**Tears in the Kitchen: A Family Drama Shrouded in Secrets**
James came home from work to his modest flat in the outskirts of Manchester and found his wife in tears. Margaret, usually composed and strong, sat on the sofa with her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
“What’s wrong?” James asked, alarmed, dropping his briefcase to the floor.
Margaret just waved him off, stood abruptly, and marched to the kitchen, where she began clattering dishes, throwing herself into cooking dinner. James followed, unease coiling in his gut. He sat at the table, trying to catch her eye.
“Margaret, talk to me!” His voice cracked with urgency.
She kept her back turned, stirring something at the stove. “Emily came by. Told me something.”
“What did she say? Out with it!” James leaned forward, pulse hammering in his throat.
She exhaled sharply, wiped her hands on her apron, and finally faced him. Her eyes were swollen and red.
James repeated his question, but his voice wavered with dread. Margaret clenched her fists, as if steeling herself to speak.
“Emily—Anton’s wife—stopped by. Said our son… has a child with another woman.”
The words hit James like a punch. Anton and Emily had been at each other’s throats for years—their fights were practically routine. James had even defended his son at times, thinking Emily too harsh. But for Anton to have a child while still married? That was beyond comprehension. He stared at his wife, unable to process it.
“Is it true? Or is she just guessing?” he rasped.
“Anton admitted it to her yesterday,” Margaret whispered, voice breaking. “There’s a little girl.”
“A little girl? His?” James’ knuckles whitened.
Margaret nodded, fresh tears spilling over.
“I don’t know the details,” she choked out, turning back to the stove. “Anton said the baby’s been unwell. That’s why he finally confessed.”
“Bloody hell…” James exhaled heavily, chest tight. “I’ll talk to him. Bloke to bloke.”
“And what’ll you say?” Margaret spun around, eyes blazing. “Tell him to stop this mess? Live properly with his wife or—?”
“They’re filing for divorce!” she cut in, voice rising to a shout.
James sank into his chair as if deflated. Divorce? Another blow. He dragged a hand down his face, struggling to think straight.
“I still need to talk to him,” he muttered stubbornly. “This is beyond the pale!”
“I already did,” Margaret confessed, staring at the floor. “As soon as Emily left, I rang him.”
“And? What did he say?” James demanded, jaw clenched.
“That we shouldn’t worry. That it’ll all work out.” She let out a bitter laugh.
“Work out?” James exploded. “He’s leaving his wife, fathering a child with some other woman, and claims it’ll work out? Who does he think he is?”
Margaret turned away again, shoulders trembling as quiet sobs escaped her. She stood at the stove, where oil hissed in the pan, tears dripping silently onto the tiles.
“Margaret,” James said, softer now. “Why the tears? It’s too late for that.”
“Anton said—the little girl was born weak,” she whispered raggedly. “Always poorly. That’s why he has to be there for her.”
James gritted his teeth.
“So that’s it, then,” he groaned. “Bloody karma, isn’t it?”
“Don’t say that!” Margaret whirled on him, furious. “She’s just a child!”
“Alright, alright, calm down.” He stood and awkwardly pulled her into a hug. “Tears won’t fix this. Christ, I’d love to take my belt to the lad—but it’s too late now. Should’ve raised him better.”
Margaret pressed her face into his shoulder, weeping.
“What do we do, James?” she whispered. “How do we accept this? Am I meant to love this little girl when all I feel is resentment?”
“Resentment? Why?”
“Because of her, everything’s fallen apart! Because she’s sick, Anton’s leaving Emily!” Her voice cracked.
“The child’s not to blame—Anton is,” James growled. “And let’s be honest, him and Emily were miserable for years. No kids between them either…” He trailed off, frowning. “Strange, though. No kids with Emily, but another woman gives him one? Maybe it is Emily’s fault.”
“She got checked!” Margaret snapped. “Doctors said she could have children!”
“Yet someone else had his,” James muttered darkly. “And the girl’s sickly… Doesn’t matter. We’ll help raise her.”
“What?” Margaret recoiled. “Why us?”
“We’ll see her through!” James said firmly. “Remember, my nan always said my own mum was born weak—almost died. And Nan herself was sickly as a kid. Runs in the family. But they both lived to eighty! How old’s the girl?”
“Eighteen months,” Margaret murmured.
“Eighteen months?” James stiffened. “So Anton’s been living a double life? Bloody hell… What’s her name?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
“And the woman?”
“Wouldn’t tell me.”
“Right. They’re all coming here,” James declared. “Anton, this woman, the little girl.”
“Why?” Margaret paled. “He’s not even divorced yet! How can you invite them?”
“I won’t wait for their mess to sort itself,” James snapped. Eyes glinting, he added, “Ring Anton back. Ask the woman’s name.”
“Why?”
“Something I remembered,” he said vaguely. “A bit… uncanny. When my mother was dying, she told me something odd.”
“What?” Margaret eyed him warily. “Your mum didn’t even recognise us at the end. She was delirious!”
“Find out the name—then I’ll tell you.”
Margaret reluctantly dialled their son, putting it on speaker.
“Yeah, Mum?” Anton answered.
“Anton, your dad wants to know…” She faltered. “The woman’s name.”
“Why does Dad need that?”
“Just tell us!” James barked.
A pause. Then, reluctantly: “Sarah.”
James’ eyes widened. Slowly, he nodded as if confirming something. Margaret hung up, staring at him in alarm.
“I was right,” he said quietly. “Mum had a moment of clarity before she passed. Gripped my hand and said something… I thought it was nonsense. But now I know.”
“What did she say?”
“She said, *‘You and Anton mustn’t hurt Sarah. In eighteen months, she’ll give birth to me again.’* Eighteen months ago—that’s when the girl was born. And Mum died three years ago. The girl’s sickly, just like her as a child. Don’t you see who she is?”
Margaret stared, horrified. “Who?”
James smiled. “Maybe it’s my mother. Come back to us.”
“Have you lost your mind?” she cried.
“Why not?” He laughed. “They say souls return. Mum must’ve known. Near the end, she wasn’t here—she was somewhere else. Beyond. They must’ve told her who she’d come back through. This Sarah!”
“James, stop it!”
“Possible or not,” he said brightly, “that little girl isn’t an accident. She’s a gift.”
“A *gift*?” Margaret looked at him like he’d gone mad.
But James just kept laughing. “Say what you like—but I believe it. That little girl is a blessing from heaven!”
