**Diary Entry**
I still can’t believe how quickly everything unravelled. It was just an ordinary evening, nothing unusual—Emily stopped by the corner shop near our house in Manchester after work. She was already at the till when she spotted Aunt Mary. They’d worked together years ago at the same hospital, back when Mum was still alive. Emily always made time for her, no matter how tired she was.
She paid, stepped aside, and waited near the exit.
“Hello,” Emily said as Aunt Mary finally approached. “Haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Emily, love, I’ve been poorly. Hardly left the house. Come, walk with me—there’s something you should know.”
Emily’s stomach clenched. James was sixteen—moody, unpredictable. And little Sophie, thirteen, was already boy-crazy. Had she done something stupid? The shopping bag dug into her palm, the handles cutting deep. Maybe she could make an excuse, slip away—but it was too late.
Aunt Mary lowered her voice, leaning in. “I’m not one for gossip, pet, but I had to tell you. Saw your John going into that flat opposite mine. Young woman lives there, curtains drawn tight whenever he visits.”
Emily froze, then burned. How could he? Of all people—John, dependable, steady John.
“I thought you ought to know,” Aunt Mary murmured. “With the kids and all… Maybe talk to him before it’s too late.”
“Right. Thanks, Aunt Mary.” Emily hurried off, forgetting they lived just doors apart.
At home, her hands shook so badly she fumbled the key. She collapsed onto the footstool, the shopping bag slipping from her grasp, tins rolling across the floor. Sophie came running at the noise, gathering the mess.
“Take it to the kitchen, I’ll be there in a bit,” Emily said sharply, sending her away.
*How could he? And what if the kids find out?*
“Are you alright, Mum?” Sophie hovered, uncertain.
“Just go. I need a minute.”
Alone, Emily stood unsteadily, poured a glass of water. Sipped. Breathed. She needed to cook dinner, but her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
She startled at the sound of the key in the lock. John’s cheerful voice rang out—”Smells amazing!”
“Wash up, dinner’s nearly ready,” Emily replied, her tone brittle.
“What’s wrong?” He frowned, stepping closer.
“Aunt Mary told me she saw you. Going into that flat across from hers.” She turned, met his eyes. “So. Is it true?”
His flickering gaze answered for him.
“Do you realise who else might’ve seen? The kids—god, what if they—?” Her voice cracked. “I can’t do this. Decide. Her or us.”
“Em—” He reached for her.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Mum? Dad?” James stood in the doorway, eyes wide.
“Dinner’s ready,” Emily forced out. “Wash your hands.”
Days passed in stony silence. The tension thickened. She imagined him grovelling, swearing it was over—or packing his things.
One evening, with the kids out—James with mates, Sophie at a birthday party—John cleared his throat.
“We need to talk.”
“Go on.”
“She lost her parents in a car crash. Moved into her gran’s flat after she passed. I helped her settle in. I—I don’t know what came over me. But now she’s pregnant.”
Emily swayed, gripping the chair.
“I haven’t seen her since you found out. But she told me—today. What am I supposed to do?”
“And us? The kids?”
“They’ll understand.”
“*Understand*? You’re making them carry *your* guilt?” She hurled the TV remote at the wall. “Get out. Now.”
He left.
Three days later, she went to *her* flat. A pretty girl answered, smile faltering.
“You knew about me?” Emily demanded.
“Yes. He never stopped loving you. I didn’t want to break your family, but—”
“But you kept him anyway.” Emily fled, choking on tears.
Months blurred. Winter thawed into spring. Then, one night, a knock.
John stood there—unshaven, hollow-eyed.
“She’s gone. The baby came early. He’s alive, but… I can’t do this.”
Emily let him in, made tea.
“I’ll go to Ukraine. Rebuild. Start over.”
“And the baby?”
He looked broken.
She took the child in the end. A year later, James came home from the army, scooping little Andy up without hesitation.
“You knew?” Emily gaped.
“Dad wrote. You did right, Mum.”
“You’ve been in touch?”
“Course. He misses you.”
“I forgave him long ago.”
Later, James dropped the bombshell—”I’m going to him.”
Emily’s heart seized. But she’d wait. Read their letters, cling to their calls. And one day—they’d come home.
Andy tugged at her dressing gown, calling her *Mum*.
