**The Secret That Tore a Family Apart**
In a quaint riverside town where lamplight flickered at dusk, Emily tidied the kitchen. The scent of freshly baked pie still lingered when the phone rang. On the screen flashed the name of her old friend Charlotte, whom she hadn’t spoken to in years.
“Charlie, hello! I’m so happy to hear from you!” Emily exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron.
After exchanging pleasantries, Charlotte’s tone turned uneasy. “Em, you and David haven’t split up, have you?”
“No! What on earth makes you say that?” Emily’s heart lurched.
“Strange. Then how do you explain this?”
A second later, a message popped up—a photo. Emily opened it, stared, and the world around her collapsed.
—
“Bloody hell, I’ve had enough!” David stormed into the flat, hurling his keys onto the hallway table.
“David, what’s wrong?” Emily asked, surprised. She always returned from work before him, making sure the house was spotless and dinner was ready.
“What d’you mean, what’s wrong? Everything!” He yanked off his coat. “This job, the drudgery, the endless routine! Not a moment’s peace! Em, let’s just sod off somewhere—anywhere. The countryside, a seaside B&B. I’m at my wit’s end!”
“But we’d have to book leave,” Emily hesitated. “We promised your dad we’d help with his garden—”
“Bugger the garden!” David cut her off. “It won’t vanish in a fortnight, but I bloody well might if I don’t get a break! What matters more—tomato plants or me?”
“Of course you do,” she murmured, seeing the intensity in his eyes. “I’ll speak to my boss. Two years without a holiday—they won’t refuse.”
“So, I’ll book the tickets?” David rubbed his hands, already perking up.
“Do it,” Emily nodded. She longed for escape too—their son’s graduation, his move to university, the ceiling leak that ruined the lounge. Exhaustion gnawed at her.
“Right then,” David declared. “The Lake District’s too dear. We’ll go to that B&B in Dorset. Still lovely, still peaceful, and won’t break the bank.”
Emily didn’t argue. She rarely did. Not when David bought cheap wallpaper after the flood, ignoring her preference, or when he talked her out of a better job, snapping,
“It’s halfway across London! You’ll neglect everything. And what if the pay’s decent? Am I not earning enough? There’s a till job at the corner shop—easy hours, and you’re home by five.”
She’d relented. The shop bored her, but she kept the house running. Only once had she truly stood her ground—when David tried forcing their son into a different uni.
“No,” she’d snapped. “He chooses his own path. Don’t you dare bully him!”
David, stunned by her defiance, backed down but never missed a chance to snipe about “being sidelined.” Emily soothed him each time, insisting it wasn’t so.
Tickets bought, bags packed, leave approved. Two days before departure, David’s father, Arthur, rang.
“Em, love,” his voice wobbled. “Can’t reach David. Is he all right?”
“Hello, Arthur. He popped to Boots—left his phone here. Is everything okay? You sound upset.”
“Threw my back out,” he groaned. “Can’t move. Could he swing by? Just needs rubbing with that cream. The home nurse charges a fortune, and Mrs. next door’s moved away.”
“Of course. He’ll be back soon, and we’ll come.”
When David returned, he scowled at the news.
“Perfect timing. Why now?”
“David, he’s your father!” Emily’s voice sharpened. “Illness doesn’t schedule itself!”
“He’s got a sister, hasn’t he?”
“His sister can barely walk herself! Enough—we’re going.”
Grumbling, David followed. Arthur’s front door hung ajar. He stood hunched by the kitchen window, pain etched into his face.
“Twisted wrong,” he muttered, avoiding their eyes. “If your mum were here…”
Margaret, David’s mother, had passed years ago. Since then, Arthur lived alone, visited sporadically. His grandson had dropped by often—before leaving for uni.
“Dad, why now?” David’s irritation flared. “We’ve got a holiday booked!”
Emily yanked his sleeve.
“Sorry to be a bother,” Arthur whispered, and Emily’s heart clenched.
“Don’t be silly,” she said gently. “Where’s the cream? Let’s sort you out.”
Half an hour later, Arthur could straighten slightly. Emily helped him to the sofa, then checked the fridge—barely a meal left.
“We’ll stop by tomorrow,” she promised.
At home, David exploded.
“Have you lost the plot? We’re leaving, and you’re playing nurse?”
“He’s your father! Who else will help?”
“Ring 111! Let the NHS deal with it!”
“And you know he’ll refuse hospital. He’ll heal faster at home.” Emily stared, stunned by his callousness. “Maybe he’ll improve by—”
But Arthur didn’t. Next day, he could barely dress himself.
“David, we have to stay.”
“Do what you want!” he spat. “I’m going. Not wasting my bloody holiday babysitting!”
Emily hoped he’d relent—until morning revealed an empty house, his suitcase gone.
“Screw duty, screw guilt!” David thought as the train rattled onward. “I’ve earned this!”
While Emily nursed Arthur, David reveled in Dorset. He answered her call once—barking, “Don’t bother me.”
By week two, he’d shacked up with Lily, the B&B’s bartender. He stopped thinking of home.
But small towns have eyes. Emily’s friend Claire, vacationing nearby, spotted them. Back in London, she broached gently, “You and David…?”
Emily’s silence said everything.
Meanwhile, David texted once: “Delayed. No trains.” Emily wept but hid it from Arthur—until gossip reached him.
“The bastard!” Arthur roared. “What kind of son—what kind of man—abandons his wife for this? After she stayed for me?”
“Arthur, please,” Emily begged. “You’ll strain your back again. Have some tea. I’ll manage. Our son’s grown. And I’m taking that job David didn’t want me to have.”
“Love, forgive me,” Arthur wept. “Your mum would’ve been ashamed.”
When David slunk back a month later, he’d quit his job remotely.
“Em, we’re divorcing,” he announced. The flat was hers, but he had another plan. Papers signed, he confronted Arthur.
“Dad, I’m starting fresh. Need my share of the house and the cottage.”
“You what?” Arthur’s face purpled. “You dare? Who sat by my bed? Who cooked? You? You get nothing! It’s all going to Em and the boy. Show your face again, and you’ll regret it!”
Stunned, David retreated to Dorset—only for Lily to dump him for the café’s new manager.
He left for odd jobs up north, cursing fate. Too late, he saw—he’d shattered his own life.
