Mum would clutch her to her chest, showering her with kisses, and wonder, Who does she look like? Shed sigh, just as puzzled as the neighbours, who often asked the same question. Some mate of mine likely put a bug in my ear, or perhaps my wife suspected something, or maybe I simply started doubting her loyalty. One evening, I came home from work with a cloud hanging over me.
Charlie, what are we going to do? Isnt it a bit soon? Emilys only just turned two, barely out of nappies, and I havent even caught my breath yet, Sarah fretted. Its like jumping straight into one maternity leave after another. Emilys still tiny, always wants to be picked up. How am I supposed to lift her when Im pregnant?
Therell be four of us, and only youre working. Maybe we should wait before having another child? she asked, but she seemed even more unsettled by her own words.
Whats that supposed to mean? Put those ideas right out of your head, I replied rather firmly, but then relented, Sorry, love, Im just tired. Well manage. Ill find some extra work.
If its another girl, I reckon were setEmilys old clothes are as good as new, and we wont even have to buy a new pram, I mused. Theyll be close in age and will get along. And if we have a boy I grinned at Sarah, Ill put in for a bigger council flat.
And so, decision made. Sarah adored Emily, doted on her endlessly as any mother would with her first-born. She could never resist scooping her up, hugging her, kissing her, even as her bump started to show. Secretly, she half-hoped the new baby would not make it, shying from even admitting it to herself, feeling swamped by the speed of it all.
But nature, as always, had its own plans. The pregnancy was straightforward, and on schedule, another little girl joined the Harris family.
When they handed her their newest daughter for the first feed, Sarah was taken aback by the fluff of golden hair crowning the infants head. Both of us are dark-haired, and so was Emily when bornthough her hair had lightened over time. Perhaps, Sarah thought, this ones will darken as she grows.
A pair of piercing blue eyes in a delicate, fair face, our second daughter drew admiring remarks from everyone who visited. We simply called her Beatricean uncommon name, but it gave our girls matching initials, which felt right in some small, private way.
No one could explain how two sisters could be born so different in the same family. As Beatrice grew, her differences from us and from Emily only became more noticeable, as if shed somehow drifted into our home on a stray breeze.
Eventually, her hair did darken a hint, settling into a soft ash-blonde. Rosy and even-tempered, she observed the world through those big, sky-blue eyes, taking everything in.
Yet, every time Sarah hugged her, shed wonder, Who does she look like? and sigh. Friends were puzzled too, asking after the family resemblances.
Whether it was the whispers of friends, the inklings of her own doubts, or perhaps jealousy, I came home one night, brooding. The silence at the dinner table mustve worried Sarah.
And eventually, I demanded answers, accusing her of betrayal, reminded of that blond chap whod once hovered around her before we met. Had she strayed? Or, if not, perhaps the hospital had swapped babies. Stranger things had happened.
Ive never betrayed you, Charlie. Shes oursno ones swapped her, Sarah sobbedher tears both wounded and indignant.
We started arguing. Daily rows spiraled into threats of separation; Sarah even packed some things. Only then did reality hit me. I loved my wife. Shed leave, take the girls, and Id have nothing left. I just wanted the truth, I suppose.
It stungthose mutterings from others: Who does she look like? Neither of you, neither her mum nor her dad I felt as though everyone could see doubts sprouting horns on my head.
I pleaded with Sarah to stay, promising only to get a DNA test. She burst into tears once more.
How can I possibly stay, knowing you dont trust me? You want a test? Might as well test Emily too, in case she isnt ours either. Why dont we just end it?
I gathered a sample from Beatrice and a hair from Emily, hand-delivered them to the lab myself. I grilled the technician about accuracy, mix-upsanything that could foil the results. They assured me it was foolproof, and I tried to believe them.
The girls listened to our quarrels. Four-year-old Beatrice knew her parents were fighting because of her, while Emily, blunt as always, said, Youre not my sister. You were left here. Mum and Dad fight because of you. They want a divorce.
Beatrice cried herself to sleep, inconsolable even in Mums arms.
Emily, convinced if she rid herself of her sister all would be well, waited for her chance. One afternoon when Sarah had gone out and I was at work, Emily dressed Beatrice and led her farther and farther from home.
When Sarah couldnt find them, she rushed out terrifiedthe girls werent in the courtyard either. A downstairs neighbour remembered seeing them leave but did nothing, too busy with her soap on the telly.
Panicked, we both searched everywhere until dusk, then called the police. They found the girls an hour laterfirst Beatrice, crying alone in some strange blocks courtyard. Emily, lost in the dark, didnt know her way home.
We were so relieved we didnt scold themEmily never admitted shed tried to lose her sister. Instead, we quarreled some more, each blaming the other for not being there, for working too much.
What if theyd been run down or taken?
The test results finally came. I was the biological father of both girls. No betrayals, no swaps. The doctor explained that genetics could toss up surpriseshidden traits, even light features in dark-haired parents.
Peace edged back into the house, but Beatrice still felt out of place. The girls didnt bond; Emily couldnt let go of her resentment, and in every spat, shed needle Beatrice: You wear my old dresses because youre not really one of us.
Beatrice suffered in silence, made scapegoat for every bit of trouble, always compared unfavourably to Emily. Why cant you be more like Emily? Mum sighed. She sits quietly, never makes a fuss.
So Beatrice learned it was pointless to complain. Mum only loved Emily, she convinced herself, and shed retreat to a corner, closing her eyes as if invisibility would shield her from hurtful words.
Emily left school first, saw no sense in collegewhat use was it for a pretty girl? She met a lad at a dance and married soon after. He owned a flat and worked with his dad, who sold used cars.
Though Mum loved Beatrice too, she constantly held up Emily as the benchmark. Beatrice grew up feeling second best, always measuring herself against her big sister and hearing old wounds echo: hand-me-downs, overlooked, unchosen.
Emily really landed on her feet, didnt she? You could learn from her. Get out more, stop daydreaming and sketching all day, Mum would chide.
When a boy in Sixth Form took notice, Beatrice quickly returned his feelingsstarved, as she was, for affection. She was slow to realise she was pregnant, and terrified when she finally did.
She confided in the boy, who wanted a word with his parents. Thats how the secret spilled out. His mum came knocking at ours, pleading Sarah to see sense and convinced me to coerce Beatrice into a termination.
Unexpectedly, I sided with my daughter. Perhaps, in that moment, I tried to atone for my wrongs, or maybe, I was simply moved by her pain. Let her have the baby, I said. Shes had enough heartache. Well get by, just the three of us.
The boys parents sent him off to relatives in another city; Beatrice continued her A Levels at home. The school hushed it all up, lest the council get wind and start blaming the teachers.
Even her exams were sat at home under teacher supervision. Beatrice scored top marks in English, thanks to a kind teachers help, but it hardly mattered. Shed soon be raising a child, not dreaming of university.
Then, right when everything seemed too much, I died. Heart gave outyears of work, stress, and grief compressing all at once. I nodded off in front of the telly, gone by teatime.
Sarah found me, and the flat filled with the commotion of paramedics and relatives. The shock sent Beatrice into early labour. She brought a boyfair, blue-eyed like herselfinto the world the day I left.
She missed my funeral, stuck in hospital. Sarah, crushed by grief, blurted at home that Beatrice had driven me to it, that nothing but trouble came with her. Still, she adored her grandson.
She did fret that now, with a baby, no man would marry Beatrice. I dont want anyone. Even my own dad doubted me. No one else will ever love my son, Beatrice replied.
Her boy grew bright and gentle, and at five, he and his mum lived with Sarah, Beatrice having finished a hairdressing course and found a job.
Meanwhile, Emilys life wasnt as rosy as shed hoped. Her husbands parents wanted grandchildren, and when she couldnt conceive, the marriage started to wobble. He strayed, and Emily refused to leaveno point returning to a poky council flat, especially with Beatrice there.
Frustrated, Emily plotted to set Beatrice up with someone, hoping shed move out. Their computer repairman, James, was young, decent, and singleEmily had tried flirting but he rebuffed her.
She set up a meet in a café, telling him she needed to talk, whilst telling Beatrice she had a nice young man to introduce her to. Emily was sure Beatrice would appear awkward and out of place.
Dressed simply, hair neat but no make-up, Beatrice arrived at the café. She spotted James on his phone at a corner table.
Are you James? she asked.
Yes. And you are?
Im Emilys sisterBeatrice.
James seemed surprised, but polite. He ordered coffee and cakes, explaining he met clients here often.
Beatrice described her life, her challenges, her son. James listened, surprised but not put off. He walked her home, asking for her number at her door.
A week passed before he called. Sorry, been busy. Fancy a coffee tonight? His directness took Beatrice aback, but she agreed.
She spoke about growing up, her parents rows, her childhood. By sharing her story with James, she herself gained a new perspective. After coffee, a stray dog tagged along outside, and James bought some bread and ham to feed it.
At the checkout, they watched an old lady struggle to count out her coins. James paid for her bits and bought her a treat. My gran loved ice cream, but she rarely let herself have it, he explained.
Do you feel sorry for everyone? Am I just another charity case? Beatrice challenged.
No. Youre wonderful; thats why I like you. I help those I can because Im able, thats all.
That night, Emily rang.
It went well, actually, Beatrice told her. Thanks for setting us upwere seeing each other again.
Indignant, Emily muttered something and hung up. Soon after, she showed up at mums, and Beatrice, coming to join them, overheard Emily venting to Sarah in the kitchen:
That stupid cow gets all the luck. I tried to play a trick, and he fell for her! Why her? Why not me? She owes me everything.
But youre married, Emily, Sarah admonished.
I am, for now. But hes on the lookout for a replacement. What am I supposed to do?
Beatrice heard her mum gasp and, bursting into the room, she found Sarah clutching her chest. She called an ambulanceluckily, her mothers stroke was minor.
Two months later, Beatrice married James and moved in with him, her son in tow. But she visited Sarah nearly every day, while Emily left, chasing her happiness elsewhere.
Parents often think children understand nothing of the arguments they witness, but kids hear and learn. Sibling rivalry for love can be ruthless, and revenge hurts not just the intended but also the avenger.
The words that daughters hearwhether of care or injuryembed themselves deep, shaping who they become and how they trust.
I learned too late that trust is fragile, and a fathers doubts leave scars. But above all, Ive seen how kindness always pays forward, and bitterness only binds us tighter to our own misery.
