**The Secret of the Old Photograph**
Oliver and Emily were in the same class at university. She was just another girl—nothing special. But whether it was time for love or something shifted in Emily, one day Oliver looked at her differently, as if seeing her for the first time, and the world flipped upside down in his lovesick eyes.
After lectures, he’d wait for her by the university gates. But one day, she rushed right past him without a glance, straight into the arms of another man. Oliver stood there, watching them disappear, frustration and jealousy gnawing at him.
What had he expected? That she’d wait forever for him to finally notice her? A girl like Emily was bound to have someone.
Then one morning, she arrived with red, puffy eyes, quiet and distant the whole day. This time, no one came to meet her after class, so Oliver dared to approach.
“Heading home?” he asked.
“No, to my gran’s. I live with her now—she’s poorly.”
Emily explained her gran had high blood pressure and bad joints, worse in spring. Couldn’t even leave the house. Oliver barely listened, floating on air just being near her. His heart raced, her name pulsing in his head: *Emily, Emily, Emily.*
She lived three stops from campus.
“Can’t invite you in. Gran’s not feeling well,” she apologised at her doorstep.
The next day, Oliver asked how her gran was doing.
“Fine. But Mum turned up last night with her new bloke. Gran got so worked up, her pressure spiked—had to call an ambulance. Wish she hadn’t come.”
*So, the stepdad’s the problem. Maybe that’s why she moved in with Gran.* But Oliver didn’t pry.
Before summer exams, Emily’s gran passed away. Oliver stayed by her side, offering comfort. After the funeral, Emily kept living in her gran’s flat.
“Not scared of Gran’s ghost?” Oliver joked once, walking her home.
“No. She had a temper, but she was always kind to me.”
One day, Oliver mustered the courage to ask about the man who used to meet her. Her face darkened.
“He married my mum. Now he’s my stepdad,” she muttered, hiding her face.
After their first exam, Emily invited Oliver over. The flat, full of clunky old furniture and faded wallpaper, had charm. An old photo album lay on the table.
“Mind if I look?” he asked.
“Go ahead. I was picking a photo for Gran’s grave.” Emily joined him on the sofa, pointing at snapshots. “That’s me as a baby. Those are my parents before I was born.”
“They split up?” Oliver recalled her mum’s recent wedding.
“Yeah. Dad couldn’t handle Mum’s temper. I was little. He’s got another family now—we don’t talk.”
Oliver pointed to a stern-faced woman with pursed lips.
“That’s Gran, no filter. She was like that towards the end.” Emily turned the page. “And here she is young. Pretty, right?”
Oliver stared at the smiling girl in a floral dress—hard to believe it was the same person. He stayed quiet.
Emily flipped ahead, but Oliver stopped her. “Wait—go back. Who’s this?” He pointed to the same young woman arm-in-arm with a man.
“No idea. Gran never looked at this album with me.” She frowned. “Oliver? What’s wrong?”
“I should go.” He snapped the album shut, dust swirling. “Call you tomorrow,” he said at the door, hesitating as if to speak further—then left.
Instead of going home, Oliver went to his grandad’s across town, lost in thought the whole ride.
“Oliver! Didn’t expect you. Come in!” his grandad beamed.
“First exam done—got an A.”
“Brilliant! Let’s celebrate.” Grandad put the kettle on while Oliver searched the bookshelf.
“Looking for something?” Grandad startled him.
“The photo album…”
“Ah.” Grandad fetched it from a drawer. “Who are you after?”
Oliver flipped through, then paused at a torn half-photo. “This is you. Who was on the other half?”
Grandad stiffened. “No one. Just a half.”
“I saw the whole picture today. You’re with a woman—Emily’s gran.”
Grandad shot up, pacing. The kettle whistled, but he didn’t return. Oliver found him at the kitchen table, head in hands.
“You alright?” Oliver set the half-photo down.
“What’s your girl’s name?”
“Emily.”
“And her gran?”
Oliver recalled a framed photo in Emily’s flat with dates and a name.
“Margaret Elizabeth Hart. Were you… involved with her? Before Nan?”
Grandad rubbed his eyes.
“Coincidences like that don’t happen. The past always catches up.” He sighed. “Alright. Youth’s full of mistakes. Maybe this’ll warn you.”
“Emily’s not a mistake.”
“You’ll see.”
***
Born after the war, Grandad believed in the system. School, army, then the railworks where he met Margaret—Maggie. Stunning, impossible not to love. He was smitten.
Lads warned him about her reputation, but he didn’t care. Brought her flowers, walked her home—then, shockingly, she said yes when he proposed.
They married. Got a council flat. Happiness, until he noticed her rounding belly too soon. She admitted she’d been pregnant when they wed.
“Think they’d give *us* a flat otherwise? I’d never have looked at you twice,” she spat.
It gutted him, but he loved her. Forgave her.
Then, coming home one day, he found the works manager at his table. He threw the man out—and paid for it. Lost his job. Maggie dropped the act—she never loved him. He packed a fibreglass suitcase and left.
Found work on a building site. Met Oliver’s nan—plain but gentle, homely. A good cook. He didn’t appreciate her then, still hung up on Maggie.
They had a son, Oliver’s uncle, who drowned at seven. A year later, Oliver’s dad was born. Got a flat. Life moved on.
Then, years later, he ran into Maggie. Old feelings flared. She claimed she was dying, needed money. His nan saw through it.
“Go if you want. We’ll manage.”
He stood with that same suitcase—but couldn’t leave. Nan was right. Maggie lied. Only now had she really died.
“Your nan took it all quietly. Then lost our first boy—her heart never recovered. I failed her.”
***
“And now you’re in love with Maggie’s granddaughter.” Grandad shook his head. “If Emily’s like her gran—”
“She’s not. She loved her gran—even though her mum didn’t.”
“Just be careful.”
Oliver showed him Emily’s photo.
“Serious girl. Well, God help you.” Grandad sighed. “Never told a soul about Maggie. Feels lighter now.”
“There’s no one else for me. But I won’t rush—finish uni first. And I won’t tell Emily. She’s been hurt enough.” Oliver hugged him.
After he left, Grandad pulled the torn half-photo from the album—the young Margaret, smiling.
“Gone, then. You cut my soul to ribbons. Can’t outrun the past.” He tucked it away, sat in the dark, and remembered.
