The Secret That Tore a Family Apart
Samantha, the woman Roger had always believed to be his mother, was gravely ill.
“Roger, I don’t have much time left,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Promise me you won’t tell your brother James or your sister Emily the secret I’m about to share. And do everything to keep the peace in the family after I’m gone.”
“I promise,” Roger answered firmly, gripping her cold hand. He loved her, even though she’d always doted more on James and Emily.
“Roger… we’re not mother and son…” she said quietly.
Roger froze, his heart tightening with dread. What on earth did she mean?
—
“James, we should sell the old family house in that backwater near Norwich,” Emily insisted. “Who needs that crumbling shack? It’s just sitting empty! Better to sell and split the cash!”
“Emily, the house costs nothing to keep. Life’s unpredictable—what if one of us needs it? You, me, or Roger might want a place to fall back on,” James argued.
“Costs nothing? Who’s paying the council tax on this ‘palace’ with a view of an abandoned field?” Emily curled her lip in her usual haughty sneer. “Wait till we’re old? I want to live now!”
Emily worked as an accountant at a local firm. Her husband, Nigel, drove lorries. She acted like she’d done him a favour by marrying him. Her mother-in-law dreamed of her son ditching “that flighty social climber who prances around pubs with her mates—or worse.” Emily’s life was one long row with her in-laws and futile attempts to bully Nigel into getting a degree and “making something of himself.” Nigel brushed it off, thinking it just petulance, never suspecting his wife was already eyeing someone “more ambitious.” He assumed his mum was just jealous and took pride in ignoring the idea Emily might want out. Love had faded, but she added at least some spark to his life.
James, meanwhile, fancied himself the most successful of his siblings. He worked in local government, climbing the ranks quickly, and had moved to Norwich, where he got a council flat. He lived with his wife, Olivia, and their two kids—twelve-year-old Alfie and six-year-old Sophie. His salary was modest, no room for extravagance. Olivia had tried opening a dressmaking business, but it flopped, so she resigned herself to “holding onto the bird in the hand.” James knew Roger and Emily had no children and secretly hoped the family house would go to his kids. He never voiced it, but the thought warmed him.
James had another family—his mistress, Charlotte, and their two sons. He’d been with her almost as long as with Olivia. Once, he’d had to choose between them, but when Olivia got pregnant first, she became his official wife. Olivia suspected Charlotte but stayed quiet—she had nowhere else to go, no flat of her own. James took full advantage, playing the dutiful husband.
—
“Roger, hi, it’s Emily. I spoke to James—he won’t sell his share. Back me up here!” Emily had finally got through to Roger, who was on yet another business trip.
“Emily, you know I don’t need the money. Sort it out with James—I’ll go along with whatever you decide,” Roger said flatly.
“You always distance yourself from family matters!” she snapped. “I want to divorce Nigel, start fresh. I need money for a flat. Men won’t chase a thirty-five-year-old with no property! Nigel’s place is his only decent trait.”
“I know your plans, but I won’t support them. Without Nigel, I fear you’ll lose yourself completely. Remember how many times I’ve bailed you out?” Roger reminded her.
Roger, the eldest, was doing well. He’d wanted to help James keep the house, but the conversation with Emily changed things.
“James, Emily wants to sell her share. You’re not strapped for cash. How about I gift you my share, and you buy hers? The house will be yours, everyone’s happy,” he suggested.
“Who do you take me for?” James snapped. “Emily will demand full price! If she’s desperate, I’ll lowball her. But sure, give me your share—I won’t say no. You’re the rich one, after all!”
The five-year gap hadn’t stopped James from resenting Roger’s success, sniping at him whenever possible. Emily irritated him too, but they maintained a fragile truce. Roger’s unflappable calm drove them both mad—Emily masked her dislike with flattery, while James was openly rude.
Roger remembered the words of the sister he’d thought was his mother:
“Roger, I don’t have much time left. Promise you won’t tell James and Emily the secret I’ll share, and that you’ll keep the family together after I’m gone.”
She was frail, worn down by illness and grief after her husband’s death a year earlier—the love of her life. Though raised by his grandparents, Roger never blamed her for her scarce visits or favouritism. He loved her and would shoulder any burden.
“Roger… we’re not mother and son. You’re my brother… by our father. You’re his mistress’s child. He raised you as his grandson,” her voice wavered. “My mother—your gran—wouldn’t let him claim you. I had to adopt you. I loved Dad so much…”
Roger was stunned. The woman he called Mum was his sister. His grandfather—his father.
“Why didn’t you say anything? Where’s my real mother?”
“I never knew her. Dad paid her off, and she disappeared, abandoning you.” She sighed. “I wouldn’t have told you, but I worry for James and Emily. Emily’s reckless, James is eaten by envy. I failed you all.”
“Did you stay away because of me?”
“No. My husband hated kids. Said if I took James and Emily, they’d leave. I couldn’t leave him—I loved him. But do you love me?”
“I always have. Even more now,” Roger said, fighting tears.
“I know. Emily thinks I’m a terrible mother, James blames Dad and resents me. My life’s been wasted. Even this house, overlooking that old cemetery… I wanted to fix the past, but I was too late. Will you look after them?”
Roger nodded, hugging her. He’d long accepted she loved James and Emily more.
—
The house’s fate had been debated for years. Roger couldn’t find a solution. James kept making snide remarks, Emily schemed for profit. They spoke the same language, but every word was laced with spite and greed.
“James, the downstairs neighbour’s flooding the place. I’m worried he’ll leave the gas on. I’ll insure the house,” Roger said.
James only heard condescension: “I’m better than you, rich boy, while you’re a failure.”
“Cheers for the handout! That it?” he barked.
Emily was no better. To the same offer, she cooed,
“Oh, Roger, what would we do without you! Paid already? You’re a genius!”
But Roger knew her flattery masked contempt. He pitied her—once kind, now hardened by life’s knocks.
Then one day, James called Emily:
“Roger sent a solicitor. Signed his share over to us—half each. Said he won’t speak to us again. Did you upset him?”
“Hardly! He’s always been odd. Let him sulk—he’ll be back. But I’m keeping my share,” Emily scoffed.
James regretted his harshness, but it was too late. Neither he nor Emily had valued Roger—or realised what they’d lost.
“Mr. Henshaw, it’s done. Good timing on the insurance—neighbour caused a gas leak. House is damaged, everyone’s been relocated,” the solicitor reported.
“James and Emily will get the payout?” Roger asked.
“Yes, I’ll oversee it.”
“I kept my promise,” Roger murmured, gazing at his sister’s photo. He could never call her anything but Mum.
Who had he been to James and Emily? The odd one out? No—he’d propped them up for years. But he’d realised his help only enabled them. Handing over his share, he walked away.
Like his sister said: “Tried to fix the past, but missed the present.” He wouldn’t make that mistake. The house by the graveyard was gone, and Roger, not yet forty, started anew.
Who was he without them? That, he’d have to find out.
