All is Not as it Seems
Before her morning rounds, Nurse Nina slipped into the doctors’ office and whispered confidentially:
“Dr. Helen, the young woman in Ward Five—Emily—has been begging me all evening to let her go home. You asked me to tell you if anything came up.”
“Thank you, Nina. I’ll see to it,” Dr. Helen replied, tucking a loose curl behind her ear before making her way to the fifth ward.
By the window, a girl lay curled on her side, facing the wall.
“Good morning, Emily. What’s the matter?”
Emily jerked upright, her eyes wide and pleading.
“Please, let me go home. I can’t stand being here any longer. At home, I’d have things to do, distractions—but here…” Her voice cracked, and she clutched the sheets.
“No tears, now. You’ll upset the baby. Have you changed your mind about keeping it?” Dr. Helen asked sternly.
“No, I haven’t. I feel fine, truly. I promise I’ll rest at home—no exertion, just walks and quiet. Please, let me go. It’s so lovely outside, and I’m suffocating in here.” She managed a timid smile.
“Very well. Tomorrow, we’ll run tests and do a scan. If all’s well, I’ll discharge you.”
“Thank you!” Emily pressed her hands together as if in prayer. “I’ll be careful—I swear it. If anything feels wrong, I’ll call straight away.”
Dr. Helen left the ward, still puzzling over how her son, Thomas, could have fallen for this pale, unremarkable girl. Her handsome boy had worked—no, *used* to work—at a prestigious firm. But it was his choice, and she respected that. If Thomas had loved her, she would try to love her too.
Years ago, at university, Thomas had been smitten with a vivacious girl named Charlotte—so much so that he lost his head over her. They’d made a striking pair. But within a year, Charlotte left him for some foreign businessman. Thomas had been devastated, skipping lectures for months. Helen feared he’d ruin his prospects.
Eventually, he recovered, graduated, and landed a respectable position. Still, he avoided women for a long time—until he met Emily, a quiet, slender thing, the very opposite of fiery Charlotte. Perhaps he’d thought someone like her would never betray him.
“Mum, this is Emily,” he’d said when he first brought her home.
Helen had struggled not to frown. Every Emily she’d ever known had been two-faced—meek on the outside, calculating underneath. She’d hoped the relationship wouldn’t last; they were too mismatched.
When Thomas announced his engagement, she bit her tongue.
“Have you filed the paperwork?” was all she asked instead of congratulations.
“Not yet. Aren’t you happy for us?” he’d replied anxiously.
“What matters is *your* happiness,” she’d said.
He’d given Emily a diamond ring, which still glimmered on her delicate finger. The wedding was set for August. Helen had prayed something would happen to change his mind.
And then it did.
At a friend’s birthday party, Thomas drank too much. He sent Emily home in a cab, opting to walk it off. In a dim alley, he spotted two men forcing a girl into a car. She fought back, screamed for help.
Thomas intervened. One of the men stabbed him in the gut. The car sped away, leaving him bleeding on the pavement. By the time he was found at dawn, it was too late.
Helen couldn’t help blaming Emily. Why hadn’t she insisted he go home with her? And why had she raised him to be so reckless?
She thought she’d never recover. Yet here she was, back at work. And now Emily had been admitted—ten weeks pregnant, at risk of losing the child. Likely Thomas’s. Emily confirmed it.
Helen ensured she received the best care, monitoring her closely. She clung to the hope of a grandchild—a boy, preferably, but a girl would do.
Before discharge, Helen asked, “Will your mother meet you?”
Emily looked down. “She doesn’t know.”
“How? Why haven’t you told her?”
“Mum raised me alone. Always warned me not to end up an unmarried mother. And now…”
“But Thomas proposed! We’d have moved the wedding up if we’d known. You’d have had a husband.”
“I wasn’t sure myself. I meant to tell her when I knew for certain. Then… I ran out of time. Seems I’ll be raising this child alone too.”
“You have *us*. You’re carrying Thomas’s baby—our grandchild. We’ll help. Did you even tell your mother you were in hospital?”
Emily nodded, shamefaced.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t rush home. Stay a little longer?”
“No. I want to go. I’ll tell her. Dr. Helen… thank you. I thought after Thomas died, you’d want nothing to do with me.”
“Don’t be silly. Promise you’ll visit, call whenever you need us.”
“I promise.”
Helen didn’t like that Emily had lied to her mother. Deceit in one thing bred deceit in others. They were too different—how had Thomas ever fallen for her?
For days, Helen tried calling. No answer. She went to Emily’s flat. No one came to the door.
Emily never called or visited. Helen agonised over the fate of her grandchild. Then, returning from a late shift, she heard laughter in the kitchen. Her husband, Richard, stood by the table, regaling Emily with some story.
Emily didn’t look grief-stricken—quite the opposite. She spotted Helen first, freezing mid-laugh.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” Richard stammered. “We were just having tea. Why are you barefoot?” His gaze flicked to Emily—then realisation dawned. She was wearing Helen’s slippers.
“Hello, Emily. I’ve been calling,” Helen said calmly, relieved she was safe.
“I lost my phone. Came to reassure you.” Emily’s eyes welled. “I told Mum everything.”
“Helena,” Richard cut in weakly, “her mother threw her out after a row.”
Helen sat opposite Emily. “Don’t cry. Stay with us. You’re family now.” She sighed, already dreading the fallout.
“Of course, stay as long as you need,” Richard added.
Helen showed Emily to Thomas’s old room. That night, she stayed awake, debating whether to confront Emily’s mother.
The next evening, she did.
A striking brunette answered the door—nothing like plain Emily.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you Emily’s mother?”
“Yes. She’s not here.”
“I’m her doctor. And Thomas’s mother. She said you threw her out.”
The woman snorted. “Doctors don’t make house calls. What do you want?”
“Emily’s carrying my grandson. She’s with us now.”
The woman’s expression softened. “I never met Thomas. I’m sorry for your loss. But she kept secrets. I *warned* her—I raised her alone, struggled every day. I didn’t want that for her.”
“We’ll support her. She needs you.”
“She’s not as fragile as she seems. Cleverer than you’d think. Trust me, I know her better.”
On the way home, Helen pondered those words. Then she remembered Emily’s face when she’d walked in—how quickly it shifted. *”Cleverer than you’d think.”*
Emily settled in, never urging to leave. She slept in Thomas’s room, lounged, watched telly. Occasionally, she cooked—badly.
Two weeks later, Helen left for a conference. Her speech was well-received, but unease gnawed at her. She rang home. Emily chirped that she was roasting chicken for Richard.
*Chicken?* Helen frowned. Since when did she cook anything beyond burnt potatoes?
The next night, she returned early. The bedroom was empty. She knew.
She flung open Thomas’s door, flicked the light on.
Emily bolted upright from Richard’s bare shoulder, squinting. He stirred, blinking.
“You’re back?” he mumbled.
“What are you doing here?” Helen hissed.
“This isn’t what it looks like. She was crying—I just came to comfort her.”
“Comfort her? In *his* bed? She’s carrying your dead son’s child!”
She stormed out, bile rising in her throat. Richard followed, stammering excuses. She sent him away.
She spent the night at the kitchen table. At dawn, she left for work. Richard called repeatedly. She ignored him.
What now? Throw him out? After twenty-seven years? Their home, their memories, Thomas—soon a grandchild. But then Emily had upended everything.
Unless… what if the baby wasn’t Thomas’s?
The doubt festered.
When Helen returned, Emily was gone. Richard, contriteAnd so, as little Yana grew in their care, Helen vowed to protect her from the shadows of the past, knowing some truths were best left buried, while love, however fractured, endured.
