**The Brother They Never Spoke Of**
“Emily, who’s this with you in the photo? Some bloke in a leather jacket!” Victor Greenwood jabbed his finger at the yellowed picture lying in the old family album with its worn leather cover.
The Greenwoods’ new flat, which they’d moved into just last week, smelled of fresh paint, cardboard boxes, light dust, and the vanilla air freshener their daughter Lily had perched on the windowsill. The living room, cluttered with boxes of dishes, books, and old blankets, held an oak table where Lily—twenty-four and engaged—was sorting through the album she’d found behind a stack of towels. In the photo, a young Emily, in a floral dress with a long plait, stood beside an unfamiliar man in a leather jacket, both smiling against the backdrop of an old fountain in a park, framed by flowerbeds. Victor, in his crumpled checkered shirt and tousled silver hair, frowned, his thin-framed glasses sliding down his nose, fists clenched.
Emily, dusting off porcelain from a box, straightened with a crack of her back. Her blonde hair, lightly streaked with grey, was pulled into a messy ponytail, her jeans and grey jumper coated in dust. Her face tightened as she glanced at the photo.
“Victor, seriously?” Her voice was sharp, laced with irritation. “That’s ancient—I was barely twenty! Why dredge up the past?”
Lily, in a black university hoodie and denim shorts, flipped through the album, her engagement ring—a modest diamond—glinting under the light of the fringed lamp. She was a month away from her wedding and looked uneasy, her dark hair slipping from her braid.
“Dad, don’t start,” she said, fiddling with her ring. “It’s just a photo, ages old. Mum, tell us who it is, and let’s drop it.”
Victor crossed his arms, voice rising. “Tell us? Emily, I’ve never seen this man before! Who is he—some old flame?”
Emily slammed a dusty rag onto the table, sending a puff of particles into the air, her eyes flashing.
“Flame? Have you lost the plot, Victor?” she snapped, hands on her hips. “It’s my past, not yours! After thirty years of marriage, you still don’t trust me?”
Lily stood abruptly, the album trembling in her hands. “Enough shouting! My wedding’s weeks away, and you’re playing detectives over a photo! Let’s just unpack and forget it!”
What had been just a photograph had ignited a fire—everyone saw their own fears and doubts in it.
By evening, the argument flared again. The living room, bathed in warm lamplight, hummed with tension. Emily stacked plates with sharp clinks, Victor sipped tea from his “World’s Best Dad” mug—a gift from Lily last birthday—while she laid out photos on the sofa, trying to distract herself, her fingers shaking.
“Emily, I’m not daft,” Victor said, his mug clattering onto the table. “You never mentioned him! What’s the secret? Thirty years married, and you spring this on me?”
Emily turned, gripping a cracked china bowl. “Secret? You’re the one imagining things!” Her voice broke. “It’s just a photo, and you’re accusing me! Maybe I should ask who you kept meeting in London during those ‘business trips’ in the ’90s!”
Lily jumped up, her plait fraying. “Mum, Dad, stop!” Her eyes glistened. “It’s just a picture! Mum, tell us who it is, and let’s move on. Don’t ruin my wedding over this!”
Victor scoffed, his glasses fogging. “Ruin it? Your mum’s the one keeping secrets! I’ve worked my fingers to the bone for this family, and she can’t even be honest!”
Emily hurled the bowl onto the table. It shattered, shards skittering across the laminated wood.
“Worked? And what, I’ve sat around?” she yelled, eyes reddening. “I raised Lily, kept this home, cooked your meals—now I’m just some nagging old woman to you?”
Lily snatched the album, her hands trembling. “Enough!” She yanked it—Victor grabbed back—and the page tore with a sickening rip, the photo splitting in two.
Silence smothered the room. Emily gasped, hand to her chest, tears welling.
“Lily…” she whispered. “This was our album. Mine and Alex’s. And now… it’s ruined.”
Victor sank into a chair, face pale. “Bloody hell,” he rasped, removing his glasses. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—Emily, Lily, I… I went too far.”
Lily sobbed, clutching the album, her ring scratching the cover. “It’s my fault. I just wanted us to be a family, not enemies.”
The album, once a treasure, now lay torn—just like their trust.
The next day, Emily walked to the park where the photo had been taken. The air smelled of lilac, rain-damp grass, and candyfloss from a nearby stall. She sat by the old fountain, its streams weaker than thirty years ago, remembering her brother Alex—killed in a crash at twenty. His laughter, his dream of being an artist, their last walk together. She wiped her tears but didn’t know how to tell Victor, afraid the grief would drown her again.
Meanwhile, Lily met her best friend Sophie at a café that smelled of fresh coffee and cinnamon.
“You’re miserable,” Sophie said, stirring her cappuccino. “Your wedding’s soon—shouldn’t you be over the moon?”
Lily sighed, fingers tight around her latte. “Mum and Dad are fighting over some old photo. Dad thinks it’s an ex, Mum’s yelling about trust… What if they split? What if it wrecks the wedding?”
Sophie shook her head. “Talk to them. That photo might not be what your dad thinks. Ask your mum—calmly.”
Lily nodded. “I’ll try. But if they start shouting again, I’m bolting to James’s flat. He can deal with them.”
Sophie snorted. “James is your fiancé, not a referee.”
That night, Victor found Emily in the living room, painstakingly taping the album back together.
“Emily, I’m sorry,” he said, sitting beside her. “But… who was he? I just want to understand.”
She sighed, her fingers sticky with tape. “It’s not what you think… but it hurts to talk about. Give me time, alright?”
Victor nodded. “I love you, Em. Even when I’m a suspicious old git.”
She smiled faintly, squeezing his hand. “I love you too. Just… don’t wreck the album again. It meant everything to Alex.”
Victor stiffened. “Alex?”
“Later,” she whispered. “I’ll tell you later.”
The next morning, Lily found an envelope tucked behind the album’s back cover. In her mother’s neat script, it read: “For my family.” Inside was a letter:
*If you found this, I couldn’t say it aloud. The man in the photo is my brother, Alex. We took this a month before his accident in 1990. He was my best friend, wanted to be an artist. I never got to say goodbye. Hold each other close—don’t fight. Love, Emily.*
Lily ran to the kitchen, where the smell of coffee and apple pie lingered.
“Mum, Dad—look!” She thrust the letter at them, voice trembling. “It’s about Alex. Why didn’t you tell us?”
Emily read it aloud, voice breaking.
Victor pulled her into a hug. “Emily, I’m a fool. Why didn’t you say? I knew Alex—he fixed my car once!”
Emily shook her head. “I couldn’t bear to cry over him. You’re my family now. I thought… the photo could stay my secret.”
Lily hugged her. “You’re not alone. We’re your family. And Alex… he’s part of us too.”
Later, they sat at the table—Emily’s grandmother’s blue-flowered china between them—sharing stories of Alex. His terrible jokes, his sunset paintings, teaching Emily to ride a bike in that park. Victor recalled how Alex helped him fix his old Ford Cortina back when he and Emily were dating.
On her wedding day, Lily placed Alex’s photo in a frame beside the cake.
A month later, the restored album held new pictures—Lily and James laughing in the rain, and at the centre, Alex’s face, no longer hidden.
One evening, over apple pie, Emily smiled. “The album saved us. And Alex… he’d be proud of you all.”
Lily squeezed her hand, ring glinting. “We’re together now. All of us—including Alex.”
Victor raised his mug, glasses fogging. “To family. And to Alex—watching over us.”
The photo was noAnd as the sunset painted the room gold, the photograph of Alex—once a source of secrets—now rested openly on the mantelpiece, a silent guardian of the love and forgiveness that had finally healed them all.
