I’m Emily, Not Emma
Emily was glowing with happiness—she’d passed all her exams! Maybe not straight A’s, but well enough to make her mum and dad proud. Pushing open the front door, she heard her mother’s familiar voice and… someone else’s, low and haunting, as if from another time. Slipping quietly into her room, she tried not to interrupt, but the words stopped her cold.
*”Listen, Patricia, I’m telling you for the last time—”* her mother snapped.
A knock in the hallway—her father was home for lunch. Emily peeked out and locked eyes with a woman in a frayed white headscarf. Her face tugged at something deep and familiar. Where had she seen her before? A shadow of memory pricked at her, sharp and unwelcome. That woman with the sticky, probing gaze. The one who’d once called her “Emma.”
*”Hello, Emma. Hello, love,”* the stranger said.
*”Leave it, Patricia,”* her father muttered.
*”Right, right… See you soon, sis.”* And with that, the woman was gone.
Emily stood frozen.
*”Dad, who was that?”*
*”Just someone of your mum’s.”*
*”But she called her ‘sis’?”*
*”Girls say things like that sometimes,”* he mumbled.
But her mother’s anxious stare and the heavy silence said otherwise. This wasn’t just anyone. This was part of their secret.
A few days later, Emily saw Patricia again.
*”Well, hello there, Emma,”* the woman breathed, stepping too close.
*”I’m not Emma. I’m Emily.”*
*”Do you remember me?”*
*”No. You’ve been at Mum’s.”*
*”At Mum’s? I *am* your mum, Emma-girl… Your real one.”*
Patricia grabbed her hands, speaking in a rush—pleading, frantic. And without knowing why, Emily let herself be led away.
*”Come in, love,”* the woman ushered her into a dingy flat. *”This is where you lived ’til you were two… Remember?”*
Suddenly, the memories crashed over her—the sticky floor, gnawed cigarette butts, someone screaming, kicking the door, tiny hands scraping for something to eat. Dirty fingers prying at her mouth… She had bitten down hard. Fear. Tears. Cold. Emma. That’s what they’d called her back then.
A rough voice yanked her back.
*”Trish, been out gallivanting? Where’s the money?”*
A drunk man swayed in, eyes bleary.
*”Who’s this, then? A present for me?”* He reached for Emily.
She wrenched open her bag, thrusting cash at him.
*”Here! Just don’t come near us again—not me, not Mum, not Dad. I remember everything now. And you? You’re *nothing* to me.”*
*”Emma—”*
*”It’s *Emily*!”*
She ran home, choking on tears. That night, she shook with fever. Her mother found her curled up, sobbing.
*”Mum, I went to her… I remembered… the filth… those hands in my mouth… I bit—”*
*”Oh, my girl—”* Her mother held her, rocking her like a child.
Later, she told her the truth. About two sisters, Patricia and Olivia, adopted together from care. Trish had been sweet at first—then she changed. Smoked, stole, ran off, came back pregnant. No one knew who the father was. Olivia, still in uni, stepped in… took the baby. Emma became Emily. Patricia lost her rights, demanded money to stay away.
From then on, Emily was theirs—by love, and by law.
Patricia still turned up sometimes. Cried. Begged for forgiveness.
*”Emma, my girl—”*
*”I’m Emily. I’m sorry, Aunt Trish.”*
Her mother never turned her away. *”She’s still my sister. Maybe I’m her last thread to something decent.”*
One day, Gary came—the man with the dirty hands.
*”Patricia’s in hospital. It’s bad.”*
They went.
*”Forgive me, love,”* whispered a sober, frail Patricia. *”Thank you… for living. For letting me have you—even for a little while.”*
*”It’ll be alright. Just hold on. We’ll get you out.”*
But she didn’t make it.
Later, Emily ran into Gary again—clean this time.
*”I quit. Thanks to her… Sorry, Emma.”*
*”Emily.”*
*”Listen… I’m not your dad, but I know where he is. Want to see?”*
He took her to the grave of a handsome man. An older woman found her there.
*”You’re his girl?”*
*”I think so…”*
*”I’m your gran.”*
Now, Emily visits two graves. And carries two lives—the one she escaped, and the one that saved her.
She goes to the ones who gave her life. She talks to them. Promises to live well. And she keeps that promise.
