The Secret That Shattered a Family
In a cozy riverside town where lamplights flickered to life each evening, Emily wiped down the kitchen counter. The scent of freshly baked apple pie still lingered when the phone rang. The screen flashed the name of her old friend Claire—someone she hadn’t spoken to in years.
“Claire! Hello! It’s so good to hear from you!” Emily exclaimed, drying her hands on her apron.
After pleasantries, Claire’s voice turned hesitant. “Emily… are you and James divorced?”
“What? No! Why would you think that?” Emily’s heart lurched.
“Then how do you explain this?” Claire’s voice trembled.
A second later, a photo notification lit up Emily’s phone. She opened it—and froze, as though the ground had dropped beneath her.
—
“Bloody hell, I’ve had it!” James stormed into the flat, tossing his keys on the hall table.
“James, what’s wrong?” Emily frowned. She always got home before him, tidying up and preparing dinner.
“What’s wrong? Everything!” He tore off his jacket. “This job, the monotony, the endless chores! It’s suffocating me. Em, let’s just escape—somewhere, anywhere. The Lakes, a countryside retreat. I’m at my limit.”
“But we’d need to book time off,” Emily mused. “And we promised your dad we’d help with the allotment—”
“Sod the allotment!” James snapped. “It’ll still be there in a fortnight. But I’m about to crack! What matters more—vegetables or me?”
“You do, of course,” Emily said quietly, seeing the urgency in his eyes. “I’ll talk to my manager. They won’t refuse—I haven’t taken leave in two years.”
“So I’ll book the tickets?” James brightened.
“Go ahead.” She nodded. Truthfully, she longed for an escape too—between their son’s graduation, his move to uni in Manchester, and the leak from upstairs that ruined the ceiling, she was drained.
“Right then.” James clapped his hands. “The Lakes are pricey, so we’ll go to a B&B near the countryside. Scenery, lakes nearby, and it won’t break the bank.”
Emily didn’t argue. She rarely did. Even when James had insisted on cheap wallpaper after the leak—not the floral print she loved—or when he’d talked her out of that marketing job, saying,
“That’s clear across London! You’ll neglect the house. And so what if the pay’s decent? Don’t I earn enough? The Tesco down the road needs checkout staff. Close by, groceries handy.”
She’d relented. The supermarket job bored her, but she kept the house spotless. Only once had she stood firm—when James tried forcing their son to pick a different uni.
“No,” she’d cut in. “Our boy chooses his own path. Don’t you dare pressure him!”
James, stunned by his usually compliant wife’s defiance, backed down—but never missed a chance to grumble about being “ignored.” Emily always soothed him, insisting he wasn’t.
Tickets were booked, bags packed, leave approved. Two days before departure, James’s father, Robert, rang.
“Emily, hello,” his voice wavered. “Can’t reach James. Is he alright?”
“Hello, Mr. Wilson. He popped to Boots, left his phone here. Is everything okay? You sound upset.”
“My back’s gone,” Robert sighed. “Can’t move. Could James come round? Rub in some ointment? The nurse charges a fortune, and Mrs. Davies next door—the one who helped—moved away.”
“Of course. He’ll be back soon, and we’ll come over,” Emily promised.
When James returned and heard, his face twisted. “Unbelievable. Why now?”
“James!” Emily glared. “He’s your father! Illness doesn’t schedule appointments. Let’s go check on him.”
“He’s got a sister, remember,” James muttered.
“Who can barely walk herself!” Emily shot back. “Enough. We’re going.”
Grumbling, James followed. Robert’s door was ajar. He stood at the kitchen window, hunched in pain.
“Twisted wrong,” he murmured guiltily. “If Margaret were still here, I wouldn’t trouble you.”
Margaret, James’s mother, had passed years ago. Since then, Robert lived alone. His son visited sporadically; their grandson had dropped by often—before moving away for uni.
“Dad, honestly—now of all times?” James snapped. “We’ve got a holiday booked!”
Emily elbowed him sharply.
“Sorry to be a burden,” Robert’s voice broke, and Emily’s chest ached.
“Don’t be silly.” She softened. “Where’s the ointment? Let’s get you sorted.”
Half an hour later, Robert could straighten enough to shuffle to the sofa, leaning on Emily. She checked his fridge—enough food for a day.
“I’ll come tomorrow, rub more ointment and cook something proper,” she promised.
At home, they argued.
“You’re joking,” James scoffed. “We’re supposed to leave, and you’re playing nurse?”
“He’s your father!” Emily’s voice cracked. “Who else will help him?”
“Call an ambulance! Let the hospital deal with it!”
“You know he’ll refuse. And they might not even admit him for back pain. He’ll recover faster at home.” She stared, stunned by his callousness. “Maybe he’ll improve by tomorrow.”
He didn’t. The next day, Robert could barely move—couldn’t cook, barely wash.
“James, we have to stay,” Emily said quietly.
“Do what you want!” James snapped. “I’m going on holiday—with or without you. I’ve slogged this past year to babysit an old man!”
Emily hoped he’d reconsider. But next morning, James—and his suitcase—were gone.
*To hell with duty,* James thought as the train rattled onward. *I’ve earned this.*
While Emily sacrificed her holiday to care for Robert, James enjoyed the B&B. He answered her call just once—with a terse “Don’t bother me.”
By week two, he’d struck up an affair with Sarah, the local barmaid. Soon, he’d forgotten about returning.
But in small towns, word travels. Friends of Emily’s, vacationing nearby, spotted James with Sarah. Back in London, they cautiously asked if she’d divorced. Her silence—then denial—said everything.
Meanwhile, James texted once: *”Staying longer. No trains.”* Emily cried but hid it from Robert. Until gossip reached him anyway.
“The bastard,” Robert rasped. “What kind of son—what kind of man—abandons his wife caring for me? Coward!”
“Mr. Wilson, please,” Emily begged. “You’ll strain your back again. Have some tea. I’ll manage. Our son’s grown. And I’ll take that job James talked me out of—they’ve asked again.”
“Emily, forgive me,” Robert’s tears fell. “Margaret would be ashamed. I don’t know where we went wrong with him.”
A month later, James returned. He’d quit his job remotely.
“Emily, we’re divorcing,” he declared. The flat was in her name, so he had no claim—but he had another plan. With papers signed, he went to Robert.
“Dad, I’m leaving. Getting remarried. I want my share of the flat and the cottage.”
Robert’s face darkened. “You’ve got some nerve. Who sat by my bedside? Cooked my meals? Helped me bathe? Not you. Everything goes to Emily and my grandson. Show your face again, and you’ll regret it!”
Stunned, James slunk back to the B&B, divorce papers in hand. Sarah, learning he was broke and homeless, dumped him for the new pub manager.
James left for construction work up north, cursing his luck. Only then did he realise—he’d shattered his own life. And there was no way back.
