**Diary Entry**
I betrayed my husband only once, before we were married. He called me fat and said I wouldnt fit into my wedding dress. Wounded, I went clubbing in London with my friends, drank too much, and woke up in an unfamiliar flat beside a handsome bloke with blue eyes. The shame was unbearable. I never told Michael, forgave his insults, and even started a diet. I quit drinkingwhich was easy once I found out I was pregnant.
Our daughter was born right on time, a beautiful blue-eyed girl, and Michael adored her. For five years, I convinced myself everything was fineher eyes were like her grandfathers, and who cared if her hair was curly? I tried so hard to forget the bloke with curly hair whose name I couldnt recall. But deep down, my mothers instinct whispered she wasnt Michaels. Maybe thats why I tolerated his late nights, his endless work trips, his jabs about my cooking and weight. To our little girl, family mattered. She loved her dad, and what man doesnt stray?
“Keep it togetherwhere else would you go?” Mum would say. “Theres no space here. Grans bedridden, your brothers moved his fiancée inwhere would I put you all? I warned you not to put the house in your mother-in-laws name!”
I endured. But it didnt matter. One day, Michael left. Said hed met someone else. He even cried, promising hed always be there for Emilybut he couldnt fight his feelings. After the divorce, his mother, who doted on her granddaughter, remarked, “Get a paternity test. You might be paying child support for nothing.”
I froze. I thought I was the only one with doubts. Turns out, I wasnt.
“Are you mad?” Michael snapped when I hesitated. “Emilys mine. Anyone with eyes can see that!”
Maybe his mum was right. A year after the divorce, I landed in hospital with appendicitisand there he was. Those same blue eyes above a surgical mask.
“Sorry, have we met before?” the surgeon asked.
I shook my head wildly, praying he wouldnt remember. But he did. The next day, during his rounds, he grinned. “Hope you dont disappear as fast as last time.”
My face burned, and I couldnt wait to leave. Yet, by the time I was discharged, Thomas had made me want to stay.
I never mentioned Emily was his. Just that I had a daughter.
But Thomas figured it out the first time he saw her. Nervous, he bought her a doll and bombarded me with questions.
“Listen,” he began, “when I was little, my mum fell for another man. My sister never accepted him, and in the end, Mum sent him away. I dont want that. I want to be Emilys second dad.”
My heart sank. When he saw herpaling for a second before giving me a searching lookI knew he understood.
“Whats the difference?” I thought. “Hed find out eventually.”
Bracing for accusations, I was stunned when Thomas just hugged me and whispered, “What a bloody miracle.”
At first, Emily seemed fine with him. But when I gently asked if shed mind him moving in, she burst into tears. “I thought Daddy was coming back! Tell Thomas to live somewhere else!”
I smoothed things over, but Thomas was gutted. “Shes *my* daughter! They deserve to know!”
“Michael wouldnt cope. Neither would Emily. To her, *hes* her dad. And to him, shes his only childapparently his new wife cant have kids.”
Resentment simmered. Emily threw tantrums. I juggled this fractured family with rules: Michael never met Thomas, I never left Emily alone with him (theyd bicker), and even on Mothers Day, I prepped cards so she wouldnt blurt something hurtful.
Then I got pregnant again. Terror set in. What if the baby looked just like Emily? What if Michael pieced it together? What if Thomas spilled the truth while I was in labour?
We planned for Mum to take Emily, but she was hospitalised with gallstones the day before my due date. My stepdad refused, my brother worked full-timeleaving Michael. But he was abroad, and his mother was no help.
“I cant look after my own kid?” Thomas fumed.
Labour was rough: a C-section, then jaundice kept me in hospital. At home, tension crackled. Thomas insisted all was fine, but Emily clammed up. “He told her,” I panicked.
Neighbours urged honesty”truth always comes out.” So I rang Michael.
“I need to confess something.”
“Confess what?”
A long pause. “About Emily.”
“What about her?”
“Shes yours?”
“Ive known for years. Had a test done when she was one. They told me before basic training Id never have kids. I hoped for a miracle. Then I doubted. Mum nudged me to check.”
“But why?”
“What choice did I have?” he shot back. “Shes innocent! And dont *you* tell her! I stayed quiet so I wouldnt lose her.”
Discharge day felt surreal. Emily and Thomas acted oddexchanging glances, speaking in code.
“How did you manage without me?” I asked warily once the baby slept.
“Easy. You always overprotected. We got on fine.”
“You told her?”
“Course not! *You* forbade it.”
“Then whys she so quiet?”
Thomas smirked. “Ask her.”
In her room, Emily was doodling intently. Three adults. Two kids.
“Whos this?”
“Cant you tell? You, Daddy, Thomas, me, and baby Oliver.”
“Lovely.”
“Yeah. Mummy can someone have two dads?”
*He told her.*
“Sometimes,” I said carefully.
“Can I call Thomas Daddy too? Hes nice. We built a LEGO castle and saw fish. The shopkeeperthis funny grandad in a capasked what my dad did. I didnt know if he meant Thomas, so I said hes a doctor. Its cool having a doctor dad.”
A lump rose in my throat. The trap Id built myself. Michael forgave me. Thomas would too. But if Emily ever learned the full truth
I squeezed her. “Of course you can. Just dont tell Daddy.”
