“Who’s my real father?”
“Ellie, want to go to the cinema on Sunday?”
“I dunno. Mum never lets me out in the evenings. Maybe in the afternoon.”
“Then let’s go in the afternoon. Should I get the tickets?” Jake asked hopefully.
Ellie glanced up at the third-floor window. Had she just seen her mother’s face flicker behind the glass? Her mood soured instantly. She grabbed her bag from Jake’s hands and took a step back.
“Fine, I’ll go. See you tomorrow.” She hurried toward the block of flats.
“Always watching me like I’m some criminal. All my mates go out with boys, but I’m stuck with daylight hours. Everyone’s got normal parents, except me…” She stomped up the stairs, irritation boiling under her skin.
Inside, she peeled off her coat, careful not to make a sound. She killed the hallway light and slipped past her mother’s room.
“Hungry?” Her mum’s voice chased her just as she touched the doorknob.
Ellie rolled her eyes and turned.
“What if I said no?” She shot back.
“Why are you being like this?”
“Why are you always spying on me?” Ellie countered.
“I wasn’t spying. I just looked out the window,” her mother replied calmly.
“Right. Funny how you never glance outside when I’m actually home,” Ellie sneered. “Got loads of studying.” She slammed her bedroom door behind her, flicked on the light, and counted under her breath. “One, two, three…”
Usually, by five, her mum would burst in, ranting about disrespect, calling her wild and ungrateful. One more outburst, one more slammed door, and—
She reached ten. Nothing. The silence unnerved her.
She changed, grabbed her textbooks, and slumped at her desk. Hunger gnawed at her, but eating meant sitting through an interrogation at the kitchen table. How could she not snap? Footsteps paused outside her door. Ellie hunched over her book, pretending to read. “Here it comes.”
Her mum entered.
“Mind if I come in?”
That was new. No apologies, no barging in—just quiet permission sought.
“There’s something I need to tell you.” Her mum settled on the bed.
Ellie kept up the act, eyes skimming words she didn’t absorb, heart pounding.
“A woman called… She lived with your father. Said he passed. Funeral’s tomorrow.” Her voice was steady, measured—unnaturally so.
“How?” Ellie’s head snapped up.
“Heart attack. If you’re coming, wear something dark.”
“And you say that like you’re talking about the weather?” Ellie shoved back her chair, standing over her mother. “Listen to yourself! *If*? He’s *dead*, and you’re—‘wear something dark’?” She mimicked her mum’s tone viciously.
“Talking to you is impossible.” Her mother stood with a sigh. “He left us, remember?”
“Because you never loved him!” Ellie choked on the words, tears scalding her throat.
“Don’t shout. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do! Dad told me before he left. He said you never loved him. Why’d you even marry him? You should’ve left us alone. He loved me—unlike you.” Her voice broke. She collapsed into the chair, face buried in her hands, sobbing.
A touch on her shoulder. She jerked away.
“I’ll call the school in the morning. Tell them you’ll be absent.” The door clicked shut behind her mother.
When the tears dried, Ellie tugged an old photo album from her drawer. There—one of the few pictures with her dad. He was smiling. She held a stick of pink candyfloss, grinning like it was the best day of her life. She pulled the photo free and traced his face, fresh tears splashing the plastic sleeve.
***
He’d left when Ellie was in Year 6. No shouting, no fights—just a quiet disappearance that left her reeling. Her parents barely spoke. No jokes, no teasing, no kisses like her friend’s mum and dad.
“Dad… are you really leaving us?” she’d asked when he met her after school.
“I can’t stay, love. Your mum doesn’t love me. I’ve held on long enough.”
“But I love you,” she’d whispered.
“I love you too.” He ruffled her hair. “You’ll understand when you’re older. Listen to your mum.” He walked her home but didn’t come inside.
“Dad!” she’d called after him. He never turned.
“He’s got another woman now,” her mum said later.
“Kids too?”
“Probably.”
***
“Ellie, get up.” Her mum’s voice cut through sleep. “We need to leave for the mortuary soon.”
The word *mortuary* jolted her awake. She sat up, patting the tangled sheets.
“Looking for this?” Her mum held up the photo from her desk. “Hurry. We’ll be late.”
In the kitchen, her mum sipped coffee while Ellie stared blankly out the window, appetite gone.
“Ready? Let’s go.”
Not another word until they reached the hospital. The mortuary was nearly empty. Ellie knew none of the mourners. A plump woman clung to the coffin’s edge, dabbing her swollen eyes with a tissue—the caller, Ellie guessed.
Her hands trembled. The man in the coffin didn’t look like her dad. She fixed her eyes on the framed photo instead. Her mum stood detached, dry-eyed, like she was at a stranger’s funeral.
At the cemetery, whispers carried behind them. “Such a shame he and Nina never had kids… Poor Nina, all alone…” Ellie caught fragments about her and her mum, hushed like scandal.
The wind bit through her jacket. Snowflakes pricked her cheeks. When dirt hit the coffin, everyone cried—except her mum.
They skipped the wake. Back home, over tea, Ellie glared.
“Couldn’t you fake one tear? Just for show?” She pushed her chair back. “No wonder he left.” She fled to her room.
Dusk bled through the curtains when her mum sat at the foot of the bed. Ellie pretended to sleep.
“The man we buried today—he wasn’t your father.”
The words took a second to land. Ellie flipped onto her back. In the dim light, her mum’s profile was unreadable.
“Did you just make that up to make me feel better?”
“He asked me not to tell you. He treated you like his own. But now he’s gone. You deserve the truth.”
“Then who *is* my father?”
“Not now.”
“Tell me!” Ellie sat up, distancing herself.
Her mum exhaled. “I was in Year 11. Met this boy—older, just finished school. When he got drafted, I told him I’d wait. God, the rubbish I spouted. Thought I was Juliet or some tragic heroine.” A bitter laugh. “He kissed me. By the time I realised what he wanted, it was too late. He was stronger. Had been drinking. It wasn’t… romantic.”
She swallowed. “I found out I was pregnant. My mother screamed, but she wouldn’t let me terminate. ‘He’ll come back. He’ll do right,’ she said. I hated him. We swapped flats with Aunt Vera to escape the gossip.”
Ellie’s nails dug into her palms.
“After his service, my mother confronted him. He denied everything. Said I was lying, that he had a girlfriend. Mum was furious. But by then, I just felt stupid. All my friends were at uni, and I was stuck with a baby.”
“And you never saw him again?”
“Why would I? Later, I met David. I didn’t love him, but Mum pushed me to marry—‘for the child.’ He tried. But I couldn’t… love him. So he left. I’m sorry you lost him.”
Ellie’s throat burned. “Where’s my real father now?”
“Why does it matter?”
“I want to look him in the eyes!”
“He won’t believe you. He’ll slam the door. Fifteen years, Ellie. He never once asked about you.”
At least now she understood the distance, the rules, the coldness.
***
Jake called Saturday night, reminding her about the cinema. She met him but refused to go. They wandered until the cold drove them into a café.
“Turns out I had two fathers. And neither wanted me,” she muttered, stirring her tea.
“Your mum told you so *you* could choose who to call Dad. Or neither.” Jake shrugged. “You’ve got her. Don’t be too hard on her.”
“She doesn’t love me. She said I remind her of *him*.”
“You’re just hurt. Stop picking a dad. You’re not a kid anymore.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Is it? Some people don’t know either parent. You’ve got a mum, two dads.As Ellie walked home with Jake under the heavy, snow-laden sky, she realized that understanding her past was the first step toward shaping her own future, and for the first time in years, she didn’t feel quite so alone.
