Polly stopped by the shop near her house after work. She was already at the till when she spotted Auntie Rose. Years ago, they’d worked together at the same factory as Polly’s mother. Whenever she saw her mum’s old friend, Polly always made time for a chat.
After paying, she stepped aside and waited for Auntie Rose by the exit.
“Hello,” Polly greeted the older woman as she approached. “Haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Polly, love, hello. I’ve been poorly, hardly left the house. Come on, walk with me—there’s something I need to tell you.”
Polly’s stomach twisted. Jack was sixteen—a tricky age. And little Lily, only thirteen, was already boy-crazy. Had she done something daft? The shopping bag weighed heavy in her hand, the handles biting into her palm. Maybe she could make an excuse, slip away before this conversation went further? Too late. Auntie Rose stopped, lowering her voice as she leaned in.
“Don’t think I’m gossiping, love. I’m only saying what I’ve seen with my own eyes. You’re like family to me—watched you grow up. Your Tom’s been popping round to that young woman’s flat across the way. Her windows face mine. Soon as he shows up, those curtains close tight.”
Polly felt like she’d been doused in ice water, then set aflame. Out of everyone, Tom was the last man she’d expect this from.
“I had to warn you. It’s been eating at me. You’ve got two kids to think about. What if it’s serious? Maybe have a word with him before it’s too late.”
“Right. I’d best be off, Auntie Rose.” Polly hurried away, stomping towards home, desperate to escape the pity in the older woman’s eyes. She barely registered they lived on the same street.
Out of breath from rushing, she fumbled with the keys before stumbling inside. She dropped onto the ottoman, the shopping bag slipping from her grip. Something rolled across the floor, but she didn’t notice, too stunned. Lily darted in at the noise, gathering spilled groceries.
“Take them to the kitchen. I’ll be there in a bit,” Polly said sharply, shooing her away.
*How could he? If Auntie Rose saw, who else might know? And the kids… I never even suspected.* She shrugged off her coat, hands unsteady.
“Mum, you okay? You look—” Lily started.
“Go to your room. I need a minute alone,” Polly snapped.
Lily hesitated but left.
*Thank God Tom’s not home. Gives me time to pull myself together. Otherwise, I’d scream the second he walked in. Emotions are useless right now.*
Polly stood, poured water from the kettle, and sipped slowly, forcing calm. Better. She started dinner, but her hands wouldn’t stop trembling—everything slipped.
The frying sausages browned nicely. Just needed to heat the pre-cooked mash. Every few minutes, she peered out the window, trying to spot Auntie Rose’s flat—and the one opposite.
The jangle of keys made her jump. She turned back to the stove. Tom’s footsteps approached.
“Smells amazing,” he said cheerfully.
“Wash up. Dinner’s ready.” Her voice was taut as a wire.
“Something wrong?” He stepped closer, studying her face.
“Ran into Auntie Rose at the shop.” Polly swallowed. “She said she’d been ill. Didn’t leave the house. I didn’t even check on her.”
“And that’s why you’re upset?”
“No. She said… she saw you going into the flat across the street.” The words came out quiet, but she turned to face him.
“What else did that old busybody tell you?” Tom snapped.
But the flicker in his eyes told her everything. She’d hoped…
“Others have seen too. What were you thinking? If the kids find out—” Her whisper was jagged, eyes darting to the door. “I can’t live like this. I won’t forgive this. Decide—her or us.”
“Pol—” He reached for her shoulders.
She flinched. “Don’t touch me!”
“Mum? Dad? Why are you shouting?” Jack appeared in the doorway. Polly hadn’t even heard him come in.
“Wash your hands. Call Lily. Dinner’s ready.” She forced a smile.
Days passed without them speaking. The tension thickened, suffocating. Polly hoped Tom would apologize, swear it was over. She pictured life without him—just her and the kids.
One evening, with Jack out with mates and Lily at a birthday party, Tom cleared his throat.
“Can’t do this anymore. We need to talk.”
“Go on, then.”
“I’m not making excuses. Just explaining. Her parents died in a car crash. Then her gran passed. She moved into her flat. I helped with the heavy lifting. Don’t know what came over me. Pity, maybe. I’d have ended it, but… she’s pregnant.”
Polly gasped, gripping the chair.
“I stayed away after our row. Then she met me at the door, told me about the baby. What was I supposed to do? Abandon her?”
“And us? The kids?” Polly’s breath hitched.
“They’re nearly grown. They’ll understand.”
“*You* don’t get to make them carry *your* guilt. Get out. Now. Before they’re back.” She was screaming, tears streaming.
She snatched the TV remote and hurled it. Plastic shards scattered. Tom caught her wrists before she could grab anything else.
“Calm down. I’ll go. Just let me see the kids.”
“*Go*.” She shut her eyes. “I don’t trust what I’ll do next.”
He released her. Polly collapsed onto the sofa, face in hands. The door slammed.
When Jack came home, she was sweeping up the remote.
“Don’t cry, Mum. He’ll come back.”
“You… knew?” She stared, tear-streaked.
“No. Heard you through the door. Let him go. We don’t need him.”
“Don’t say that! He’s still your dad!”
“Mum, he *chose* her. Sort it out yourself.” Jack vanished into the room he shared with Lily—divided by a wardrobe for privacy.
She and Tom had dreamed of a bigger place. Now there’d be room. Lily could move in with her, leaving Jack the whole room.
*Every cloud…* Polly smirked bitterly.
Tom never returned. Three days later, Polly left work early and went to *her* flat. Found the door, climbed the stairs, rang the bell, half-hoping no one was in.
A pretty girl answered. Her smile vanished.
“You?” she said. “Knew you’d come. Come in.”
Polly stepped inside but went no further.
“You know me?”
“Yes. You’re Tom’s wife. Here to shout at me? I’m not keeping him. When I met him… he looked like my dad. My parents died last year. Then my gran. I was *alone*—”
“And he felt sorry for you? Knew he had two kids?” Polly clenched her fists, resisting the urge to grab her hair.
“Of course. He loves you, always talking about the kids. I *never* wanted him to leave—”
“But you didn’t send him away.” Polly cut in. “My tears, my kids’ tears… they’ll haunt you.” She turned, fleeing down the stairs, coughing.
*Why did I come? To prove it’s real? And now she’s in my head, in Jack and Lily’s lives.*
The girl’s flat faced the street, not the courtyard. Polly never saw Tom come home, though she searched the window daily. Felt like the whole neighborhood knew.
Time blurred. Autumn faded into winter, then spring thawed the frost.
One night, a knock—not the bell. Tom stood there, unshaven, hollow-eyed.
“Didn’t want to wake the kids,” he muttered. “Can I come in?”
Polly stepped aside. He toed off his shoes, avoiding her gaze before meeting it.
“She’s gone. Collapsed. I called an ambulance…”
“The baby?”
“Born early. Alive.” His voice broke. “I just hurt everyone. You. The kids…”
“Kitchen. Tea?”
“Something stronger.”
“You can’t. You’ve got a child now.”
“What do I do with a baby?” He looked up, red-rimmed eyes glistening. “I can’t take him from the hospital.”
“They’ll put him in care. With a living father!”
“I can’t do it. I’m leaving.”
“Where?”
“Up north. Rebuild. Wanted to enlist, but they wouldn’t take me. Here… I’m nothing. Some cousin kicked me out. I need to start over.”
“Running? What about your son?”
Tom slumped into a chair, hands shaking, as Polly quietly picked up the phone to call social services—because, in the end, someone had to be the grown-up.
