A Secret Revealed on My Wedding Day: My Wife Had a Daughter!
“Edward, I never meant to tell you this on your wedding day… but did you know your new bride has a daughter?” My colleagues words rooted me to the drivers seat.
“What are you on about?” I refused to believe it.
“My wife recognized your Margaret at the ceremony. She whispered to me, Strange, does the groom know his bride has a child growing up in an orphanage?”
“Can you imagine, Edward? I nearly choked on my salad. My wife treated the abandonment herselfshes a midwife. She remembered Margaret because of the birthmark on her neck. The girl was named Emily, given her mothers surname. This was five years ago, I reckon.” He watched my reaction keenly.
I sat frozen behind the wheel. What a shattering revelation!
I decided to uncover the truth myself. I knew Margaret wasnt a girl of eighteenshe was thirty-two when we married. Shed had a life before me, of course. But abandoning her own child? How could she live with that?
Thanks to my position, I found the orphanage where Emily was kept. The matron introduced a cheerful girl with a radiant smile. “This is our Emily Wilson. Go on, love, tell the gentleman your age.”
The childs pronounced squint was impossible to miss. My heart ached for her. Instantly, I felt a deep bondshe was my beloved wifes daughter, after all. My grandmother used to say, “A child, however flawed, is a treasure to their parents.”
Emily bravely stepped forward. “Im four. Are you my daddy?”
I faltered. How does one answer a child who sees a father in every man? “Emily, lets talk. Would you like to have a mummy and daddy?” A foolish question, perhaps, but I already longed to hold her.
“Yes! Will you take me?” She searched my eyes desperately.
“Ill come for you soon. Will you wait, sweetheart?” My voice trembled.
“Ill wait. Promise you wont lie?”
“I promise.” I kissed her cheek.
At home, I confronted Margaret. “Whatever happened before me doesnt matterwe must take Emily. Ill adopt her.”
“And youve decided without me? Do I want a child? And shes cross-eyed, no less!” Margarets voice rose.
“Shes your own flesh and blood! Ill get her eyes fixed. Shes lovelyyoull adore her!” Her coldness shocked me.
Convincing Margaret took months. We waited a year before bringing Emily home. I visited often, and we grew close. Margaret, however, resistedeven tried halting the adoption midway. I pressed on.
When Emily crossed our threshold at last, ordinary things filled her with wonder. Soon, specialists corrected her squintno surgery needed, thank heavens.
Emily grew into Margarets likeness. Two beautiful women brightened my days: my wife and my daughter. Yet, orphanage habits lingeredEmily clung to a biscuit tin, even in sleep. Fear of hunger haunted her. It vexed Margaret; it broke my heart.
I tried binding our family, but Margaret never loved her child. She loved only herselfher vanity endless.
Arguments about Emily poisoned our marriage. “Whyd you bring this stray home? Shell never be normal!” Margaret shrieked.
Id loved her deeplylife without her seemed bleak. Yet my mother warned, “Son, its your choice, but Ive seen Margaret with another man. Shes sly, slippery. Shell swindle you blind.”
Love blinds. Margaret was my idealuntil Emily exposed the cracks.
Once, a friend jested, “To fall out of love, measure a woman with a dressmakers tape.”
“Are you mad?” I laughed.
“Her bust, waist, hipsyoull fancy her no more.”
Amused, I tried it. “Margaret, let me measure you.”
“Why? A new dress?”
“Yes.” I took meticulous notes. The result? My love remained. I laughed at the absurdity.
Then Emily fell illfeverish, sniffling, trailing Margaret with her doll, Rose. (A good signshed swapped biscuits for toys.)
But today, Rose lay nakedEmily too weak to dress her.
“Stop whimpering! Go to bed!” Margaret snapped.
Emily clutched Rose, sobbing. ThenMargaret wrenched the doll away, flung open the window, and hurled it out.
“Mummy! My Rose! Shell freeze! Can I fetch her?”
I bolted downstairslift broken, eight flights on foot. Rose dangled from a branch, upside-down. Frost clung to her rubber cheeks like tears. Climbing back, I aged ten years.
Margaret sat calmly reading. No remorse.
At that moment, my love evaporated. She was a pretty shellhollow.
We divorced. Emily stayed with me; Margaret didnt object.
Later, she sneered, “Edward, you were just a stepping stone.”
“Margaretyour eyes are emeralds, but your souls black as soot.” The sting was gone.
She remarried swiftlya wealthy businessman. “Poor bloke,” Mum said. “That woman should never be a mother.”
Emily grieved her absence, reaching for a ghost. But my new wife, Catherine, warmed her heart with boundless patience. Margaret had abandoned her child twiceunthinkable cruelty.
Catherine cherished Emily and our son, Thomas, with unwavering love. The past was healed.
