The key jiggled in the lock, and Emily tiptoed into the flat, trying not to make a sound. The hallway was dark, only a sliver of light creeping from under the kitchen door. Her parents were still up, though it was past midnight. Lately, this had become the norm—those hushed late-night conversations behind closed doors. Usually quiet, but sometimes rising to muffled arguments.
Kicking off her heels, Emily set her laptop bag on the side table and crept down the hall to her room. She wasn’t in the mood to explain why she’d stayed late at work, even though she had a good reason—her project deadline was looming, and the numbers just wouldn’t balance.
Through the wall, she could hear their muffled voices.
*”No, John, I can’t keep doing this,”* Mum said quietly, irritation sharp in her tone. *”You promised last month.”*
*”Liz, it’s not the right time,”* Dad replied, clearly on the defensive.
Emily sighed. Lately, her parents were always arguing about something, but they’d put on a perfect act for her. Sure, they were in their fifties, and she was long grown, but it still stung to realise something was off between them.
She washed up, changed into her pyjamas, and crawled under the duvet, but sleep wouldn’t come. Her thoughts spiralled—what if they were getting divorced? Her brother James lived in Manchester now and hardly visited. Who would get the flat? And why were they keeping secrets?
The voices next door didn’t stop. Reaching for her nightstand, Emily fumbled for her earphones to drown them out with music. But her hand brushed her phone, sending it clattering onto the rug. As she picked it up, the recording app flickered open. Her finger hovered over the screen.
What if… she recorded them? Just to find out what was really going on instead of guessing. If she asked outright, they’d just brush her off, say everything was fine.
Guilt prickled like cold fingers down her spine. Eavesdropping was wrong, let alone recording. But then again, these were her parents, her family. Didn’t she have a right to know if something serious was happening?
Before she could second-guess herself, she hit record, placed the phone near the wall, and pulled the duvet over her head.
At breakfast the next morning, both parents looked exhausted. They barely spoke, exchanging only polite, empty words.
*”You were late last night,”* Mum remarked, pouring tea. *”Work again?”*
*”Yeah, finishing the project,”* Emily nodded. *”Why were you two up so late?”*
*”Just a film,”* Mum waved her off, not even looking up.
Dad buried himself in the newspaper, pretending to be engrossed.
*”Don’t wait up for me tonight,”* he muttered. *”Client meetings—might run late.”*
Mum pressed her lips together but said nothing.
All the way to the office, Emily fought the urge to listen to the recording. The Tube was too crowded, and it felt too shameful. She’d wait until she got home.
The day dragged. Finally back in her flat, she found a note—Mum had gone to a friend’s and wouldn’t be back for hours. Dad was still at work, as promised. Perfect.
Curling up on the sofa with a blanket, she pressed play.
At first, only broken phrases came through, then the voices sharpened.
*”…do we tell Emily?”* Dad sounded tense.
*”I don’t know,”* Mum sighed. *”What if she doesn’t understand? After all these years…”*
*”She has a right to know.”*
*”Of course she does. But how do we explain why we kept it quiet so long?”*
Emily’s breath caught. What were they hiding?
*”Remember how it started?”* Dad’s voice warmed with a smile.
*”Of course,”* Mum chuckled. *”I thought it’d be temporary. Turned into a lifetime.”*
*”And what a life,”* Dad huffed. *”Though it wasn’t always easy.”*
*”Especially when Emily came along.”*
Her stomach twisted. *Especially?* Had she been unwanted? Or was it something else?
*”But we managed,”* Dad said firmly. *”And she turned out brilliant.”*
*”She did,”* Mum agreed, pride softening her voice. *”But now we’ve got to decide what’s next. I’m tired of this double life, John.”*
*Double life?* Emily went cold. Was one of them having an affair? The thought made her nauseous.
*”Let’s at least wait until James visits,”* Dad urged. *”We’ll talk as a family.”*
*”Fine,”* Mum conceded. *”But no more delays after that. We either change everything, or… I don’t know what.”*
The recording cut off—maybe they’d left the kitchen, or her phone had stopped.
Emily sat frozen. What was happening to her family? Why did they need James there to explain?
A thousand questions, no answers. Should she record them again? No—that felt too far. Shame burned her cheeks. Better to call James. Or Aunt Margaret, Mum’s sister—she’d always been straight with her.
Decision made: she’d ring James tomorrow and visit Aunt Margaret at the weekend.
Her brother didn’t pick up all day, finally calling back late.
*”Em! Sorry, left my phone in the van—what’s up?”*
*”When are you coming down?”* she blurted.
*”This weekend, why?”*
*”Mum and Dad are acting weird. Whispering, pretending everything’s fine. Talking about a ‘double life.’”*
A pause.
*”James?”*
*”Yeah, I’m here,”* he cleared his throat. *”Look, don’t overthink it. People have secrets, even parents.”*
*”So you know?”*
*”I’ve… got an idea,”* he stalled. *”But if they’re not ready to talk, just wait. I’ll be there Saturday, yeah?”*
*”Fine,”* she muttered. *”Should I see Aunt Margaret?”*
*”No,”* he said too quickly. *”Keep her out of it. This stays between us.”*
The call left her more unsettled. So James *did* know. And why shield Aunt Margaret? Unless it *was* about an affair—some family scandal they wanted to keep quiet.
That evening, Mum came home from her friend’s place oddly cheerful, cheeks flushed.
*”Guess what? Sarah’s selling her flat—moving to Cornwall!”* she announced. *”Says she’s sick of the city.”*
Emily nodded blankly.
*”Would you ever want to live in the countryside?”* she asked suddenly.
Mum stilled. *”I don’t know… sometimes, maybe. The quiet, the fresh air, a garden…”*
*”What about Dad?”*
*”What *about* Dad?”*
*”Would he want to?”*
*”Ask him yourself,”* Mum said tightly. *”He’ll be late. Don’t wait up.”*
Miraculously, Dad came home earlier than expected. Emily was making tea when she heard the front door.
*”Dad, want a cuppa?”*
*”Yeah, ta,”* he sighed, loosening his tie. *”Where’s Mum?”*
*”Watching telly. How was work?”*
*”Alright. Client agreed to our terms, so we’re greenlit.”*
*”Nice,”* she slid his mug across the table. *”So… Mum said you’ve got something to tell me?”*
Dad stiffened. *”What do you mean?”*
*”James let it slip,”* she lied. *”Said you’d explain when he visits this weekend.”*
Her father rubbed his forehead. *”Yeah, we do. But let’s wait for James, alright? It’s… a family thing.”*
*”Is it bad?”* she pressed. *”Are you two splitting up?”*
*”What? No!”* He looked genuinely shocked. *”Why would you think that?”*
*”You’re always whispering, arguing. Mum mentioned a ‘double life.’”*
His expression shifted—confusion, then realisation, then… relief?
*”Em, you’ve got it all wrong,”* he exhaled. *”No one’s splitting up. Quite the opposite—”* He cut himself off. *”Just wait till Saturday. Promise it’s nothing bad.”*
*”Swear?”*
*”Swear,”* he squeezed her hand. *”Now drink your tea before it goes cold.”*
That night, sleep wouldn’t come. She picked apart every scrap of conversation—what did *”quite the opposite”* mean? Opposite of divorce was… marriage? But they *were* married.As she followed her parents down the winding garden path toward the buzzing hives, the golden afternoon light catching the honeycomb frames, Emily realised—sometimes the sweetest secrets are the ones patiently waiting to be uncovered.
