**Secrets of the Heart**
Emily was sobbing in her bedroom, locking herself away so her mum and sister wouldn’t see her tears. She cried from the hurt, the pain, from the fact her adult life hadn’t begun the way she dreamed it would back when she was young. In the next room, her older sister, Charlotte, and their mum, Margaret Wilson, were talking about her—the youngest—hurling accusations and angry words loud enough to echo through their small town near Manchester.
**The Secret Taken to the Grave**
The door burst open, and there stood her mum, eyes blazing with fury.
“Tell me, who’s the father?” Margaret’s voice shook with rage. “Stop hiding it! Confess, or—”
Emily, drowning in tears, stared at her mum, unable to speak. She would *never* reveal who the father of her baby was.
“Em, why won’t you say anything?” Charlotte cut in, hovering behind their mother. “Just name him, and Mum’ll sort it out! Did he get you into this mess and then vanish? You planning to raise a child alone? At least *I* had a husband when I had mine, but you—”
“If you don’t tell me who the father is,” her mum snapped, “don’t expect any help from me. You can pack your things and get out! One daughter burdening me with a son, now the other doing the same!”
“*I* had my son with a husband, didn’t just turn up with a baby out of nowhere like some people!” Charlotte shot Emily a pointed glare.
“A husband? Ha!” Margaret scoffed. “And where *is* this husband of yours now?”
“He’ll come back, he won’t just disappear,” Charlotte fired back. “We had a row, we’ll make up.”
“If he *wanted* to come back, he’d have done it by now,” her mum dismissed. “You drove him off so badly no man would ever return. Acted like such a nightmare, any bloke would’ve bolted ages ago!”
“That’s *none* of your business, Mum!” Charlotte flared up, grabbed her coat, and stormed out, slamming the door.
Margaret kept pressing Emily for answers all evening, but she stayed silent as stone.
“Fine, pack your bags and go!” her mum finally barked before stomping off to the kitchen, muttering under her breath.
By nightfall, Emily sat by the window, staring at the snow-covered garden. Neighbours had gathered outside, whispering, though their words were too muffled to make out.
The neighbours, though, were deep in gossip. Olivia from across the street had heard the shouting.
“Lisa, do you know what’s going on with your neighbours?” she asked, bumping into Lisa on her way back from Tesco. “Yelling loud enough for the whole street to hear!”
“It’s Emily, the quiet one—she’s pregnant,” Lisa sighed. “Won’t say who the father is, so it’s all kicking off.”
“Could it be Jake?” Olivia guessed. “He *did* fancy her all through school.”
“No, she never went out with him—or anyone, far as I know. That’s why everyone’s speculating.”
**The Rebel Sister**
Charlotte, the older sister, had always been reckless. She’d married Daniel, but faithfulness wasn’t her strong suit. More than once, Emily had spotted her sneaking around with local lads while Daniel worked night shifts. Once, she even saw Charlotte and Chris—the town’s lovable rogue—sneaking off the hayloft at dawn, giggling before darting opposite ways.
“How could she?” Emily thought. “She’s got a *husband*, a *son*!”
Charlotte didn’t stop there—she drank, brushing off their mum’s scolding. And when Daniel left, she stopped caring entirely.
Emily knew *why* he left. One night, coming off shift, Daniel found only his son, Oliver, at home. Charlotte had gone out earlier, leaving the boy with Emily, who’d tucked him into bed. Then—the slam of the front door. Daniel, finding his wife missing, headed to Chris’ place, where the party never stopped. He tried dragging Charlotte home, but she *threw him out*.
By morning, Daniel had packed his things and walked out. Their mother tried stopping him:
“Dan, you’re leaving for *good*? What about Oliver? What happened?”
“Your daughter told me to sod off,” he said bitterly. “*She* was with Chris, drinking. Saw it with my own eyes last night. Blame *her*, not me.”
Emily’s heart ached for him. When Charlotte first brought Daniel home, Emily had fallen for him instantly. “*So kind, so handsome, so full of life*,” she’d thought, envying her sister.
**Forbidden Love, Inevitable Heartbreak**
Emily *never* admitted her feelings. After the wedding, Daniel moved in, and every day she delighted just seeing him—though he treated her only as a little sister.
After Oliver was born, Charlotte barely lifted a finger. It was always their mum or Emily caring for him, while Daniel, when he wasn’t working, spent time with his son. Emily saw her sister’s betrayals but stayed silent.
When she heard Daniel was living in a Portakabin on the factory site, she packed his things, baked pies, and went to him. He was sitting with a bottle of wine—something he *never* drank.
“Hey, Dan,” she said softly. “Since when do you drink wine? Brought your things—and some pies.”
“Hey, Em,” he sighed. “How’d you find me?”
“People talk. You staying here now?”
“Nah, gonna rent a flat,” he muttered. “Need to sort my head out. Won’t leave town—my boy’s here.”
How it happened, Emily *still* didn’t understand. She lost control, and he whispered tender words. She went back once more—then stopped herself. “*This is wrong. What if someone finds out? The gossip… and he’s not even divorced yet.*”
She didn’t realise she was pregnant at first. But when her mum took one look at her and demanded, “*Who’s the father?*”—Emily *never* answered. Chaos followed: Mum screaming, Charlotte fanning the flames… and Emily silent.
**A Fresh Start**
Next morning, Emily packed a suitcase and left.
“Wait!” Her mum’s anger turned to pity. “Here’s some money and Aunt Rose’s address. Wrote to her—stay there. And I’ll say you went to live with your husband. Here—pies for the trip.”
At the station, Emily bought a ticket and boarded the train. The journey was long, fear gripping her—she’d *never* left their town before. But fate gave her a kind companion: Mary, an elderly woman.
“What’s your name, love?” the woman asked. “I’m Mary.”
“Emily,” she murmured, eyes down.
“You seem sad,” Mary noted, unpacking food. “Here—chicken, eggs. Forgot the bread, though.”
“I’ve got veggie pies,” Emily offered.
Somehow, over the meal, Emily spilled *everything*.
“And *he* doesn’t know about the baby?” Mary frowned.
“No. And he *never* will,” Emily said firmly.
“Oh, love… how’ll you manage alone?”
“Aunt Rose’ll help. She lives by herself.”
Lulled by the train, Emily drifted off, her secret shared at last.
Aunt Rose welcomed her warmly. Like Emily, she was quiet, never prying. When her son, Henry, was born, Rose fussed over him like a grandmother, helping with everything. Letters arrived occasionally from her mum—still asking about the father, begging her to come home. She wrote Charlotte had ruined herself with drink, divorced, and Daniel had taken Oliver. Emily *couldn’t* go back—Rose was more family now than her own mother.
Then, after two years, the letters stopped.
“Aunt Rose… I need to go home. Something’s *wrong*.”
There, she learned her mum had died four months prior. Charlotte was gone, the house filthy, littered with empty bottles.
“Your sister’s a drunk now,” neighbour Lisa told her. “Hangs round with Chris and his lot.”
“And Daniel?” Emily asked.
“Still here. Working, raising Oliver.”
“And Oliver?”
“Not sure, love. Maybe Charlotte dumped him in care.”
Emily cleaned the house, then took Henry to the river.
“Henry, let’s feed the ducks,” she smiled.
They tossed bread, Henry laughing—until a voice cut in:
“Em… is that you?”
She turned. *Daniel*. Oliver beside him. Recognition flashed. They sat on a bench, talking while the boys fed ducks. Daniel kept studying Henry.
“Divorced Charlotte,” he said finally. “Courts gave me Oliver. She’s lost to the bottle. Just us two now. Em… your boy. He looks like *me*. Like Oliver. Is he—?”
“Yes,” Emily whispered, cheeks burning.
As the years passed, their little family grew—love and laughter filling the small house Daniel had fixed with his own hands, proving that sometimes, even the messiest beginnings could lead to the happiest endings.
