**The Secret Second Family: A Drama in Lakeshire**
*”Did you know your husband has another family? He has a son named Tommy.”* The voice on the other end of the line was cold and sharp. The woman hung up immediately.
My name is Eleanor, and my husband is William. We lived in Lakeshire and seemed like the perfect family. We had two daughters, whom William adored—he called them his little princesses and spoiled them so much they loved him more than me. I was madly in love with him, and I truly believed he felt the same. But over the last few months, he’d become tense, irritable, sometimes even snapping at the girls.
I couldn’t understand what was wrong. When I asked him, he just brushed it off.
*”Work troubles, Ellie. Don’t worry about it.”*
I tried to let it go, but the unease never left. The tension at home kept growing, and I decided to confront William properly. Just then, the phone rang. A stranger’s voice spoke the words that shattered everything:
*”Did you know your husband has another family? He has a son named Tommy.”*
The line went dead. I stood frozen, as if the ground had dropped beneath me. My Will? A cheating husband? Another family? I couldn’t believe it. Waiting for him to come home that day was agony. When he finally walked in, I barely held back my tears as I blurted out:
*”Will, who is Tommy?”*
He froze, clearly not expecting the question. His face went pale, and he stammered something unintelligible. I lost my patience.
*”If you don’t tell me the truth right now, I’ll find out myself!”*
William sank into a chair, buried his face in his hands, and began to speak. Three years ago, he’d had an affair with a younger colleague. She got pregnant, but he begged her to end it—swore he loved me and the girls, that he’d never leave us. But she refused, deciding to have the child just to manipulate him. A boy was born. She turned out to be a terrible mother, and Will (so he claimed) couldn’t let his son grow up in poverty or end up in foster care.
I listened, and my world crumbled. How could this happen to us? But despite the pain, I still loved Will. I knew he loved me and the girls—his little princesses, who wouldn’t sleep until Daddy read them a bedtime story. Through the tears, I forgave him, determined to make it work.
One day, I bumped into an old friend from university whom I hadn’t seen in years. She worked at an orphanage. We went to a café, and there—I saw William. He was sitting at a table with a boy, about five years old. I knew instantly—it was his son. My friend, noticing my stare, murmured quietly:
*”He’s got parents, but he’s still an orphan.”* She nodded toward Will and the boy.
She explained that the boy’s mother had abandoned him, remarried, and moved abroad. The father—my husband—already had a family, so the child, though not technically an orphan, was still alone. My heart shattered.
My friend left, but I gathered my courage and walked over to their table. Forcing a smile, I said:
*”Gentlemen, isn’t it time to go home?”*
Tommy looked up at me, frightened, but when he saw me smiling, he suddenly burst into tears, threw his arms around me, and sobbed:
*”Mummy, I knew you’d come for me!”*
I held him tight, and in that moment, I knew—he was mine. I would never let him go. Will and I adopted Tommy. Now, we have three children. The girls adore their little brother, and he—well, he’s the happiest boy in the world.
Later, I met Tommy’s grandmother. She told me her daughter had never loved William—hated him, in fact. And Tommy? She resented the child. Now, though, our boy is surrounded by love.
Years passed. The girls grew up, married, and built happy lives. Tommy’s just graduated from medical school, and we couldn’t be prouder. I know I did the right thing, giving my husband’s son a real family. No child with living parents should ever be an orphan—that’s the cruelest sin of all.
