We had never really known each other…
From the start, Emily understood her place in Paul’s life. She wasn’t his wife, nor the mother of his children, nor his lawful partner. She was his mistress—the woman he came to for peace, for escape. A quiet refuge where there were no demands, no obligations, just ease.
She never asked for more. Not a divorce, not promises. Just a little warmth. She accepted Paul as he was—married, distant, but kind to her. Sometimes he brought groceries, other times he helped with repairs. Occasionally, he’d take her hand and say he loved her. And that was enough.
Emily never saw herself as a homewrecker. She hadn’t lured him away. It was Paul who had chosen to come, to seek her out. She was simply there. Without expectations.
Time passed. Paul visited often—bringing flowers, sometimes buying things for his children. Not hers, of course. She had none. Years ago, doctors had given her a firm diagnosis: infertility. It had shattered her only marriage.
Then, against all odds, a miracle. A real, inexplicable one. Pregnancy, at nearly forty. She wept with joy. When her parents learned they’d be grandparents, they didn’t even ask about the father. They just celebrated, promised to help. And Emily? She was certain Paul wouldn’t abandon her. He loved her. He’d said it a hundred times.
*”File for divorce,”* she told him one evening. *”We can be a proper family now.”*
He hesitated. Then, *”I need time… I can’t just—”*
She gave him a week. Then another. But Paul started vanishing. Ignoring calls. Missing meetings. Making excuses after work. Finally, she went to his house. Just stood by the door, unable to walk away.
*”What the hell are you doing here?”* he snapped when he saw her.
*”Waiting for you.”*
*”You’re suffocating me! Didn’t I ask you to wait? You’re pushing, you’re cornering me!”*
Emily fell silent, staring at him like he was a stranger.
*”So you won’t be with us?”* she whispered.
He turned away.
*”We were never really acquainted,”* she said. *”Forget me. Forget us. There is no ‘us’ anymore.”*
She left without looking back.
Emily gave birth to a girl—beautiful, curly-haired, with Paul’s eyes. But when she held her, all she felt was love. No fear, no bitterness. Just joy.
Paul tried reaching out later. Called. Asked to see his daughter. She refused.
*”You made your choice,”* she said. *”Don’t pretend now. She has a father. A real one.”*
It wasn’t a lie. Six months later, she met a man—steady, gentle, a little older. He didn’t pry. He just loved her, loved the girl. And the girl, without hesitation, called him Daddy. It happened naturally, as if fate had whispered: *This is how it’s meant to be.*
Two years passed. Spring. A park. Paul walked the path lost in thought—until he saw them. Emily. The man. The child.
The man carried the little girl, who giggled and tugged his ear. Emily, in a light dress, watched them fondly and murmured, *”Give Daddy a kiss, darling. He’s tired of carrying you.”*
Paul froze. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. That was his daughter. His little girl. So much like his boys once were—bright, lively, full of curls. And beside her, another man. And an Emily who no longer knew him.
Their gazes met for a second. Then she looked away—as though he meant nothing. As though they’d never shared a life.
He understood then. She’d kept her word.
They had never really known each other.
And now, they never would.
