On the last day of the Christmas break, friends decided to visit the ice rink. The sudden bitter cold had eased slightly. Though low in the sky, the bright sun stung their eyes, hinting at warmer days ahead. Daylight stretched just a little longer now.
James and David weren’t the only ones eager to shed the holiday pounds. The rink was crowded. Sunlight glinted off the ice, the crisp air sharpened their senses, and music from the speakers lifted their spirits.
Stepping onto the ice, James and David picked up speed, weaving between other skaters. Their freshly sharpened blades glided effortlessly over the rough surface. This was their first visit this winter. First, relentless snowfall left the rink unusable. Then came a long thaw, turning the ice slushy under puddles. Only after Boxing Day had they finally made it.
After two warm-up laps, the boys began fooling around. David spotted a girl in a white puffer jacket and a matching knitted hat with a bobble. She clung to the rail, unsteady on her skates—clearly a beginner, probably her first time.
Her stiff legs wobbled, ankles twisting. If not for her death grip on the barrier, she’d have fallen already. David felt a mix of pity and amusement.
James was chatting up some girls nearby. David skated to the edge.
“Want me to teach you? It’s not hard. Just need to know the basics.”
Before she could answer, her right foot slipped forward. She nearly toppled backward, but David caught her just in time.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Her voice sent a shiver through him. His pulse spiked, exhilaration flooding his veins.
“Don’t be afraid. You’ll never learn if you hold onto the rail. Grab my hand instead.” He offered his palm.
“I’m scared,” she squeaked.
“Ice is slippery—falls happen. But I won’t let you go. Come on.” His tone was firm.
She clutched his hand but kept the other on the rail.
“That’s it. Now, push with one foot and glide on the other. Don’t land on your toes—you’ll fall! Good. Bring your feet together. Now push with the other…”
She obeyed, taking tentative steps. Finally, she released the rail. It wasn’t skating yet, but David praised her anyway.
“Brilliant! Bend your knees slightly. Now, try gliding instead of stepping.”
Her eyes sparkled. A laugh bubbled out of her—light, infectious. David’s heart leaped.
She pushed off boldly, forgetting her toe pick. Stumbling, she would’ve fallen if David hadn’t steadied her.
“Easy. Not so fast.”
They inched along the rail.
“Enough! My legs are jelly,” she gasped.
“First time’s always rough. Tomorrow, you’ll feel it. But next time will be easier. You did great. I’m David, by the way.” He stole glances at her profile.
Rosy cheeks, thick lashes, parted lips—something warm and unfamiliar spread through his chest.
“Emily,” she said.
Her voice, her name—like summer air—made his head spin.
Exhausted, she leaned into him. He wanted this walk to last forever—her weight against him, her breath uneven, the puff of warmth from her lips.
At the changing area, she collapsed onto a bench.
“Give me your ticket. I’ll fetch your shoes.” His voice was rough.
“Boots are in the bag.” She handed it over.
“Need help with the skates?”
Her blue eyes locked onto his, sending a jolt through him.
“I’ve got it.” She bent to unlace them.
David stood frozen, unable to look away.
“There you are!” James clapped his shoulder. “Lost you. How’d it go?”
“Brilliant for a first try.” David grinned. “James, this is Emily.”
“Stunning,” James whispered, winking. “Skating more?”
“Go ahead. I’ll walk Emily back.”
“Don’t bother,” she said, pulling on her boots.
“He doesn’t want to leave you,” James teased.
“I don’t,” David admitted. “Fancy a coffee? Hot chocolate? Warm up a bit?” His gaze pleaded.
Without skates, she seemed tiny. Her smile sent his heart racing.
“Fine. James, join us?” David shot his friend an apologetic look.
“In skates?” James smirked.
Flustered, David scrambled for his shoes.
He carried both their bags as they left the park, stopping at a cozy café with soft lighting and sprigs of holly on the tables. Emily winced sitting down.
“Hurt yourself?”
“My leg. Fell earlier.”
David nodded. He’d bet it was her backside.
“Ice helps,” he said.
“Pretty sure I’ve had enough ice today.” They laughed.
“Three days, tops. But practice helps. Next weekend?”
In the dim light, she looked even lovelier.
“I was supposed to go with a friend, but she’s ill…”
Warmed by coffee and shared glances, something kindled between them.
They met often after that, David teaching her to skate.
“When do we meet this girl?” his mum finally asked. “Who is she?”
“Saturday. Don’t fuss. Just lunch.”
His mother nodded thoughtfully.
That Saturday, Emily hesitated outside his house.
“What if they don’t like me?” Her voice wavered.
“Don’t worry. They’re lovely. I’m here.” He tugged her inside.
His mother greeted them warmly. Over tea, conversation flowed—until Emily met his father’s piercing stare.
“Where do you live? Study?” he asked.
“English Lit at uni. A year and a half left. My mum’s a teacher—got me into books.”
His father paled. “Teaching, then?”
“She teaches in York. I want to be a journalist.”
His father fell silent.
“I think he hates me,” Emily murmured as David walked her home.
“Opposite. Couldn’t take his eyes off you. I was jealous.” He hugged her.
At home, his father waited in the kitchen, door shut.
“Talk, son.”
David’s stomach lurched. His father hesitated, then spoke.
“She looks like her mother. Unlikely coincidence. At your age, I was sent to York for work.” A pause. “You’re a man—you’ll understand. Her mum was just as sweet. Fresh out of uni, teaching. We met by chance. I lost myself. Promised to return, but… your mum and I were married. You were three. I never saw her again. How old is Emily? Birthday? Father?”
The words hit like a truck. Rage, horror—David wanted to scream.
“Mum told her he died in a crash when she was two. She’s twenty. Sixth of July, I think.”
“Twenty. You’re twenty-five. I was there in August. Not her father.” Relief. “She lives at uni? Ask her mum’s name.”
“Dorm. Her mum’s Margaret Taylor.”
His father nodded.
“Forget this. Tell no one—not Emily, not your mum.” His eyes begged.
“I’m not stupid. I love her. If her mum comes to the wedding…”
“Doubt she’ll recognize me. Twenty-two years change a man. And if she does? She’s smart—won’t air old secrets.”
“‘Youthful mistake.’ You nearly destroyed me. What if we’d been siblings?” David barely restrained himself. “How often did you cheat?” His father’s glare silenced him. “Fine. Not my place. But you could’ve handled this without me.”
“Life’s long, son. I’ve always loved your mum. But back then… I couldn’t resist. Don’t repeat my mistakes. If you can.” He stood heavily.
“Sorry, Dad.”
A pat on the shoulder, then he left.
David sat alone, replaying it. If Emily had been his sister—could he have walked away? *Pointless. It’s over. Forget it. Mum must never know.*
Finally, he turned off the light. But sleep evaded him. He remembered their first meeting—her laughter, her stumble into his arms.
*Thank God she’s not my sister. And thank God Dad told me. I’ll never put my kids through this.*
Youth ignores the shadows reckless love casts. But those shadows stretch long—hidden skeletons waiting to shatter lives.
They married that summer, a week after her birthday. Her mother, if she recognized David’s father at the wedding, gave no sign. She avoided him, never spoke alone.
