The New Year holidays were coming to an end. After days of rich festive meals, Emma decided to make porridge for breakfast—time to return to simple, ordinary food.
The three of them were eating when the ringtone of her husband’s phone echoed from the bedroom. He stepped out of the kitchen. Unintentionally, Emma strained to listen, trying to guess from his responses who was calling and why.
When Daniel returned, she noticed he didn’t look upset—just preoccupied.
“Uh…” he began. “Mum called. Her blood pressure’s up again. She asked me to come over.”
“Of course, go,” Emma nodded.
As he left to get dressed, she recalled his words on the phone: *Right now? Are you sure? Fine, fine.* When her mother-in-law demanded his presence, Daniel usually rushed over without hesitation. *Stop overthinking,* she told herself.
“Won’t be long,” Daniel called from the hallway before the door slammed shut.
“Eat up,” Emma urged their son, who was dragging his spoon through the porridge.
“Are we going to the hill? You promised.” Oliver scooped a tiny bit and examined it before reluctantly taking a bite.
“When Dad gets back, we’ll go. Deal?” She forced a smile. “But only if you finish your breakfast.”
“Fine,” he mumbled, lifting another spoonful.
“If that bowl isn’t clean in five minutes, we’re not going,” Emma said firmly, turning to the sink to wash up.
She was ironing while Oliver played with his toy cars when the front door clicked open. *Finally.* She set the iron down, listening to the rustle of coats in the hallway. *Why’s he taking so long?*
Then, a girl around ten appeared in the doorway, staring curiously at Emma. Daniel stepped behind her, guilt written on his face. He rested his hands on the girl’s shoulders, chin lifted defiantly.
“This is my daughter, Lily,” he said, eyes dropping to the back of her head. “Mum asked me to take her until tomorrow.”
“I see. And her mother? Off with another boyfriend to Spain?” Emma snapped.
Daniel flinched, but before he could reply, she returned to the ironing board.
“Come in,” she heard him say, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Lily approach Oliver, who was still playing on the floor.
“Do we have any porridge left?” Daniel asked.
“I don’t want porridge,” Lily cut in. “I want pasta with sausages.”
Daniel blinked, glancing between his daughter and Emma, who just shrugged and waved toward the kitchen—*Go on, then.*
A moment later, he called from the kitchen, “Do we even have any pasta? I couldn’t find any.”
“There’s leftover pasta. I’ll finish ironing and go to the shop.” She shot him a pointed look.
“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t know—”
“Really? Your mother didn’t mention why she called?” When he looked away, she knew she’d hit the mark. “Shouldn’t you have asked me? Warned me? Oliver should’ve been prepared for this. Now they’ll start fighting over you.”
As if on cue, Oliver’s wail erupted from the living room. Emma rushed in, Daniel close behind.
“There. Sort it out,” she said, throwing her hands up.
Oliver clutched her leg, burying his face in her clothes. Lily stood with her arms crossed, glaring at the floor.
“What happened?” Daniel knelt beside his daughter.
Emma’s stomach twisted—he’d gone to Lily first, not Oliver.
“She t-took my c-car,” Oliver sobbed.
The hiss of boiling water from the kitchen sent Daniel running back. *And I can’t say a word to her. The poor little guest, as my mother-in-law calls her. But what about me?*
“Want to watch cartoons?” Emma forced calm into her voice, turning to Lily.
The girl nodded, and Emma switched on the TV, relieved. Lily and Oliver sat side by side on the sofa.
“Your mother’s at it again, isn’t she? Trying to wreck our marriage? She’s obsessed with getting you back with your ex. I heard how she screamed when Oliver was born—that she’d never have another grandchild but Lily. Testing me, seeing how I’d treat *your* daughter?” Emma hissed in the kitchen.
“She’s really unwell,” Daniel defended.
“And a ten-year-old couldn’t help? Call an ambulance, fetch water? At her age, I could fry eggs myself.”
“Enough!” Daniel slammed a spoon on the counter. “Lily, come eat!”
“Daddy, bring it here,” Lily called back sweetly.
Emma rolled her eyes. “Go on, then. Run to her.” She left Daniel to deal with his daughter, swallowing back the bitterness.
Later, as they walked to the hill, Emma fought to be kind. *She’s just a child. It’s not her fault no one wants her—not even her own mother. I should be better than this.* But when Lily hogged the sled, leaving Oliver struggling with a plastic tray, Emma’s patience snapped.
At home, while Oliver napped, Emma went out for groceries. When she returned, Daniel rushed out, coatless.
“Oliver’s gone,” he blurted.
Her heart lurched. She bolted inside, finding Oliver’s bed empty.
“What did you do?” Emma grabbed Lily’s shoulders, shaking her.
The girl’s lip trembled, but no tears fell.
“Tell me!” Emma demanded.
Lily stared at Daniel, silent. Emma fled outside, calling Oliver’s name. She checked under the stairs—there he was, curled up in the dark, shivering.
“She said Daddy loves her more,” Oliver whispered as Emma carried him back.
That night, after Daniel took Lily back to his mother’s, they finally talked. He never brought her again.
Men fall in love, start new families, and seldom think of their children—how divorce scars them, how jealousy festers. And the new children? They grow up feeling guilty for simply existing.
*A child sees sharply, remembers deeply, and carries those wounds for life.*
