Emily walked home from school in high spirits. Today, the class had pooled money for flowers and a gift for their form teacher. Andrew had mentioned that women loved roses, and when he said it, his gaze lingered on her just a moment too long. Her heart fluttered at the thought—maybe it was a hint about his Mother’s Day gift for her. The other girls would be so jealous.
She’d liked him from the moment he first stepped into the classroom. Last year, his father had been transferred to the army base in their town. Andrew carried himself with an easy confidence, unbothered by what anyone thought. That was what drew Emily to him—she, on the other hand, always worried about how others saw her, terrified of saying the wrong thing or looking silly.
The boys respected him instantly, even the teachers listened when he spoke. He wasn’t the leader type, but he had a quiet authority.
Though it was still February, spring teased at the edges of the air—birds sang in the mornings, sunlight stretched further each day, icicles dripped from rooftops with a glassy chime. Her chest ached with the promise of something mysterious and new.
Then she opened the front door and heard the shouting. Again. Her good mood shattered. She was so tired of it. Things used to be good—family trips to the seaside, New Year’s Eve with fireworks. But what if they divorced? Would any of that ever happen again?
Her classmate Lily’s mum had cut her wrists when her dad left. Lily cried in lessons for weeks. Another girl, Sophie, said it was easier when her parents lived apart—they both spoiled her with gifts and pocket money. But was happiness really just about presents and cash?
The yelling stopped abruptly. Emily tiptoed toward the half-open kitchen door. Her dad stood by the window, back to her; her mum sat at the table, face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking.
“Calm down, Emily’ll be home soon,” her dad muttered, not turning. “What do I have to do to make you believe me?” Then he glanced over his shoulder and spotted her in the doorway.
“How long have you been eavesdropping?” he snapped.
“Long enough to figure it out,” she shot back.
“Figure what out?” Her mum lifted her face—nose red, mascara smeared. *Why doesn’t she see how she’s pushing him away looking like that?* Emily thought irritably.
“You’re getting a divorce,” she blurted.
Her dad frowned but said nothing.
“Did you even think about me? Have you decided who I’ll live with? There are three of us, you know. Doesn’t my opinion matter? I don’t want to choose—I want us together!” Her voice rose to a shout. “If you’re sick of each other, then I want new parents. I hate you both!” Her words trembled with barely held-back tears.
She spun on her heel, grabbed her coat, and slammed the door behind her.
“Emily!” Her mum’s cry was cut off.
She didn’t wait for the lift, racing down the stairs instead. Outside, she shoved her hands into her gloves. Where could she go? Not to a friend’s—she didn’t want to talk. Who would understand when even her own parents didn’t?
She walked aimlessly. The icicles that dripped in daylight had frozen again by evening. After two bus stops, she ducked into a shop to warm up. The sight of sausage rolls made her mouth water.
She dug out a few coins from her coat pocket and bought one. The moment she stepped outside, she tore into it. As she choked down the last bite, someone called her name.
She turned and saw Jack from the parallel class.
“Alright?” he said. “Out for a stroll?”
Emily couldn’t answer with her mouth full. Swallowing dry pastry wasn’t easy.
Jack pulled a water bottle from his gym bag and handed it over.
“Here, if you don’t mind my germs.”
Grateful, she took it. The lump went down.
“Ta,” she mumbled, handing it back. She made to leave.
“Your house is the other way, yeah?”
“None of your business.”
“Not safe wandering about this late. Shops’ll close soon. C’mon, I’ll walk you.”
She hesitated, then fell into step beside him. They talked about his upcoming football matches, training, teachers. At the turn to her street, she stopped.
“You live here? Don’t fancy going home? Parents doing your head in?” He smirked.
“They’re splitting up,” she said quietly.
“Ah. Mine did that. Dad left. I ran off, thought if they had to look for me, maybe they’d make up. Shared grief and all.”
“And?”
“They did. Briefly. But he still left. Spent two nights in a shed before the police found me. Smell of mildew stayed in my clothes for ages.”
“And your dad?”
“Got a new wife. Pretty, but a right cow. Mum’s better.”
“And does she… you know… have anyone?”
“What, a bloke? Nah. She’s got me. Wouldn’t mind if she met someone, though. Still loves him, I reckon.”
“You talk about it so easily.”
“What’s the point in moping? Can’t change it. At least it’s quiet now. Before, they’d row till things got physical. Silver linings, yeah? If he’d stayed, he’d have kept cheating, and she’d still be miserable. Better one clean break. Fancy coming back to mine? I’ll make tea—warm you up.”
“Your mum…?” Emily asked, startled.
“Glued to the telly. We’ll sneak to my room. She won’t notice. Well? Or d’you fancy freezing out here?”
She glanced at the emptying street. Even the cars had vanished.
“Fine,” she sighed.
Jack lived past the school—probably why they’d never spoken before.
“You see your dad much?”
“Sometimes. He’s happy. His life, ours. That’s that.”
They walked the rest in silence.
At his flat, they crept to his room. Emily didn’t see light under his mum’s door or hear the TV. Maybe she was asleep.
Jack’s room was long and narrow, plastered with old posters of motorbikes and tough-guy actors.
“Kid stuff. Never got round to taking them down,” he said. “Make yourself at home. I’ll fetch food.”
Emily browsed his bookshelf—mostly school stuff, but also *Ivanhoe* and *The Three Musketeers*. A book of Keats’ poetry surprised her. She didn’t peg boys for liking verse.
When Jack returned with tea and a plate, she devoured the food. The hot drink made her drowsy. She sank onto the sofa, head on the armrest, and dozed off.
She woke in the dark, needing the loo. Too scared to navigate a stranger’s flat alone, she nudged Jack awake.
“Wha—?”
“Shh! I need the toilet. Can’t go by myself.”
He rubbed his face and stood.
In the hallway, he flicked the light on. Emily ran the tap to mask other sounds. When she came out, he was waiting.
“Maybe I should go home.”
“Sure? It’s half two. I’ll walk you.”
“It’s not far.”
“Nah, not letting you wander alone this late.” He bent to tie his laces, dropping a shoehorn with a clatter.
“Quiet! You’ll wake your mum!”
“She’s not here. Night shift.”
“You *lied*?”
“Would you have come if I’d said she was out?”
Outside, the streets were dead. The cold bit harder after sleep. Slipping on icy patches, they made it to her building.
“Ta,” she said at the door.
Jack shrugged and walked off.
Inside, her mum pounced.
“Where were you? We phoned every hospital—!”
Her dad appeared in the hallway.
“You alright?”
“Yeah.” She pushed past them to her room. At the door, she glanced back.
“Night, Mum. Dad.”
She thought she’d lie awake, but sleep swallowed her instantly.
The next morning at breakfast, her mum asked, “Nothing to say?”
Her dad had already left for work.
“You?” Emily countered.
“If you mean the divorce… we’re not. For now.”
Her mum sat opposite her, eyes puffy.
“Because of me? Thought you’d stick it out and be miserable? Well, if you keep fighting, I *will* leave. For good.” She remembered Jack’s words—how his parents had reconciled while searching for him.
“We were terrified. Do I… look awful?”
“Not *awful*. But you’ve looked like this for years. If you want Dad to stop eyeing other women and locking himself in the loo with his phone, maybe try a haircut. Some lipstick.”
Her mum stared.
“You asked. Dad’s obvious. But *you*—what happened to**”And as Emily fastened the silver heart necklace Jack had given her, she realized that maybe—just maybe—things could mend, not just for her parents, but for all of them.”**
