She had promised the girl would stay with her grandmother… but everything changed.
“Arthur, what’s with the long face?” Simon clapped him on the shoulder as they left the gym.
“My life’s falling apart, and I’m pretending it’s fine,” Arthur muttered, not lifting his gaze.
“Let’s grab a coffee—you can tell me about it. Sounds serious.”
They stepped into a small café near the sports club, ordered lattes and a slice of Victoria sponge. Simon launched into tales of picking out a pram for his newborn son, chuckling over the chaos. But Arthur only nodded, barely listening.
“Where’s your head at? I’m spinning yarns here, and you look like you’re at a funeral,” Simon finally said.
Arthur took a deep breath, interlacing his fingers.
“You know Emily has a daughter, Lily. When we started seeing each other, the girl was just two. All this time, she lived with Emily’s parents in York. Emily sent money, visited, but swore her mother would raise the child. Even after we married and settled in London, she insisted—’It’s just us two, always will be.’ But six months ago, she brought Lily to live with us. Said it made sense—good schools nearby, everything within walking distance. But it doesn’t sit right with me. It grates on my nerves. I don’t want this.”
Simon was quiet, then sighed heavily.
“Look, you knew she had a child. Did you really think the girl would stay in another city forever, never be part of your life?”
“I did know… but Emily *promised*! She said Lily would stay with her grandmother. Now the girl’s always underfoot, demanding attention. I love Emily, but I can’t pretend she’s my child.”
“Then you either accept her as yours or walk away clean. There’s no halfway in this. If you want to stay with Emily, you love Lily too. Or step aside for someone who can.”
On the walk home, Arthur replayed the conversation. He remembered Emily asking him to take Lily to ballet, hoping they’d bond. He’d been irritable, brushing her off. That evening, he’d agreed to drive Lily to her dance class but stayed silent the whole way. She’d chattered about her school painting, how excited she was for Christmas.
“Arthur, do you not like me?” she’d asked suddenly.
“Why would you think that?” he’d replied, startled.
“You never talk to me or smile. Maybe I bother you? There’s a boy in my class I don’t like—we aren’t friends. Maybe it’s like that with us…”
He hadn’t answered—they’d arrived at the studio. But her words stuck like a thorn. That night, as Emily tucked Lily in, he approached her.
“Emily… will Lily go back to her grandmother’s? Maybe after Christmas?”
His wife turned, eyes sharp with disbelief.
“Are you serious? We’ve been married six years. You knew about Lily from the start. She’s my daughter. She *belongs* with us now. Mum’s getting older—she can’t manage anymore. A child needs her mother. What’s the problem?”
“This wasn’t the plan. I thought we’d have our own children, not me raising another man’s girl. I’m sorry, but I don’t feel she’s mine.”
Emily went pale. She stepped back, hands dropping to her sides.
“Another man’s? You mean to tell me—six years together, all your talk of love and future—and now my daughter’s in the way? I need to think. You’re sleeping in the sitting room tonight.”
Arthur lay on the sofa, restless. His thoughts darted like trapped sparrows. He knew Emily was right. And yet—he *ached*, certain he’d been betrayed. He’d believed one truth, only for it to crumble.
Near dawn, he dreamed of Lily running to him, laughing as he swung her into his arms. “Dad,” she whispered. He woke sweating, unsettled. The dream had cut deeper than he’d expected.
He stood before the mirror, studying his own reflection. The choice was plain: embrace the girl, become a true family—or leave before he broke them further. The decision was his alone.
