My name is Victor Harper, thirtyseven years old, and despite having achieved everything I ever wanted, a hollow still gnawed at me a family of my own. Since my fathers sudden passing six winters ago, Ive been living in a modest twobedroom flat in Birmingham with my mother, Margaret Whitaker. She has always pressed me to fulfill the expectations she set: a respectable job, a solid degree, and eventually a partner who could keep her hands busy with grandchildren.
I met Emma, a shy, brighteyed girl from a village near Coventry who was still a university student when we first crossed paths. Her family wasnt welloff, but that mattered little to me. My mother, however, frowned upon the match, muttering that Emma was not the sort of woman for a son of hers. Still, I followed my heart for the first time and began seeing Emma.
A few months later I brought her home, announced that we would live together, and told my mother that she was carrying my child. Margaret scoffed, convinced Emma was merely clinging to the city by trickery. Defying my mothers disapproval, Emma moved in, and though Margarets welcome was reluctant, it softened over time. Emma proved herself a wonderful housekeeper, and the house settled into an odd, quiet rhythm, as if the walls themselves were breathing.
Soon a daughter arrived, a little girl we named Ethel. One night, as the kitchen light flickered like a dying firefly, my mother demanded a paternity test. We obliged, though I had never doubted that Ethel was mine. The results, stark as a blackandwhite photograph, confirmed my fatherhood, yet Margaret still refused to accept Emma into our family. She even suggested I divorce her and hand the child over to her.
Anger rose in me like a storm trapped inside a teacup. I took Emma, Ethel, and myself and left my mothers flat, stepping into a foggy London street that seemed to stretch forever. Since then I speak to Margaret only when the wind carries her voice, for I deem her selfish and indifferent to my feelings. It pains me that she could not welcome Emma as part of our family, but I will not bend to her will. The dreamlike world around us continues to shift, but the resolve in my heart remains as solid as a stone in the Thames.
