**Secrets of the Heart**
I wept in my room, the door locked so Mum and my sister wouldn’t see. My tears weren’t just from hurt or betrayal—they were for the life I’d dreamed of as a girl, now shattered. Next door, Mum and my older sister, Charlotte, muttered about me, their sharp words carrying through our little house in a quiet town near Manchester.
**A Secret Taken to the Grave**
The door burst open, and there stood Mum, eyes blazing.
“Tell me who the father is,” she snapped, voice trembling with rage. “Enough silence! Out with it, or—”
I couldn’t speak. The truth would never leave my lips.
“Emily, why won’t you answer?” Charlotte cut in, hovering behind Mum. “Just name him, and Mum’ll sort it! Ran off, did he? Planning to raise the kid alone? At least I had a husband when I had mine—”
“If you don’t tell me,” Mum hissed, “don’t expect my help. Pack your things and get out! One daughter’s burden was enough, now you’re following suit!”
“I had Jack from my *husband*,” Charlotte scoffed, shooting me a look. “Not like some, dragging shame home.”
“Your husband?” Mum snorted. “Where is he, then?”
“He’ll be back,” Charlotte snapped. “We had a row, that’s all.”
“If he wanted back, he’d be here,” Mum shot back. “You drove him off for good. Any man would’ve bolted, the way you carried on!”
“Not your business!” Charlotte flushed, grabbed her coat, and slammed the door behind her.
Mum kept at me for hours, but I stayed silent as stone.
“Then pack up and go!” she finally spat, storming to the kitchen, her grumbling fading.
By evening, I sat by the window, watching snow dust the yard. Neighbours huddled outside, whispering—words I couldn’t catch.
Their gossip burned hot. Margaret from across the street had heard the shouting.
“Lucy, d’you know what’s happened next door?” she asked, spotting Lucy returning from the shops. “Screaming fit to wake the dead.”
“It’s Emily,” Lucy murmured. “Pregnant, but won’t say by who. Proper mess.”
“Maybe it’s that lad, Tom?” Margaret guessed. “He fancied her at school.”
“No, she never went with him. Or anyone, far as I’ve seen. Whole street’s guessing.”
**The Wild Sister**
Charlotte had always been reckless. She’d married Daniel, but fidelity never suited her. I’d seen her sneak off with local lads while he worked nights. Once, I caught her stumbling home at dawn with Alfie, the town joker, both giggling before slipping apart.
*How could she?* I’d think. *She’s got a husband, a son.*
Charlotte drank too, shrugging off Mum’s scolds. After Daniel left, she stopped caring entirely.
I knew why he’d gone. One night, returning early, he found only Jack asleep—Charlotte had left him with me and vanished. Daniel went to Alfie’s, where the noise always was. He tried dragging her home, but she cursed him out.
By morning, he’d packed his things. Mum begged him to stay—
“Dan, you’re really leaving? What about Jack? What happened?”
“Charlotte told me to sod off,” he said bitterly. “She’s at Alfie’s, drunk. Saw it myself. Blame your daughter, not me.”
My heart ached for him. When Charlotte first brought him home, I’d loved him instantly—his kindness, his laughter. But to him, I was just her kid sister.
After Jack was born, Charlotte barely noticed him. Mum and I did the work; Daniel, when home, doted on the boy. I saw her cheating but kept quiet.
When I heard Daniel was sleeping in a workshed at the factory, I packed his clothes, baked pies, and went to him. He sat with a bottle of whiskey—something he’d never done before.
“Hi, Dan,” I said softly. “Brought your things… and pies.”
“Emily.” He rubbed his face. “How’d you find me?”
“People talk. You staying here?”
“No. Need to clear my head. Won’t leave town—Jack’s here.”
What happened next, I barely understood. One moment we were talking, the next—whispers, touches. I went back once more, then stopped. *This is wrong. What if someone finds out?*
I didn’t realise I was pregnant until Mum fixed me with a stare and demanded, “Who’s the father?”
Silence. The house erupted—Mum shouting, Charlotte goading, me mute.
**A New Life**
At dawn, I packed my bag.
“Wait.” Mum softened, pressing money into my hand. “Here’s Aunt Violet’s address. She’s expecting you. And take these pies.”
On the train, fear clawed at me—I’d never left our town. But an elderly woman, Margaret, sat beside me.
“What’s your name, love?”
“Emily,” I whispered.
“You seem sad.” She unpacked food—chicken, eggs. “Eat. Forgot bread, though.”
“I’ve pies,” I offered.
To my shock, the story spilled out.
“And he doesn’t know?” Margaret frowned.
“No. And he won’t.”
“Oh, duck. How’ll you manage alone?”
“Aunt Violet’ll help.”
The train rocked me to sleep, my chest lighter.
Aunt Violet welcomed me warmly. Quiet like me, she never pried. When my son, Oliver, was born, she fussed like a grandmother. Mum’s letters came sparingly—still begging for the father’s name, urging me home. She wrote that Charlotte had sunk into drink, divorced, and lost Jack to Daniel. I didn’t want to return—Violet was family now.
Then the letters stopped.
“Auntie, I’m going back,” I said. “Something’s wrong.”
Home, I learned Mum had died months ago. The house was filthy, bottles everywhere.
“Your sister’s worse,” Lucy told me. “Out with Alfie’s lot most nights.”
“And Daniel?”
“Still here. Works, raises Jack.”
“And Jack?”
Lucy shrugged. “Could’ve gone to care, for all I know.”
I cleaned the house, then took Oliver to the river.
“Ollie, let’s feed the ducks,” I said, smiling.
As he laughed, a voice froze me—
“Emily?”
Daniel stood there, Jack beside him. We sat on a bench, talking while the boys played. Daniel studied Oliver.
“I divorced Charlotte,” he said finally. “Courts gave me Jack. She’s in a bad way. Em… Ollie. He looks like me. Like Jack. Is he—?”
“Yes,” I admitted, cheeks burning.
Oliver ran over. “Mum, who’s that?”
“Sweetheart, this is your dad,” I said. “And Jack—your brother.”
Eighteen months later, Jack and Oliver had a sister, Sophie. Our half-built house slowly became home—Daniel fixed the porch, put up a fence. It was cramped, imperfect. But we were happy.