So much depends on fate.
Sometimes people make their own lives unbearable, but in time they realise they need to forgive, understand, and love. Then everything falls into place, and life gets easier. Emily was an only child—no brothers or sisters. There were times she longed for someone to talk to.
But when she married Oliver and found out they were expecting twins, she was over the moon.
“My children will never feel alone—they’ll always have each other,” she’d think, and the idea warmed her heart.
Soon, they learned they were having daughters. Oliver had secretly hoped for a son, but that thought vanished the moment Lily and Sophie were born. Both were beautiful, identical in every way. Oliver was baffled how Emily could tell them apart by tiny details he couldn’t see. For him, it was torture.
“Emily, I just fed one of them—I have no idea which!” he’d groan. Laughing, she’d guide him to the hungry twin.
“How do you even tell them apart? It’s impossible! I keep mixing them up—who’s Lily, who’s Sophie?”
But one thing never changed—his love for them. As the girls grew, Emily, exhausted from round-the-clock care, counted the hours until Oliver came home to give her a break. She dreamed of rest, of a moment to breathe.
“I can’t take this anymore,” she snapped at him one evening. “I can’t turn my back for a second—they’re into everything! Can’t you take some time off?”
“Love, you know I can’t—work’s mad right now. I’m the only one providing for us. I know you’re tired, but I help when I can.”
And he did—taking the girls out after work or playing with them indoors if the weather was bad. But one day, he came home to their loud crying. He rushed in—only to find Emily passed out on the sofa, drunk.
He soothed the girls, fed them, and waited until bedtime to confront her.
“Emily, what were you thinking? The girls were screaming—you didn’t even hear them!”
“You don’t get it. I’m human—I needed to unwind. Try being stuck with them all day, running from the cooker to the nappies and back. I only had a little wine—didn’t think I’d pass out.”
“I believe you, but this isn’t the answer. What if something had happened to them?”
He wanted to trust her, but it kept happening—more often, he’d find her drunk, the girls neglected. Emily demanded escape, refusing to listen.
By the time the twins turned four, Oliver filed for divorce, hoping to keep them from their mother. But the judge ruled otherwise—one daughter to each parent.
The girls sobbed as they were torn apart. Oliver took Sophie to live with his parents in another town, while Emily kept Lily.
Emily poisoned Lily against him. “Thank your father—he’s the one who tore you from your sister.”
Oliver found work, raised Sophie with his parents’ help, and though life was stable, his heart ached for Lily. Sophie thrived—grandparents’ love was everything she needed.
But Lily’s life was bleak. Emily drank heavily, her flat full of strangers. Some treated Lily horribly—shoving her, shouting. She’d escape to a park bench, watching enviously as happy families strolled by.
At nine, she begged Emily: “Mum, I want to live with Dad and Sophie.”
Emily, half-drunk, snapped: “Oh, now you remember him? He left us for another woman! Bought Sophie dolls, promised her the world—and she fell for it. Bet she regrets it now.”
Lily pictured Sophie miserable, trapped with a cruel woman. She hated Oliver after that.
Years passed. Sophie, now eighteen, was at uni, living with Oliver and stepmum Charlotte—who doted on her like her own. Their business thrived; they’d built a countryside home.
Lily, at seventeen, drifted between older men, pregnant by eighteen. The father paid for an abortion, then left. When Emily fell seriously ill, Lily, who’d dropped out of school, finally asked for Oliver’s address.
On the train, she clutched the slip of paper, heart pounding. She wanted to see Sophie—her mirror image. Resentment festered—why had Oliver taken Sophie and left her?
The grand house stunned her. Flowers, a pristine garden. Sophie answered the door—stylish, radiant.
“Lily! It’s really you!” She pulled her inside.
Lily forced a smile, but inside, bitterness clawed.
“Mum’s in hospital—we need money,” she said flatly.
They cried—Sophie from pity, Lily from self-loathing.
“You abandoned us!” Lily spat. “Dad left Mum for some woman—took you and ran!”
Sophie gasped. “That’s not true! We lived with Gran and Grandad. Dad never stopped missing you. Charlotte came later—she’s been nothing but kind.”
Lily reeled. Fate had played her cruelly.
Sophie fed her, gave her clothes. Next morning, alone, Lily eyed a jewellery box, stuffed it into her bag—then collapsed, sobbing.
Sophie found her. “I wanted to hurt you,” Lily choked. “I couldn’t do it.”
“It’s okay,” Sophie whispered.
When Oliver returned, he embraced Lily. “I’ll help your mum. Stay—you’ll go to college.”
Years later, at their double wedding, Oliver made one request: “Wear different dresses. I don’t want to mix you up on the big day.”
