A Decade Without Words
The dim evening cloaks the old neighbourhood on the outskirts of London, streetlights flickering in puddles that mirror the cold gleam of the autumn sky. Mark slumps in a worn-out armchair, clutching a chipped mug with the faded words *”This Too Shall Pass”*—a gift from his first wife years ago. The mug is the last thread to a past he’s walled off. His divorce from Emily left him hollow, but life moved on: soon came Sarah, his new wife and mother to their two children.
Mark prided himself on being a good father. After the split, he took custody of his daughter, Lucy, though it felt like fighting shadows. The new family, the job, the debts—it all weighed on him, but he tried to keep Lucy from feeling like an outsider. Yet as years passed, the gap between them widened. Lucy grew quieter, her eyes dull, conversations trailing into silence. He reached out, but her answers were frostbite-sharp, leaving him stranded in the cold.
When Lucy turned eighteen, she vanished. No note, no explanation—just a packed bag and the click of the front door. Mark couldn’t fathom it—the girl he’d burned the midnight oil for had erased him. He called, texted, but her phone stayed dead. In time, the attempts thinned, then stopped altogether. Guilt gnawed at him, but where had he gone wrong? Had he not hugged her enough? Been too buried in work to see her crumbling?
Ten years blurred by. Mark’s life settled: the kids grew, Sarah became his rock, the past locked tight. Then, his youngest, Sophie, called—she’d found Lucy. She was in Bristol now, an analyst at a finance firm. Mark’s heart stalled, hope and dread twisting in his chest. He wanted to reach out, but fear glued his hands—what if she shut him out again? What if *this* rejection was the one that broke him?
A decade after leaving, Lucy got Sophie’s message. At seventeen, Sophie’s words cut deep—school, dreams, her longing for a sister. Each text pried open scars Lucy had stitched shut. She couldn’t reply. The pain was still too raw.
Twenty-eight now, but inside, Lucy was still the nine-year-old forced to grow up overnight. Her parents’ divorce shattered her world. Her father remarried swiftly; her mother fled abroad with a new man, leaving Lucy behind. In that house, she became a maid—cleaning, cooking, minding her stepmother’s kids. *Be grateful for the roof,* they’d say. But it wasn’t a home. It was a prison.
At eighteen, she ran, vowing never to look back. Now, Lucy built her life alone, brick by brick. Yet the past found her—in her father’s letter. Mark’s words spilled regret, apologies for failing her, pleas for forgiveness. It burned like a brand.
Lucy stayed silent. Not to him, not to Sophie. She barred her heart, terrified that opening it would drown her. But last night, another message came. Sophie wrote that she understood—and wouldn’t push anymore. The words cracked Lucy’s armour. Sophie wasn’t to blame. She just wanted a family—the one Lucy never had. Was she robbing her sister of that chance?
Lucy picked up her phone. Her fingers shook as she typed—words snagging like thorns. She told Sophie about the chores that bought her keep, the love that always came with conditions, why trust felt impossible. But at the end, she added: *”I want to try. Not yet, but… try.”*
Sending it lifted a weight she’d carried for years. For the first time, Lucy breathed easier—fragile, but alive. Maybe this was the first step toward more than survival. Maybe her world could hold warmth, not just the cold she’d grown used to.
