The Secret of the Old Photograph
Oliver and Emily were in the same university class. She seemed like any other girl—nothing extraordinary. But whether it was just the right moment to fall in love or something in her had shifted, one day Oliver looked at her differently, as if seeing her for the first time, and the world flipped upside down in his lovestruck eyes.
After lectures, he waited by the university gates for her. But she dashed past without noticing, straight to some older man, and the two walked off together. Oliver lingered, watching them disappear down the street, swallowing disappointment and irritation.
What did he expect? That she’d wait around for him to finally notice her? A girl like Emily was bound to have someone.
Then one day, she arrived with red, tear-streaked eyes, quiet and withdrawn. That evening, no one met her at the gates, so Oliver dared to approach.
“Going home?” he asked.
“No, to my gran’s. I’m staying with her—she’s ill.”
Emily explained her gran had high blood pressure and bad joints, worse in spring. Some days, she couldn’t even step outside.
Oliver walked beside her, barely listening, floating on cloud nine. His heart hammered joyfully, her name pulsing in his skull—*Emily, Emily, Emily*.
She lived three bus stops from campus.
“I’d invite you in, but Gran’s not well,” she apologized at her door.
The next day, Oliver asked how her gran was.
“Alright. But Mum visited last night with her new husband. Gran got so worked up, her pressure spiked—we had to call an ambulance. I wish Mum hadn’t come at all.”
*Ah. Stepfather troubles. Maybe that’s why Emily moved in with her gran.* But Oliver didn’t pry.
Before summer exams, Emily’s gran passed away. Oliver stayed by her side through it all, comforting her. After the funeral, Emily remained in the flat.
“Aren’t you scared of Gran’s ghost?” he joked once, walking her home.
“No. She had a temper, but she was always kind to me.”
One day, Oliver finally asked about the man who used to meet her at uni. Her face darkened.
“He married my mum,” she muttered, hiding her face. “Now he’s my stepdad.”
After their first exam, Emily invited Oliver over. The flat was old-fashioned—bulky furniture, faded dark wallpaper. An album lay on the table.
“Mind if I look?” he asked.
“Go ahead. I was picking a photo for Gran’s grave.” She joined him on the sofa, pointing at family snapshots. “That’s me as a baby. There’s Mum and Dad before I was born.”
“Your parents divorced?” Oliver recalled her mum’s recent remarriage.
“Yeah. Dad couldn’t handle Mum’s temper. They split when I was little. He’s got a new family now—we don’t speak.”
Oliver pointed to a stern-faced woman with pursed lips. “Who’s this?”
“That’s Gran, unfiltered. That’s how she was at the end.” Emily turned the page. “Here she is young. Beautiful, right?”
A pretty, smiling girl in a floral dress stared back—black eyes gleaming. Oliver barely recognized her.
Emily flipped again.
“Wait—go back.” Oliver pointed to the same girl arm-in-arm with a young man. “Who’s this with her?”
“No idea. A friend, maybe? Gran never looked at this album with me.” She frowned. “Oliver? You okay?”
“I should go.” He snapped the album shut, dust swirling. “I’ll call tomorrow,” he said at the door, hesitating—then left.
Instead of heading home, Oliver crossed London to his granddad’s. Staring blankly from the train, he barely registered the blur of streets.
“Oliver? Blimey, it’s been ages!” His granddad beamed. “How’s uni? Girl troubles?”
“Fine. Aced my first exam.”
“Brilliant! Let’s put the kettle on—celebrate that first!” Granddad bustled to the kitchen while Oliver scanned the bookshelf.
“What’re you after?” Granddad’s quiet approach made him jump.
“That old photo album…”
“Moved it downstairs. Here.” He pulled it from a bottom drawer. “Who you looking for?”
Oliver sat, flipping pages until he found a torn half-photo tucked inside.
“That’s you. Why’s it cut? Who was on the other side?”
His granddad flinched. “No one. Just half a picture.” But his eyes flickered uneasily.
“Well, I was just at a girl’s flat. Her gran’s album had the *whole* photo—you, arm in arm with a young woman.”
Granddad bolted up, pacing. The kettle screeched; he vanished to silence it—but didn’t return. Oliver found him slumped at the kitchen table, head in hands.
“You alright?” Oliver laid the torn photo down.
“What’s the girl’s name? Your lass?”
“Emily.”
“Her gran?”
Oliver remembered the name etched on a framed photo in Emily’s flat.
“Margaret Elizabeth Hayes,” he said.
Granddad exhaled sharply.
“No such thing as coincidence,” he muttered. “Run all you like—the past always catches up.” He sagged, suddenly old.
“Granddad, I love Emily. I need to know what happened with her gran.”
“Just foolish mistakes, lad. Youth’s full of ’em.” He sighed. “Fine. Maybe it’ll warn you off.”
***
Post-war Britain, I was—believed in rebuilding, in duty. Army, then a job at the railway works. Met Margaret—Maggie—in payroll. Beautiful as sin. Fell head over heels.
Lads warned me she’d had plenty of suitors, none kind words. Didn’t care. Proposed—she said yes straight off.
We married small. Got a council flat. I was over the moon. Then—she changed. Put on weight. Turned out she was pregnant before we wed.
“Think we’d have got this flat otherwise?” she spat. “Wouldn’t have glanced your way without that baby.”
Hurt like hell. But I loved her. Forgave it.
Came home once—her boss sat at *my* table like he owned the place. Tossed him out. After that, life turned rotten. Sacked. Maggie dropped pretenses—didn’t love me. Packed a case, left.
Worked construction. Met your gran—steady, quiet, cooked like a dream. Realized what gold I had. But Maggie still haunted me.
We had a son—your uncle. Drowned at seven. Next year, your dad came. Council house finally.
Ran into Maggie once. Old flames sparked. She’d had a daughter—farmed her off to relatives. Told me she was dying. Played the pity card. Your gran saw through it.
“Go to her, then,” she said. Not a tear.
Stood there with that same case—couldn’t leave. Your gran was right. Maggie lied. Lived decades more. Now she’s gone. God judge her.
Your gran—heart gave out young. Grief, stress. My fault.
***
“And now you’re sweet on her granddaughter.” Granddad shook his head. “If Emily’s like Maggie, you’re in for it.”
“She’s not. Loved her gran. Said her mum and gran fought—now I see why. Mum never forgave being dumped on relatives.”
“Just mind yourself, lad.”
Oliver showed a phone photo of Emily.
“Serious one, eh?” Granddad sighed. “Opened old wounds today. Never thought I’d hear Maggie’s name again. Of all girls, you pick *her* kin.”
“There’s no one else for me,” Oliver said. “But marriage can wait. Emily’s been hurt enough—I won’t add to it.”
After Oliver left, Granddad reopened the album. Behind the last photo lay the other half—young Maggie, grinning.
“Dead now,” he muttered. “Spent my life running from you. No escaping the past.” He tucked it away, sat in the dark, remembering love and regret.
