Whispers of Secrets: A Family Drama in the City
William Thompson and his wife Margaret set off for Manchester to visit their daughter. Even before stepping into the building where their Emily lived, William noticed how uneasy Margaret was.
“Meg, what’s wrong?” he asked, studying her face intently.
“Nothing, it’s just—we haven’t seen Emily in so long, and it’s all hitting me now,” Margaret tried to smile, but her voice trembled.
They climbed the stairs to Emily’s flat. William pressed the doorbell firmly. No answer.
“Strange, is she not home?” he muttered, glancing at Margaret before ringing again.
The lock clicked, the door inched open, and William froze, stunned by what he saw.
***
The father stood there, crimson with fury, his face burning. Margaret grabbed his arm, pleading:
“Will, calm down, please! Think of your blood pressure! Let’s just talk to Emily!”
But William jerked his arm free, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. Emily, standing in the doorway, felt a chill down her spine—her father had never looked at her like this before.
“Let go, Meg! Enough holding me back! If you wanted to hold someone, it should’ve been our daughter, not me!”
“Will, darling, I’m begging you!” Margaret’s eyes darted between husband and daughter, helpless to defuse the tension.
Six months ago, William had suffered a hypertensive crisis—doctors had strictly warned against stress. Yet yesterday, he’d snapped:
“Pack a bag, Meg. I can’t sit still. Three months of excuses, and she hasn’t visited. Something’s wrong. You’re her mother—why won’t you say anything?”
Margaret *had* known. Not because she was clueless, but because she knew too much. She and Emily had hidden the truth from William, hoping to settle things quietly. They thought they’d confess later—let him be angry, but by then, it would all be fine. Now, though—what could she say? What could she do?
“She’s just tired—studying, working part-time. She promised to visit soon, you know how she is,” Margaret babbled, but William was already buttoning his coat.
He snatched his wallet, keys, phone, even took Margaret’s mobile from her:
“And don’t even think of warning her! Am I her father or not? I saw her this summer—preening in the mirror, flipping her hair, fiddling with her ear. But when I asked who for—silence! Something isn’t right. We’re going to her now.”
On the train, Margaret tried to explain, then gave up:
“You’re rushing—Emily wanted to tell you herself when things were settled. She didn’t want to worry you with your condition.”
“Meg, enough about my condition! I’m her father—I deserve to know what’s happening! I’ve got a bad feeling about this!” William cut her off.
“Fine, ring the bell,” Margaret sighed, squeezing his hand.
The door didn’t open right away. Emily had hesitated, peering through the peephole—but she couldn’t leave her parents outside.
“I knew it! Emily, who is he? Whose child is this? Why didn’t you tell us?” William’s voice shook with pain and rage.
He stumbled onto the landing, collapsing onto the steps, clutching his chest.
“Dad, why are you sitting out here? Come back inside!” Emily, her baby bump unmistakable, looked lost and afraid.
His little girl—his pride—had left for university on a scholarship, and now… What now? William swallowed the lump in his throat. If he wouldn’t protect her, who would? He had to find the boy, talk to him—do *something*.
“Dad, I was going to tell you later, when things were sorted. But now… He was in an accident, he’s in hospital!” Emily burst into tears like a child.
William rose, brushed off his trousers, and suddenly calmed. So what if there was a baby? They were all alive. They’d manage—they’d been through worse.
Emily had come late to him and Margaret, when they’d given up hope. The smallest in her class but so serious—never fooling around, reading at break, top marks. She’d won a university place, worked part-time, shared a flat with friends. Last summer, they’d all visited the countryside—everything had seemed fine…
“Meg, did you know? You knew and kept quiet?” he asked his wife, instantly regretting his harsh tone.
Margaret looked down:
“Will, you were ill—they said you needed rest…”
“Fine, I get it. Let’s go inside, Emily. Tell us everything.”
The story poured out—how she’d met James at her part-time job. He’d helped her, they’d started dating. He’d said he wanted her forever, to marry her. But he’d confessed: he was married. A teenage mistake—their mothers, old friends, had pushed it. They’d divorced when his ex, Jessica, fell for someone else, but paperwork dragged. Then Jessica claimed she was pregnant, wanting him back after her lover left.
“And you believe him? That it isn’t his?” William demanded.
“Yes, Dad. James doesn’t lie. He was always with me—she was in another city. He went to talk to her, and then—the accident. But he’ll recover, and he’ll come back to me!”
“Alright, don’t upset yourself. Give me his name, the city, his number.”
“Dad, no!”
“I won’t hurt him—not while he’s in hospital. I just want to talk. He’s the father of my grandchild, isn’t he? Maybe my future son-in-law?”
William wiped Emily’s tears and smiled:
“Remember our song? *‘Hush now, Emmy, don’t you cry, Daddy’s strong and standing by.’*”
“I remember, Dad,” Emily smiled through her tears. “Here’s James’ number. Thank you.”
“I’m coming with you,” Margaret said at once.
“Fine, but I’ll speak to the boy alone. What if he’s lied? Or worse. I need the truth. You’ll be on the line, Meg.”
James was indeed in a hospital outside Manchester, just moved from intensive care. William flashed an old ID at the desk:
“Major (Ret.) William Thompson. Can I see James Carter? Just five minutes—Room 5? His ex-wife there? No matter—I won’t disturb.”
Inside, a pretty young woman sat by James’ bed. William didn’t flinch:
“James Carter? I’m Emily’s father.”
Despite his weakness, James brightened:
“Mr. Thompson? This is Jessica—my childhood friend, my ex. She’s been stirring trouble. She fell for some bloke, he ditched her, and she decided I’d do. Had to go settle it—ended up in the crash. Lucky to be alive! I promised Emily it’d all be fine—she trusts me!”
“And this baby of hers? Think I don’t know?” William snorted.
“Jessica made it up—just wanted me back. No baby. We filed the divorce online. I love Emily, Mr. Thompson—I want to marry her. We’re having a child. Will you let me?” James struggled to sit up.
“He really does only love Emily—this is my fault,” Jessica cut in.
“Bloody hell, kids—what a mess!” William shook his head. “What were you thinking?”
“I’ll prove I’m worthy. I’ll make it right!” James said firmly.
“We’ll see. If not, we’ll raise the child—and I’ll deal with you when you’re back on your feet,” William turned to leave.
“Thank you, Mr. Thompson! I won’t let you down!” James called after him.
James kept his word. Before the birth, he and Emily married. From the maternity ward, he carried his wife and newborn daughter as a rightful husband and father.
“Your dad’ll make a brilliant grandad—better give him a grandson next,” James whispered, cradling the baby. “He trusted me—I won’t fail him. We’re in this together.”
William approached, offering his hand:
“Well then, son-in-law—congratulations.”
“And to you, Mr. Thompson—thank you, for Emily and everything!” James shook it firmly.
“Be happy, kids,” William smiled. “When your children are happy, so are you.”
