— Emily, there was a strange man bothering your little Grace on the playground.
— Bothering her? Sarah, what are you talking about? Where is he? Who was it?
— How should I know? I tried to approach him, but he bolted before I could ask a thing—just vanished into thin air.
— That doesn’t sit right with me. Grace! Come here, darling.
A five-year-old girl with messy pigtails bounding in opposite directions raced over, beaming at her mother.
— Mummy! I saw the cutest puppies!
Emily studied her daughter’s face, searching for any sign of distress. Grace seemed her usual cheerful self, yet unease gnawed at her gut.
— Where did you see them? Who showed you the puppies?
Grace blinked in confusion, then shrugged.
— Nobody showed me. I saw them myself! There were three—two black and one with white spots. Come on, I’ll show you!
Emily gripped her daughter’s hand, voice sharp.
— Did a man approach you? What did he say? Did he bother you?
Grace frowned, bewildered.
— Mummy, what’s wrong? Your lip’s trembling. No one bothered me. A nice man just asked if I knew Emily Hart.
Her heart lurched. Who could possibly know her full name like that? Unless… Could it be him?
— What did he look like, Grace?
But before the girl could answer, Emily’s phone buzzed in her pocket—her husband calling. She couldn’t ignore it.
— Yes, love?
Her mind still spun, fixated on the stranger who’d spoken to Grace. She wouldn’t tell her husband, though. No need to worry him over nothing. She’d already warned Grace to keep quiet.
— Daddy doesn’t need to fret, she’d explained, and Grace, bless her, hadn’t questioned it.
That night, sleep evaded her. Dawn brought a pounding headache and exhaustion, every movement sending fresh pain through her skull. She resolved to take the day for herself, skipping chores and cooking.
— Let’s dine out tonight, her husband suggested, and Emily readily agreed.
This marriage was nothing like her first. With James, she felt safe, cherished. She tried not to upset him, and in return, he gave her unwavering kindness.
— Brilliant idea, she smiled.
Her mood lifted slightly—until, stepping outside to the car, she spotted a familiar silhouette by the neighbouring building. Her pulse spiked, vision straining to confirm.
— Emily, love? James called from the car.
— Mummy, come on! What are you staring at?
She slid into the passenger seat, never taking her eyes off the stranger standing just metres away. As the car pulled off, a sickening weight settled in her chest, squeezing her throat.
At the restaurant, tension clung to her. When James excused himself to take a call, Grace’s voice pulled her back.
— Mummy, I saw that nice man again near our house today.
Emily nearly gasped. Staring at her daughter, the truth slammed into her: the man who’d erased himself from her life a decade ago had returned. Memories of him were a tangle of love and horror. How was she supposed to live with this?
— You saw him tonight? she asked mechanically. Grace nodded.
— Yes, when we left for dinner. He was watching us from next door.
Dinner was agony. Relieved when it ended, she rose shakily. James gently took her hand.
— What’s wrong, Em? You’ve been distant.
She wanted to stay silent—but she loved him too much to lie.
— James… Andrew’s back.
He stopped dead, releasing her hand.
— Andrew? Did he call you?
— Mummy, who’s Andrew? Grace piped up.
— Just… someone I used to know, Emily hedged, then met James’s gaze. He didn’t call. But I’ve seen him twice now. It’s him.
James said nothing. They drove home in silence. As they neared their building, Emily knew it was inevitable: Andrew stood on the steps, scanning passing cars—until his eyes locked onto hers.
— You were right, James murmured. He found you.
— Let me talk to him? Her voice wavered. If you object, I won’t—
— Em. He’s your son. I’d never stop you.
She nodded, glancing back at Grace, asleep in her seat. James understood.
— Go. We’ll drive around a bit. No point waking her.
Grateful, Emily stepped out. Approaching Andrew, she studied his face. A decade had carved new lines, thinned his hair. The hatred in his eyes had dulled—but not vanished.
— Hello, she said first. He gave a curt nod.
— I looked for you. Wanted to talk. Then I heard you married James—had his little girl.
His voice hardened, and Emily knew he hadn’t changed. Outwardly, perhaps. Inside? Still selfish, still bitter.
— Did you come just to judge me? She matched his coldness. I’m not interested.
— I’m your son. Aren’t you going to invite me in? See your cosy little life with James?
Another mother might’ve relented. Not her. Not knowing him.
— You’re not here for peace. Why now? Ten years of silence—were you happy?
Their last conversation had been a decade ago. Twenty-year-old Andrew had packed his bags, blamed her for divorcing his father, and stormed out.
— You destroyed our family. Dad drank himself to death because of you. Grandad had a stroke. I never want to see you again. You’re dead to me!
The words had gutted her. Her only child, her heart—filled with such venom.
Now he was back.
— I wasn’t happy. Not once I learned you cheated on Dad with his best friend.
— You only heard his side! She snapped. You never asked for mine. Why are you here?
His smirk was cruel.
— I need money.
Revulsion curdled in her stomach. No pity, no joy—just disgust, the same she’d once felt for his father.
She’d endured nearly twenty years with Peter. Married for love, only for him to twist into a monster. The first time he struck her, Grace was seven. He’d always waited until they were alone, preserving his saintly image for his son.
The beatings worsened with his drinking. She hid bruises, lied to friends, shielded Grace—until the night he came at her with a knife. She’d fled to James’s house.
As Peter’s best friend, James knew the truth. He’d tried to help, but Peter refused. That night, James had been firm:
— He won’t change, Emily. You know that.
She’d left. Moved in with her mother. Peter spiralled further, poisoning Andrew against her before vanishing to another city. When Emily filed for divorce, Andrew blamed her—then left, just like his father.
It took two years before she and James became more than friends. He’d been patient, gentle.
— I know you’re afraid of history repeating. But it won’t.
They married. Three years later, Grace was born. At forty-five, Emily had longed for another child, knowing she’d never reconcile with Andrew.
And now—here he stood. Smirking. Demanding money. Rambling about debts, a hard life, his father leaving him nothing.
— This is all your fault. If you hadn’t left Dad, we’d still be happy.
She didn’t correct him. Let Peter remain perfect in his eyes.
— Will you give me the money? Ten years I left you alone—
— You chose that, she said icily. I never drove you away.
— You tore our family apart, yet now you play happy families with Dad’s best friend? Had a kid to trap him? You’ve got decent money—why not help your son?
She looked at him—really looked. Saw Peter in every line of his face.
— I died for you ten years ago. Let that be the end of it. Leave, Andrew. Never come back.
Hatred burned in his eyes—just like Peter’s, all those years ago.
— I hate you. I wish you’d died instead of Dad.
A chill slithered down her spine. She nodded.
— Maybe. But you can’t rewrite the past. Go.
Watching him walk away, she realized—she felt nothing.
Perhaps because, as Andrew’s mother, she really had died long ago.
