Oh, my dears, gather close, and I’ll tell you a story—one that was passed to me here in the care home by my roommate. My own family tucked me away in this place, so now I just listen to tales and pass them on to you. This one’s about Kate, her husband Stan, and her sister Lena. Oh, it’s a painful one, so listen carefully.
They were sitting down to dinner one evening—Kate, Stan, and Lena, her sister. A roast was in the oven, filling the house with its rich scent, and Stan raised his glass.
“To family,” he said. “May it grow even stronger!”
But his eyes weren’t on Kate—they were on Lena. And Lena? She fidgeted with her napkin, barely smiling, as if something were gnawing at her. Kate noticed it all—how Stan handed Lena her coat, how he laughed at her jokes, how they fell silent when she entered the room. But she said nothing. That was her way—pretending not to see.
“To family,” Kate echoed, sipping her grape juice.
Lena looked up, and her eyes held such sorrow that it sent a chill down Kate’s spine.
“Lena, are you alright?” Kate asked.
“Just tired,” Lena brushed it off. “Work’s been mad.”
But Kate knew Lena’s job was quiet just then. Still, she stayed silent. Silence was her shield.
Stan suddenly cleared his throat.
“Speaking of work—I’ve been assigned a project in another city. I leave in a month, for six months, maybe longer.”
Kate went cold.
“Six months?” she repeated. “What about our summer holiday?”
“Kate, this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance!” he insisted, eyes alight.
He was speaking to her, but his gaze kept drifting to Lena. Lena stared at her plate like it held all the answers. Then Kate saw it—Stan’s hand covering Lena’s under the table. Just for a second. Lena yanked hers away as if burned. And Kate just sat there, watching—her husband glowing, her sister crumbling.
Dinner ended awkwardly. Lena claimed a headache and made to leave.
“I’ll drive you,” Stan offered immediately.
“It’s the opposite direction,” Kate pointed out.
“Anything for family,” he dismissed.
At the door, he turned back, determination in his eyes.
“We need to talk, Kate. Properly. When I get back.”
He left her alone with the smell of unfinished supper and a knot in her chest.
For two weeks, Kate moved through life in a haze. Stan called every evening, rambling about the “project,” the new city, the flat. But his voice was distant, mechanical. He asked how she was but never waited for the answer. Kate reached out to Lena—
“Fancy the cinema or some shopping?”
But Lena dodged her.
“Too tired, Kate. Another time.”
And she looked exhausted—thinner, shadows under her eyes. Kate noticed how Lena’s hand often drifted to her stomach, as if hiding something.
Suspicion crept in slow as poison. First, a pregnancy test wrapper in Lena’s bin. Then baggy jumpers, though Lena had always flaunted her waist. Kate’s heart ached, but she waited.
The truth came on a Wednesday evening. Kate was on the sofa when her phone rang. Stan.
“Hi,” she answered.
Silence. Just breathing.
“I can’t lie anymore, Kate,” he finally said. “I’m not coming back. It’s not the project. It’s Lena. We’re in love.”
Kate shut her eyes. The pain in her chest hardened to stone.
“Your sister’s pregnant!” he blurted.
And then Kate laughed. Softly at first, then louder, until tears streamed down her face. It wasn’t joy—it was bitter, like something from a cheap soap opera.
“Kate, are you crying?” Stan panicked.
“No,” she exhaled. “I just realised what a fool you are.”
She hung up. The hysteria faded, leaving cold clarity. The stone in her chest became her anchor. She dressed, called a taxi, and went to Lena’s.
Lena opened the door—dishevelled, in a dressing gown, eyes red. She saw Kate and flinched.
“He told you? I’m so sorry—”
“Where is he?” Kate cut in, calm as ice.
Lena faltered. Kate scanned the flat—Stan’s jacket, his trainers, two wine glasses on the table.
“Stop lying, Lena. Right now.”
“Kate, we love each other!” Lena burst out. “I know it’s awful, but it just happened!”
Kate waited until she ran out of words.
“You’re pregnant,” she stated, not asking.
“Yes,” Lena whispered, shielding her stomach. “We’re having a baby.”
Kate stepped closer. Lena tensed, bracing for the storm.
“Why didn’t you ask me, Lena?” Kate said quietly. “I could’ve told you. Stan and I tried for three years. Tests, doctors. He’s infertile. Completely.”
Lena’s face shifted—shock, denial, horror.
“No… He said the problem was you—”
“Of course,” Kate smiled sadly. “Easier to lie. Easier to steal a life than face the truth.”
She turned to leave.
“Congratulations, sis. You’re having a baby. But my husband isn’t the father.”
The door slammed. The night air was crisp. Kate breathed it in deep.
Five years passed. The wounds healed. Kate learned a new language, changed jobs, moved to a seaside town. Now she sat in a café, stirring her coffee, waiting for Andrew—they were adopting a puppy.
The door chimed. In walked Lena with a little boy. Thin, weary, in a grey cardigan. She saw Kate and froze, but her son tugged her toward the cakes.
“Mum, the berry one!”
Lena sat far away, but Kate felt her stare. The stone in her chest had long crumbled, leaving only a faint ache. The boy—sweet, fair-haired—looked nothing like Stan or Lena.
Lena approached suddenly.
“Hi,” she murmured.
“Hello, Lena.”
“I didn’t know you lived here… How are you?”
“Fine,” Kate shrugged.
Lena fidgeted.
“Kate, I’m sorry. I was stupid.”
She waited for forgiveness, tears, something. But Kate just said,
“It’s in the past, Lena. Live your life.”
Lena wept then, realising—she was just a ghost to Kate. The door chimed again. Andrew walked in, daisies in hand.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, handing her the flowers. Spotting Lena: “Everything alright?”
“Yes,” Kate smiled. “This lady was just leaving.”
Lena turned to her son. Kate breathed in the scent of daisies. Everything had fallen into place. Her path led to the sea, the sun, and a man who brought flowers just because.
