting her mother’s things, Sophie found an old envelope—inside, a letter from Emily.
Reading it, her heart stopped.
Her mother confessed that James wasn’t her real father.
Devastated after his affair, Emily had sought revenge—a fleeting romance with a visiting teacher, Robert. When he left (married himself), she realised she was pregnant. Certain the child was Robert’s, she named her Sophie, letting James believe she was his.
“Robert need never know. If James and I reconcile, he’ll think she’s his.” And so it was.
James never suspected, pouring all his love into a child not his own. Yet Emily, for reasons unknown, couldn’t take the secret to her grave.
“Sophie should know the truth.”
Now Sophie sat, letter in hand, grief and rage warring inside her. The father she adored wasn’t hers by blood. She didn’t know how to face him—but she had to.
“Dad… we need to talk.”
Words tumbled out. James listened, stunned, then quietly said:
“I loved your mother. And I love you—as my daughter. Everything I’ve done, I did for you both.”
Sophie saw the truth in his eyes.
“I don’t know how to live with this,” she whispered.
“Neither do I,” he admitted. “But I’ll always be here for you. That won’t change.”
Through tears, Sophie realised—his love was real. They’d rebuild, carrying this new truth together.
At first, she’d thought of finding Robert. But after speaking with James, the urge faded. She wanted no other father.
A year later, Sophie married Oliver. Now they have a son—utterly adored by his grandfather, James.
