Nothing is as it Seems

**Not All That It Seems**

Before her morning rounds, nurse Nina popped into the doctors’ office and whispered conspiratorially:

“Dr. Greenwood, the patient in Room Five—Isla Thompson—has been pestering me all evening to give her clothes and let her go home. You asked me to tell you if anything came up.”

“Thank you, Nina. I’ll handle it,” sighed Dr. Helen Greenwood, tucking a stray curl back under her cap before heading to Room Five.

By the window, a young woman lay curled toward the wall.

“Good morning, Emily. What’s the matter?”

Emily jerked upright, rubbing her eyes.

“Please discharge me. I can’t stand lying here. At home, I’d at least have distractions—something to do. But here…” She sniffled, fixing Helen with a pleading look.

“Now, now, tears won’t help. You’ll upset the baby. Unless… have you changed your mind?” Helen asked sharply.

“No! I still want the baby. I feel fine—I *promise* I’ll rest at home, take gentle walks, follow all the rules. Please? It’s so lovely outside, and this room’s stifling.” She managed a faint, hopeful smile.

“Very well. Tomorrow, we’ll do bloodwork and a scan. If all’s well, I’ll discharge you,” Helen conceded.

“Thank you!” Emily clasped her hands like a prayer. “I’ll be careful, and if anything feels off, I’ll call straightaway.”

Helen left the ward, still baffled. How had her son, the ever-dashing James, fallen for this wan little mouse? He’d had a promising career at a top firm—well, *had* had one. She sighed. His choice, though. If James loved her, she’d try to as well.

At uni, he’d been mad for the dazzling Sophia—a golden couple if ever there was one. Then Sophia dumped him for some foreign banker. James moped for months, nearly failed his degree. But he eventually pulled himself together, graduated, landed a prestigious job. Still, he’d avoided dating—until he met Emily. Pale, slight, the polar opposite of Sophia. Maybe he’d thought *she* wouldn’t break his heart.

“Mum, this is Emily,” he’d said that first awkward dinner.

Helen had swallowed a grimace. Every Emily she’d ever known was sly beneath that meek exterior. She’d hoped it wouldn’t last. Too different.

Then James announced the engagement. Helen bit her tongue.

“Have you set a date?” was all she’d asked instead of congratulations.

“Not yet. Aren’t you happy?” he’d frowned.

“*You* are. That’s what matters.”

He’d given Emily a diamond ring—still perched on her slender finger now. The wedding was set for August. Helen had privately hoped something—*anything*—would change his mind.

Then the universe delivered. At a mate’s birthday, James had drunk just enough to skip driving. He sent Emily home in a cab, opting to walk it off. In a dim alley, he’d seen two lads shoving a girl into a car. She’d fought, screamed for help.

James intervened. One stabbed him in the gut. The car sped off. By the time someone found him at dawn, it was too late.

Helen couldn’t help blaming Emily—*why* hadn’t she insisted he come home with her?—and herself. *She’d* raised him to be that recklessly brave.

She’d thought the grief would kill her. But she’d returned to work. Then Emily was admitted—ten weeks pregnant, threatening to miscarry. James’s baby, she’d confirmed.

Helen prescribed the best meds, monitored her closely. A grandchild—a piece of James. She’d have preferred a boy, but a girl would do.

Before discharge, she asked, “Will your mum meet you?”

“She doesn’t know,” Emily mumbled.

“*What?* Why not?”

“Single mum. Always feared I’d end up like her. And now…”

“But James proposed! Had we known, we’d have rushed the wedding!” Helen protested.

“I wasn’t sure myself. Meant to tell her when I was. Then… I ran out of time. So now I’ll be a single mum too,” Emily said bleakly.

“You’ve got *us*. That’s James’s baby—our grandchild. We’ll help. Does she even know you’re here?”

Emily nodded, eyes downcast.

“Maybe you *should* stay a few more days?” Helen said gently.

“No. I want to go home. I’ll tell her. And Dr. Greenwood—thank you. I thought… after James, you’d hate me.”

“Don’t be silly. Call us. Visit. Promise?”

“I promise,” Emily said airily.

Helen didn’t trust that secrecy. Liars lied about everything. Too different from James. Had he *really* loved her?

Days passed. No calls. Helen went to Emily’s flat. No answer.

Then, returning from a late shift, she heard laughter in the kitchen. Emily sat at the table, Helen’s husband, David, regaling her with some story.

Emily noticed her first. Frozen.

“Didn’t hear you come in!” David stammered. “Just giving Emily tea. Why no shoes?”

Emily wore Helen’s slippers.

“Hello, Emily. I called,” Helen said, cool.

“Lost my phone. Didn’t want you worrying. I told Mum.” Tears welled.

“Love,” David cut in awkwardly, “her mum… threw her out.”

Helen sat opposite Emily. “Don’t cry. Stay with us. You’re family.” She sighed, already dreading the fallout.

That night, she lay awake. Should she confront Emily’s mum?

Next evening, she did. The woman who answered—a striking brunette, nothing like Emily—arched a brow.

“Never heard of doctors making house calls,” she smirked.

“I’m James’s mother. Emily’s carrying his child. She’s with us now.”

“Ah. Never met him. Pity.” A shrug. “What d’you want?”

“Your support. She needs it.”

“I *didn’t* throw her out. Just… harsh words. I raised her alone—no help, no sympathy. Didn’t want that for her.”

“We’ll help her.”

“She’s sly, that one. Not the fragile kitten she plays.”

Helen left uneasy. “Not what she seems,” she mused.

Emily stayed. Slept in James’s room. Occasionally “cooked”—burnt chips, oversalted soup. Helen stopped asking.

Weeks later, Helen left for a conference. Mid-dinner, unease gnawed at her. She’d called—Emily had chirped about roasting chicken for David.

*Chicken?* Since when did she cook?

Helen skipped the next day’s talks. Returned at midnight. The bed was empty. She threw open James’s door, flicked the light.

Emily bolted up from David’s bare shoulder, squinting. He flailed awake.

“You’re back?” he croaked.

“What. Are. You. Doing.”

“Nothing happened! She was upset—I just—fell asleep—”

“In *his* bed. With *his* fiancée. His *child* inside her. Or is it *yours*?” Helen choked.

She fled to the kitchen. No tears. Just revulsion.

David trailed in, dressed. “Helen, I swear—”

“Go. *Now.*”

Dawn found her slumped at the table. At work, she ignored his calls.

What now? Throw him out? Twenty-seven years, their flat, memories, James’s child… Yet Emily’s mum’s words echoed. *Sly. Not what she seems.*

That night, Emily was gone. “Went home,” David muttered. Helen neither forgave nor threw him out. They coexisted.

Months later, Emily had a girl, then vanished. Left a note: *Can’t do this.*

Helen wasn’t surprised. The DNA test confirmed James’s paternity. She and David adopted the baby—*Grace*, “God’s gift.”

Rumour said Emily ran off with an old flame.

Helen prayed she’d never resurface.

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Nothing is as it Seems