The winter holidays were drawing to a close. After days of rich festive meals, Charlotte decided to make porridge for breakfast—time to return to simpler fare.
The three of them were eating when the familiar chime of her husband’s phone rang from the bedroom. Simon excused himself, and Charlotte strained to decipher the muffled conversation. When he returned, his expression was troubled but not distressed.
“Mm… Mum called,” he began. “Her blood pressure’s spiked. She wants me to come over.”
“Of course, go,” Charlotte nodded.
As Simon left to get dressed, his words echoed in her mind: *Right now? Are you sure? Fine, fine.* Normally, when her mother-in-law demanded his presence, he rushed over without hesitation. *Stop overthinking,* she scolded herself.
“I won’t be long,” Simon called from the hall before the door slammed shut.
“Eat up,” Charlotte urged her son, Liam, who was pushing his porridge around the bowl.
“Are we still going sledding? You promised,” he said, finally taking a reluctant spoonful.
“We’ll go when Dad gets back. Deal?” She forced a smile. “But finish your porridge first.”
Liam sighed and lifted another spoonful.
“If that bowl’s not empty in five minutes, we’re not going anywhere,” Charlotte warned, turning to the sink.
She was ironing when Liam played with toy cars on the floor. The click of the front door lock made her pause. *Finally.* She set the iron down, listening to the rustle of coats in the hallway. *What’s taking him so long?*
Then, a girl of about ten appeared in the doorway, studying Charlotte with curious eyes. Behind her stood Simon, guilt etched across his face, hands resting on the girl’s shoulders as if bracing for impact.
“This is my daughter, Emily,” he said, avoiding Charlotte’s gaze. “Mum asked me to take her for the day.”
“I see. And her mother? Off on another holiday with her latest fling?” Charlotte’s tone was sharp.
Simon stiffened but didn’t respond as Charlotte turned back to the ironing board.
“Come in,” Simon murmured. Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte watched Emily approach Liam, still playing on the floor.
“Is there any porridge left?” Simon asked.
“I don’t want porridge,” Emily interjected. “I want spaghetti hoops with sausages.”
Simon looked helplessly between Emily and Charlotte, who shrugged and gestured to the kitchen. *Go on, then.*
A moment later, his voice carried from the kitchen.
“Do we have any spaghetti hoops? I couldn’t find them.”
“There’s some left. I’ll go shopping when I’ve finished here,” Charlotte said pointedly.
“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t know—”
“Really? Your mother didn’t mention *why* she needed you?” His silence confirmed it. “And you didn’t think to ask *me*? Or prepare Liam for this?”
As if on cue, Liam’s wails erupted from the living room. Charlotte rushed in, Simon close behind.
“There. Sort this out,” she said, spreading her hands.
Liam clung to her while Emily glared at the floor.
“What happened?” Simon crouched beside Emily.
Charlotte’s chest tightened—he’d gone to *her* first.
“She t-took my c-car,” Liam sobbed.
The hiss of boiling pasta sent Simon darting to the kitchen. *And I can’t say a word—she’s the guest. The poor little thing, as my mother-in-law calls her. But what about me?*
“Want to watch cartoons?” Charlotte forced calm into her voice.
Emily nodded, and with relief, Charlotte turned on the TV. The children settled on the sofa.
“Is this your mother’s doing? Another attempt to wreck our marriage?” Charlotte hissed in the kitchen. “She screamed when Liam was born that she’d only ever have one grandchild—Emily. Testing me, are we?”
“She’s really unwell,” Simon defended.
“And a ten-year-old couldn’t fetch water or call an ambulance? I was making my own eggs at her age.”
“Enough!” Simon slammed a spoon onto the counter. “Emily, dinner’s ready!”
“Daddy, bring it here,” Emily called sweetly.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. *Daddy.* “Go on, then. Run to her.”
Simon eventually herded Emily into the kitchen. Charlotte sat stiffly beside Liam, staring blankly at the TV. He leaned into her, sensing her tension. *Hold it together. Just for today.*
Her irritation simmered. From the kitchen, Simon’s voice murmured to Emily while she and Liam sat forgotten. *Careful. Whatever I do, his mother will twist it. Say I’m cruel or pretending to be kind.*
“Mum, when are we going sledding?” Liam tugged her sleeve.
“I don’t know. We’ve got company now.” She stroked his hair.
Emily appeared, chewing loudly. The clatter of dishes followed—Simon washing *her* plate. *Never lifts a finger for me or Liam. Guilt, is it?*
“Right, who’s ready for sledding?” Simon asked brightly.
“There’s only one sled,” Charlotte said flatly.
“We’ll take turns. Won’t we, champ?” His tone was for Emily.
“Liam, get your coat on.” She sighed, steering him away.
Outside, Emily claimed the sled instantly. Charlotte lifted Liam onto the plastic sledge, watching as Emily, stronger and faster, climbed the slope with ease. Liam struggled behind, his small legs unsteady.
Charlotte shot Simon a blistering look. He avoided her gaze, pushing Emily down again.
“What about me?” Liam asked, crestfallen.
Simon hesitated.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Charlotte whispered. “Just you and me.”
She helped Liam onto the sledge, then turned away.
“Where are you going?” Simon called.
“I’m cold.” She hurried down, fighting tears.
Later, after putting Liam to bed, Charlotte left for the shops. Returning, she saw Simon bolt from the flat—coatless, frantic.
“Where’s the fire? What’s wrong?” Her pulse spiked.
“Liam’s gone.”
“*What?*” She sprinted inside.
“Work called—I was on the phone—then the door was open—”
“Liam!” She tore into his room. Empty.
“What did you *do*?” She seized Emily, shaking her.
The girl’s lips trembled, but no tears fell.
“*Talk!*”
Emily shrank back. Charlotte spun and ran outside, screaming Liam’s name. The empty street echoed back.
Then—a whimper. Under the stairs, tucked behind broken prams, Liam sat curled into himself.
“Liam!” She crawled to him, pulling him close.
Back inside, Simon hovered helplessly. “She just told him I was *her* dad. That I loved her more. She’s just a kid, Char.”
Charlotte said nothing.
“What do you want from me?” Her voice cracked. “You brought her here without warning, left them alone—”
“Liam, I love you. Both of you,” Simon murmured before leaving with Emily.
The door clicked shut. *Now his mother will tell everyone how heartless I am. Let her.* Exhaustion swallowed her anger.
That night, after Simon returned, they finally spoke. Emily never visited again.
When men remarry, they never think of the children—how divorce wounds them, how jealousy festers. And the new children? They carry guilt they don’t understand.
A child sees everything. Remembers everything. And some wounds never fade.
