Emily and her best friend Sophie strolled through Hyde Park as the golden afternoon light began to fade. The crisp London air carried the sound of distant laughter, but Emily barely noticedher gaze locked onto a couple embracing beneath an old oak tree. The man, his back turned, whispered something into the womans ear, making her smile softly. Emilys breath caught.
“Emily? Whats wrong?” Sophie nudged her.
“Nothing. Lets go,” Emily muttered, suddenly walking faster.
They parted ways at the park gate. Emilys mind raced as she trudged toward her familys terraced house in Kensington. The image of that coupleher fathers familiar coat, the way hed tilted his headburned behind her eyelids.
“Mum, Im home,” she called, forcing cheer into her voice.
“Dinners ready,” her mother replied tersely from the kitchen. “Honestly, you and your fathernever here when youre needed.”
Emily washed her hands slowly, buying time. The bathroom mirror reflected her pale face. *That couldnt have been Dad. Could it?*
She picked at her meal, barely tasting the roast. Upstairs, she opened her laptop but stared blankly at the screen. The womans laugh, her fathers tender touchnone of it fit the man whod read her bedtime stories.
Footsteps in the hall. Her fathers voice, warm but weary: “Long day at the office, love.”
“Funny how every days long now,” her mother shot back.
Emilys door creaked open. “Everything alright, sweetheart?” Her father reached to ruffle her hair, but she flinched away.
“Fine.” Her voice cracked. “Just tired.”
He hesitated, then retreated. The unspoken words hung thick in the air.
Next morning, Emily feigned sleep until she heard her fathers keys jingle. “Off so early? Its Saturday!” her mother protested.
“Urgent paperwork. Back by lunch.”
Emily scrambled up. “Mum, Ive got balletIll grab toast!”
Her father waited by the front door. “Let me walk you.”
They followed the cobbled streets in silence.
“Emily are we okay?” he finally asked.
She swallowed. “Of course. Teenage moods, right?” Forcing a smile, she added, “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too.”
“More than anything?”
His step faltered. “More than anything.”
At the corner, she kissed his cheek and darted toward the dance studiothen doubled back, trailing him through unfamiliar lanes. Her stomach twisted as he stopped outside a Georgian townhouse, dialling his phone.
A woman emergedsleek dark hair, designer trench coat. Emilys nails dug into her palms as they kissed. *How could he?*
She shadowed them to a secluded bench, her vision blurring as they whispered, foreheads touching. When they parted, Emily lurked by the bins, heart pounding.
The woman returned with a rubbish bag. Emily blocked her path.
“Leave my father alone.”
The woman blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Call him. Now. Say its over.”
To her shock, the woman complied. “Robert we cant keep doing this.”
Emily snatched the phone. “Dad? Its me. Come home.”
That evening, her parents shared a bottle of wine at the table, laughing over some old story. Emily studied her fathers facethe crinkles by his eyes, the way he squeezed her mothers hand.
“Someones cheerful,” her mother remarked.
Emily speared a roast potato. “Dad, do you love Mum?”
The room stilled.
“With all my heart,” he said firmly.
And for the first time in days, Emily believed him.
