“Did you really marry the woman you think you did?”
My colleague at work practically pinned me to the drivers seat with his next words. “Look, Oliver, I didnt want to say this on your wedding day but did you know your new wife has a daughter?”
“What on earth are you talking about?” I refused to believe it.
“My wife spotted your Rosemary at the wedding and whispered in my ear, ‘Wonder if the groom knows his bride left a baby at a childrens home?’ Imagine that, eh? Nearly choked on my vol-au-vent. My Dianashes a midwiferemembers your Rosemary clearly because of that birthmark on her neck. Said she named the little girl Emily and gave her own surname, Wilson. Mustve been about five years ago.” He watched me, waiting for my reaction.
I sat there, stunned. Well, that was a turn-up for the books.
I decided to get to the bottom of it myself. Didnt want to believe gossip, of course. Sure, Rosemary wasnt some wide-eyed eighteen-year-old when we metshe was thirty-two. Shed had a life before me, fair enough. But why give up a child? How could anyone live with that?
I had connections, so it didnt take long to track down the childrens home where Emily Wilson was staying.
The director introduced me to a bright-eyed little girl with a cheeky grin. “Meet our Emily Wilson,” he said. “How old are you, love? Tell the nice man.”
You couldnt miss her lazy eyepoor little mite. My heart went out to her instantly. She was already mine in my head, this sweet scrap of a girl. My wifes own flesh and blood! Gran used to say, “A child might be crooked, but theyre still a marvel to their parents.”
Emily toddled closer. “Im four. Are you my daddy?”
I froze. What do you say to a child who sees a father in every man?
“Emily, lets chat. Would you like to have a mum and dad?” Daft question, reallyI already wanted to scoop her up and take her home.
“Yes! Will you take me?” She peered up at me, wise beyond her years.
“I will, but not just yet. Can you wait a bit longer, poppet?” I had to blink back tears.
“Ill wait. Promise you wont forget?”
“Promise.” I kissed her tiny cheek.
Back home, I laid it all out for my wife.
“Rosemary, I dont care about the past, but we need to bring Emily home. Ill adopt her properly.”
“And did you ask me? Do I want some strange little girl? And that eye of hers!” Rosemarys voice rose.
“Shes your daughter! Well get her eye sorteditll be fine. Shes wonderful. Youll love her the moment you meet her.” I couldnt believe her attitude.
In the end, I practically had to drag her kicking and screaming into the adoption process.
It took a year before we finally brought Emily home. I visited her often at the homewed become fast friends by then. Rosemary still bristled at the idea of motherhood and even tried to halt the adoption halfway. I convinced her to see it through.
The day Emily crossed our threshold, everything amazed herthings we take for granted lit her up with joy. Soon, specialists corrected her vision (thankfully without surgery). Within a year and a half, she was the spitting image of her mother. Two beautiful girls in my lifemy wife and my daughter. I was over the moon.
For nearly a year after leaving the home, Emily couldnt shake the habit of clinging to a packet of biscuits. No matter how we tried, shed sneak off to sleep with them. Rosemary found it maddening; I just found it heartbreaking.
I kept trying to knit our family together, but well. Rosemary never warmed to her own child. She loved only herselfher ego was like a frozen “I” stamped on her heart.
Our marriage frayed. Every row, every bitter spat, traced back to Emily.
“Whyd you drag this stray into our home? Shell never be normal!” Rosemary snapped once.
I adored hercouldnt imagine life without her. Though Mum had warned me once, “Son, its your business, but we saw Rosemary with another man. You wont find happiness with her. Shes sly, that one. Shell cheat you blind.”
Love blinds you, though. Your happiness outshines the stars. Rosemary was my ideal. The cracks only showed when Emily came home.
Maybe she opened my eyes to the truth. The way Rosemary dismissed hercold as a butchers window.
I even tried loving her less, cooling off, but couldnt. A mate joked once,
“Heres a tip, old boymeasure a woman with a tailors tape. Folk wisdom, take it or leave it.”
“You having me on?”
“Measure her bust, waist, hips. Works every time.” He was clearly pulling my leg.
Still, I gave it a shot. What harm could it do?
“Rosemary, come herelet me measure you,” I called.
She arched a brow. “Should I expect a new dress?”
“Absolutely,” I said, solemnly jotting down her dimensions.
Experiment over. I loved her just the same. We had a good laugh about it.
Then Emily fell illa nasty cold, feverish and weepy. She trailed after Rosemary with her doll, Daisy. I was chuffed shed swapped her biscuit packet for it.
Emily adored dressing Daisy up, but now the doll lay nakedher little mistress too poorly to manage. Rosemary snapped.
“Enough of that racket! Cant get a moments peace! Go to bed!”
Emily clutched Daisy, sobbing. Thenjust like thatRosemary yanked the doll away, flung open the window, and hurled it out.
“Mummy, thats my Daisy! Shell freeze! Can I go get her?” Emily wailed, bolting for the door.
I chased after the doll. Of course, the lift was out. I sprinted down eight flights. There was Daisy, dangling upside-down from a tree branch. I fished her out, brushing off the snow. Melted flakes on her plastic face looked like tears. Climbing back up, I felt something inside me snap.
Rosemarys cruelty was beyond reason. I found Emily kneeling by her bed, asleep at last, still hiccuping. I tucked Daisy beside her.
Rosemary sat in the lounge, flipping through a magazine, utterly unbothered. And just like that, my love for her withered. Gone, like steam off a kettle. I finally saw her for what she waspretty wrapping around nothing.
She mustve sensed it. We divorced. Emily stayed with me; Rosemary didnt fight it.
Ran into my ex-wife later. She smirked. “You were just a stepping stone, Oliver.”
“You had stars in your eyes, Rosemary, but a coal-black soul,” I said calmly.
She married some flashy businessman soon after.
“Poor bloke. That woman shouldnt be allowed near children,” Mum muttered.
At first, Emily ached for her mother, even just to touch her. But my new wife, Lucy, melted her little heart with endless love. Seemed her real mother had rejected her twicea cruelty Ill never understand.
Now, Lucy dotes on Emily and our son, Sam, with bottomless patience and kindness. Some hearts are just made that way.
