Lily walked home from school in high spirits. Today, her class had collected money for flowers and a gift for their form teacher. Andrew had mentioned that women adored roses. And when he said it, his eyes had lingered on her just a fraction too long.
Her heart had skipped a beat. Maybe it was a hint—a sign of what he’d give her for Mother’s Day. The other girls would be green with envy.
She’d liked him the moment he’d stepped into the classroom last autumn. His father, an army officer, had been transferred to their town. Andrew carried himself with confidence, indifferent to what others thought—so unlike Lily, who agonised over every glance, every whispered comment.
The boys in class respected him immediately. Even the teachers listened when he spoke. It was no wonder.
Late February, but spring teased the air—birds sang in the mornings, icicles dripped from rooftops, and the sun lingered a little longer each day. Her chest ached with the promise of something new, something extraordinary.
Then she opened the front door.
Shouting. Again.
Her good mood shattered.
They used to be happy—family holidays at the seaside, New Year’s Eve with sparklers in the garden. What if they divorced? Would any of that ever happen again?
One of her classmates, Emily, had watched her mother slit her wrists after her dad left. Emily had cried in class for weeks. Another girl, Sophie, said divorce was *convenient*—double the presents, double the pocket money. But was happiness really measured in gifts?
The shouting stopped. Lily tiptoed toward the half-open kitchen door.
Her father stood by the window, his back to her. Her mother sat at the table, face buried in her hands. Shoulders trembling.
*She’s crying.*
“Calm down,” her father muttered, not turning. “Lily will be home soon. What do you want me to do? Grovel?”
He turned then—and saw her in the doorway.
“How long have you been eavesdropping?” he snapped.
“Long enough,” she shot back.
“Long enough?” Her mother lifted her tear-streaked face. Mascara smudged her cheeks, her nose was red. *Why doesn’t she see how pathetic she looks?* Lily thought bitterly.
“You’re getting divorced,” Lily blurted.
Her father frowned but didn’t deny it.
“Did you even think about me? Who do I live with? There are three people in this family—or did you forget? Or do I not get a say?” Her voice rose, shrill. “If you’re so sick of each other, fine! I want new parents too. I *hate* you both!”
She whirled around, snatched her coat, and slammed the door behind her.
“Lily!” Her mother’s cry cut off as the door clicked shut.
No lift—she took the stairs. Outside, she jammed her hands into her gloves. She thought about going to a friend’s house, but what was the point? No one would understand.
She walked aimlessly. The afternoon thaw had frozen again; the pavements were slick. After two bus stops, she ducked into a corner shop for warmth. The smell of fresh bread and sausage made her mouth water.
She dug out a handful of coins and bought a pastry. As soon as she stepped outside, she devoured it.
“Alright?”
She turned. Kevin, a boy from the year below, stood there.
“Just walking,” she mumbled, mouth full.
He pulled a water bottle from his sports bag. “Here. Don’t choke.”
She gulped it down gratefully.
“Ta.” She handed it back and moved to leave.
“Your house is the other way,” he pointed out.
“None of your business.”
“It’s dark. You shouldn’t walk alone. I’ll walk you.”
She hesitated but fell into step beside him. They talked—about football, school, teachers. At her street, she stopped.
“This you?” he asked. “Don’t fancy going home? Parents being dicks?”
“They’re divorcing.”
“Ah.” He exhaled. “When my dad left, I ran away. Thought if they had to look for me, they’d make up.”
“Did they?”
“Temporarily. He still left. I slept rough for two nights before the police found me. Stank of piss for weeks.”
“And your dad?”
“Got a new wife. Pretty. Nasty. Mum’s better.”
“You talk about it so easily.”
“Why cry? Won’t change anything. At least now the house is quiet. Before? Screaming, smashing things. This way, Mum’s not miserable every day.”
He paused.
“Wanna come back to mine? I’ll make tea.”
“Your mum?”
“Won’t notice. Glued to the telly.”
She glanced at the empty street.
“Alright.”
His room was long and narrow, plastered with old band posters.
“From when I was twelve,” he muttered, shoving dirty clothes under the bed. “I’ll get food.”
She scanned his bookshelf—*Treasure Island*, *The Three Musketeers*, a worn poetry anthology.
He returned with tea and a plate of toasted sandwiches.
“Eat.”
She did, ravenous. When she finished, exhaustion hit her like a brick.
She woke hours later, needing the loo. Kevin stirred when she nudged him.
“’S’wrong?”
“Need the toilet. Don’t leave me.”
He rubbed his eyes and led her down the dark hallway.
“I should go home,” she whispered afterward.
“Now? It’s half-two.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“No chance.” He grabbed his coat.
As they stepped outside, she noticed his mother’s car wasn’t there.
“You lied. She’s not home.”
“Course I lied. You’d have said no.”
The streets were empty. Cold gnawed through her jacket.
At her door, she muttered, “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Inside, her mother pounced.
“Where were you? We called every A&E—”
Her father appeared, face lined with worry. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” She pushed past them.
At her bedroom door, she paused.
“Night, Mum. Dad.”
She slept like the dead.
Next morning, her mother sat her down.
“If this is about the divorce… we’re not. For now.”
Lily sipped her tea.
“Because of me?”
Her mother’s eyes were puffy.
“We were terrified.”
“Then stop fighting. Or I *will* leave.”
Her mother hesitated. “Do I… look bad?”
Lily exhaled. “Mum. You’ve looked exhausted for the past five years. Get a haircut. Buy a nice dress. Dad wouldn’t be sneaking texts in the loo if you bothered.”
Her mother flinched.
“You were with a boy last night.”
“Kevin. From school. Don’t look at me like that.”
The house stayed quiet for days.
A week later, Kevin waited for her at the school gates.
“Alright?”
“Truce,” she said.
He grinned. “Here.” A small box.
Inside, a silver necklace with a heart pendant.
Andrew never gave her so much as a daisy.
The next morning, she wore the necklace.
In the kitchen, her parents sat, oddly conspiratorial. Her mother’s hair was sleek now—short, black, stylish.
“We’ve been thinking,” her father started. “Here.”
A voucher. Paintballing.
“You’re coming?”
“Course,” her mother said. “Bring that boy.”
Lily flung her arms around them.
Divorce scars children, no matter their age. Sometimes, families can’t be saved. But if there’s a chance—why not take it? A fresh start might be worse. And the past never truly fades.
