A secret revealed on my wedding day: my wife has a daughter!
“Simon, I didnt want to tell you this on your big day… but did you know your new wife has a child?” My mates words hit me like a ton of bricks as I sat in the drivers seat.
“What on earth are you talking about?” I refused to believe it.
“My wife, Sarahshes a midwifesaw your Emily at the wedding and whispered to me, ‘Its odd, does the groom know his bride has a little girl growing up in a childrens home?'”
“Can you imagine, Simon? I nearly choked on my sandwich. Sarah swears she personally handled the paperwork when the child was given up. She recognised Emily because of the birthmark on her neck. Said Emily named the girl Poppy and gave her her own surname. Apparently, it was five years ago,” my mate watched me closely, waiting for my reaction.
I froze behind the wheel. What a bombshell.
I had to see for myself. I couldnt believe it. I knew Emily wasnt some teenage sweetheartshe was 32 when we married. Of course shed had a life before me. But abandoning her own child? How could anyone live with that?
Thanks to my job, I tracked down the home where Poppy was being raised. The manager introduced me to a bright-eyed little girl with the sweetest smile.
“This is Poppy Taylor,” the manager said gently. “Go on, love, tell the gentleman how old you are.”
I couldnt miss the girls severe squint. My heart ached for her. Instantly, I felt a fierce protectivenessthis was my Emilys daughter. My nan used to say, “A child may not be perfect, but theyre always a treasure.”
Poppy stepped forward bravely. “Im four. Are you my daddy?”
My stomach dropped. What do you say to a child who sees a father in every man who walks through the door?
“Poppy, sweetheart, can we chat a minute? Would you like to have a mum and dad?” It was a silly questionI already wanted to scoop her up and take her home.
“Yes! Will you take me?” She stared right into my eyes, searching for hope.
“Ill come back for you, but not just yet. Will you wait for me, love?” My throat tightened.
“Ill wait. You wont lie?” Her little face turned serious.
“I promise,” I kissed her cheek.
At home, I told Emily everything. “Love, whatever happened before me, we HAVE to take Poppy. Ill adopt her.”
“And you didnt think to ask me? Do I want this child? And shes cross-eyed!” Emily snapped.
“Shes YOUR daughter! Well get her eyes fixed. Shes wonderfulyoull adore her!” I couldnt believe her reaction.
Convincing Emily took forever.
We had to wait a year before bringing Poppy home. I visited her often, and in that time, we grew close. Emily, though, kept trying to back out. I pushed through.
Finally, Poppy stepped into our flat. Everythinga warm bath, a soft bedamazed her. Soon, specialists corrected her squint. No surgery needed, just time. My girl looked just like her mother now. My heart was fulltwo beautiful girls lighting up my life.
But even months later, Poppy clung to a packet of biscuits like a lifeline, terrified of going hungry. It drove Emily mad.
I tried to knit our family together, but Emily never loved her. “Whyd you bring home this stray? Shell never be normal!” shed scream.
I loved Emily deeply. But my mum warned me, “Simon, love, I saw her with another man. Shes slipperyshell twist you round her finger.”
Love blinds you. Emily was my dream. The first crack came with Poppy. Maybe she helped me see the truth.
A mate once joked, “If you want to fall out of love, measure her with a tape. Chest, waist, hipssuddenly shes just numbers.”
I tried it. Still loved her. Laughed at the silliness.
Then Poppy got sicka nasty cold. Feverish, she trailed after Emily, clutching her doll Daisy. (At least it wasnt biscuits anymore.) That day, the doll was nakedPoppy was too weak to dress her.
“Stop whinging! Go to bed!” Emily yelled.
Poppy sobbed into Daisy. Suddenly, Emily snatched the doll, flung open the window, and hurled her out.
“Mummy, thats my Daisy! Shell freeze!” Poppy wailed, running for the door.
I raced downstairslift broken, eight flights of stairs. Daisy hung from a branch, upside-down. I brushed off the snow. Her rubber face looked tear-streaked.
Upstairs, Poppy had cried herself to sleep. I tucked Daisy beside her.
Emily sat calmly reading, untouched.
Thats when my love for her died. Just like that.
We divorced. Poppy stayed with meEmily didnt care.
Later, I bumped into her. “You were just a stepping stone, Simon,” she sneered.
“Emily, your eyes are like emeralds, but your souls black as soot,” I shot back, no bitterness left.
She married some wealthy bloke soon after. “Poor sod,” Mum muttered.
Poppy missed her mum terribly at first. But my new wife, Rebecca, won her over with endless patience and love.
Twice, that childs mother gave her up. Unthinkable.
Now, Rebecca dotes on Poppy and our son, George. And thatthats a real family.
