“Hey, Tom, why the long face?” Jack clapped him on the back as they stepped out of the gym.
“My life’s falling apart, and I’m just pretending everything’s fine,” Tom muttered, not looking up.
“Come on, let’s grab a coffee—you can tell me. Sounds serious.”
They headed to a little café near the gym, ordered lattes and a slice of Victoria sponge. Jack started chatting about how he and his wife were picking out a pram for their newborn son, laughing at the silly moments. But Tom just nodded, barely listening.
“Mate, where are you right now? I’m here cracking jokes, and you look like you’re at a funeral,” Jack finally said.
Tom took a deep breath, fingers laced tight.
“You know Emily’s got a daughter, right? Charlotte. When we first started dating, she was just two. All this time, she’s been living with Emily’s mum in Manchester. Emily sent money, visited, but she always said her mum would raise her. Even after we got married and moved to London, she insisted, ‘It’s just us two, always will be.’ But six months ago, she brought Charlotte home. Said it was easier—school’s nearby, everything’s close. But it’s not easier for me. It’s driving me mad. I don’t want this.”
Jack was quiet for a moment, then sighed.
“Listen, you knew she had a kid. Did you really think that little girl would stay in another city forever, never be part of your life?”
“Yeah, I knew… but Emily *promised*! She said Charlotte would stay with her nan. Now she’s always there, in the way, needing attention. I love Emily, but I can’t pretend that kid’s mine.”
“So either you accept her as your own, or you walk away. There’s no halfway here. If you want Emily, you’ve got to love Charlotte too. Or make room for someone who will.”
On the walk home, Tom went over the conversation in his head. He remembered Emily asking him to take Charlotte to ballet, hoping they’d bond. He’d just gotten annoyed, brushed it off. Today, she’d asked him to drop her off at dance class. He agreed, but stayed silent the whole ride. Charlotte tried chatting, telling him about her art project at school, how excited she was for Christmas.
“Tom… do you not like me?” she suddenly asked.
“What makes you say that?” he said, surprised.
“You never talk to me. You don’t smile. Maybe you hate me? There’s a boy in my class I don’t like—we’re not friends. Maybe that’s how it is with us…”
He didn’t get to answer—they’d pulled up at the studio. But her words stuck in his chest. He couldn’t shake them. That night, as Emily tucked Charlotte in, he approached her.
“Em, is Charlotte going back to your mum’s? Maybe after Christmas?”
She turned, confusion flashing in her eyes.
“Are you serious? We’ve been married six years. You’ve *always* known about Charlotte. She’s my daughter. She *belongs* here now. Mum’s getting older—she can’t manage anymore. And a child needs her mum. What’s your problem?”
“This wasn’t the deal. I thought we’d have our *own* kids, not me raising someone else’s. I’m sorry, but I don’t feel like she’s mine.”
Emily went pale. She stepped back sharply.
“*Someone else’s*? Are you hearing yourself? Six years together, talking about a future, saying you love me… and now my daughter’s in the way? I need to think. You’re sleeping on the sofa tonight.”
Tom lay there, but sleep wouldn’t come. His thoughts raced like trapped birds. He knew Emily was right. But it *hurt*—like he’d been betrayed. He’d believed one thing, and now everything had changed.
Near dawn, he dreamed of Charlotte running to him, laughing, arms open. He lifted her up, spun her around, and she whispered, “*Dad.*” He woke in a cold sweat. Unease settled deep. That dream… it got to him more than he expected.
He stood, faced the mirror, met his own eyes. The answer was obvious: either he stepped up, truly became part of their family, or he walked away before he wrecked it worse. The choice was his.
