12October2025
Dear Diary,
The key clicked in the lock and I slipped into the flat as quietly as I could. The hallway was dark, only a thin sliver of light leaking from the kitchen. Stephen and Helen were still awake despite it being well past midnight. Lately their latenight talks have become a regular thinglong conversations behind a closed door, usually hushed but occasionally slipping into lowkey arguments.
I kicked off my shoes, set my laptop bag on the nightstand and slipped down the corridor to my bedroom. I didnt feel like explaining why Id stayed late at work; the project was dragging on and the deadline was breathing down my neck.
Through the thin walls I could hear muffled voices.
No, Stephen, I cant go on like this, my mother whispered, irritation clear in her tone. You promised last month.
Helen, understand, now isnt the time, my father replied, sounding defensive as usual.
I let out a weary sigh. Their arguments have been constant of late, but they always pretend everythings fine in front of me. Theyre both over fifty, Im an adult now, yet it still hurts to sense something amiss in their marriage.
I stripped off my coat, brushed my teeth and crawled under the duvet, but sleep refused to come. My mind kept looping over the same worries. My brother Oliver lives in Manchester and only visits now and then. If Mum and Dad decide to split, who gets the flat? Who stays where? Why are they keeping their problems hidden?
The voices continued. I reached for the nightstand and fumbled for my headphones, hoping music could drown out the whispers. My hand knocked the phone off the table; it hit the carpet and, when I picked it up, the voicememo app opened by accident. My finger hovered over the record button.
What if I recorded them? Just to know whats really going on, rather than guessing. If I asked directly, theyd probably brush it off and say everythings fine.
Guilt stabbed me coldly. Eavesdropping felt wrong, let alone recording. Yet theyre my parents, my family. I have a right to know if something serious is happening.
Resolute, I hit record, set the phone back on the nightstand nearer the wall and pulled the blanket over my head.
In the morning, while getting ready for work, I noticed both Mum and Dad looked like they hadnt slept at all. Over breakfast they exchanged only the usual polite phrases.
You were home late last night, Helen said, pouring tea. Stuck at work again?
Yeah, the project ran over, I replied. Did you manage to get any sleep?
Just a film, she said, not even glancing at me.
Dad was buried in the newspaper, pretending to be engrossed.
Dont count on me being home for dinner, he muttered without looking up. Client meetings could keep me late.
Helen pursed her lips but said nothing.
The whole commute to the office was a battle against the temptation to listen to the nights recording. The tube was packed, and the thought of playing it in public felt shameful, so I postponed it until the evening.
The day dragged on. When I finally got back, Mum was goneshed left a note saying she was at a friends and would be back late. Dad was, as promised, still at work. Perfect timing.
I flopped onto the sofa, wrapped a blanket around me, and pressed play.
At first only fragments came through; then the audio cleared.
Should we tell Emma? Dads voice sounded uneasy.
Im not sure, Mum sighed. Im afraid she wont understand. Its been so many years.
But she has a right to know.
Mum hesitated. Of course she does, but how do we explain why we kept silent all this time?
I sat frozen. What were they hiding?
Do you remember how it all started? Dad asked, a faint smile in his tone.
Oh, I do, Mum chuckled. I thought it would be temporary, but it turned out to be forever.
Quite a life weve built, Dad muttered. Sometimes it wasnt easy.
And then Emma appeared, he added.
My heart lurched. Especially? I heard Mum say, as if the word held a sting. Was I an unwanted child?
But we managed, Dad continued. Shes grown into a wonderful woman.
Mums voice warmed with pride. Now we just need to decide what to do next. Im tired of living this double life, Stephen.
Double life? The idea that they might each be having affairs made my stomach churn.
Lets wait for Olivers return and discuss everything together, Mum suggested.
Fine, Dad agreed. No more postponing. Either we change everything, or
The recording cut off, likely because they left the kitchen or the phone stopped.
I sat there, stunned. What was happening? Were they planning a divorce, a secret relationship, or something else? Should I record another conversation? No, Id rather talk to Oliver. Hes older, might know more. Or perhaps Aunt VeraHelens sisterwho has always been candid with me.
I decided Id call Oliver tomorrow and visit Vera over the weekend.
Oliver didnt answer all day, finally popping up on the line just before dusk.
Hey, Emmasorry, I was on site and left my phone in the van, he said cheerfully.
When are you coming back? I asked.
Weekend, why?
My parents are acting strange lately.
What do you mean strange? he sounded cautious.
They whisper at night, pretend everythings fine, talk about a double life.
A pause.
Its probably nothing. People have their secrets, even parents, he said, then sighed. I think theyre not ready to tell you yet. Wait until Im there, okay?
Will you go to Aunt Veras? I asked.
Dont bother, he replied quickly. Lets keep this between us.
His warning only deepened my anxiety. Was there an affair? A family scandal?
Later that evening Helen returned from her friends house, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
Can you believe it? Tom is selling his flat! she announced as she entered. He wants to move to the countryside, said hes fed up with city noise.
I nodded, unsure how to respond.
Would you like to move out to the country? I blurted, surprised by the question.
Helen hesitated, then said, I dont know sometimes it sounds nicepeace, fresh air, a garden.
What about Dad?
What Dad? I asked.
Would he want to go?
Ask him yourself, she said, suddenly serious. Hell be home late tonight, dont expect him for dinner.
As luck would have it, Dad arrived earlier than promised. I was making tea when I heard the front door slam.
Dad, want some tea? I called.
Sure, he replied, slipping his tie off as he entered. Wheres Mum?
Watching a film, I answered, handing him a mug. Hows work?
Fine. The client finally agreed to our terms, so the project launches next week.
I set the cup down. Is it true you and Mum have something important to tell me?
His eyebrows shot up. Where did you get that idea?
Oliver mentioned youd be back this weekend and that youd explain everything, I said, trying not to stare.
He sighed, rubbing his nose. Yes, theres a conversation we need to have. But lets wait for Oliver, alright? Itll be easier then.
Is it something bad? Are you divorcing? I asked outright.
What? No, of course not, he said, genuinely surprised. Weve just been arguing a lot. Mum talked about a double life.
He looked perplexed, then a flicker of understanding crossed his face, followed by relief.
Emma, youve misunderstood. No divorce. In fact He stopped, then chuckled. Were actually planning a big change.
Really? I asked, heart pounding.
He squeezed my hand reassuringly. Trust me, nothing terrible. Just lets have tea while its still warm.
That night sleep eluded me. I replayed every fragment, trying to piece together a puzzle. If not divorce, then what? Illness? Financial trouble? A move? The thought that they might be retiring together was oddly comforting. Maybe they were renewing vows? Or a second wedding?
A soft knock at my door roused me.
Cant sleep? Mum asked, peeking in.
No, I admitted, propping myself up. What were you and Dad talking about?
Nothing special, I shrugged. Just work, Olivers weekend plans.
She smiled oddly. I know Oliver called. Hell be here soon.
We fell silent.
Mum, are you and Dad really okay? I finally asked.
Helens smile was bittersweet. Were fine. Life just throws you a few curveballs, even after fifty. You just have to decide how to handle them.
Good or bad?
A bit of both, she replied, stroking my hair as she used to when I was a child. Dont worry too early. Youll find out soon enough.
She kissed my forehead and left, leaving me with more questions than answers.
The weekend arrived faster than expected. Oliver turned up Saturday afternoon, tanned and bustling with gifts, yet an unfamiliar tension in his eyes.
So, family council? he joked as we settled in the living room after lunch.
Stephen and Helen exchanged a glance.
Yes, its time, Stephen said. We have news for you both.
I held my breath.
Were moving, Helen announced.
Where to? I asked.
To the village of Ashford, about two hundred miles from here, Stephen replied. Its where our real home is.
My real home? I repeated, bewildered.
It started as a holiday cottage fifteen years ago, Helen explained. Over the years we turned it into a proper farmorchards, a beehive, even a small herd of cows. Its become a passion.
You keep bees? I laughed.
Weve got fifteen hives now, Stephen said proudly. The honeys excellent.
We also have chickens, goats, and were planning to add a cow this year, Helen added.
So youre farmers? I asked, eyes wide.
Yes, Stephen said, grinning. Our city jobs are now just a part of our lives. The farm is our true work.
I turned to Oliver. Did you know about this?
Of course, he shrugged. I helped with the extensions. The house is twostorey now.
Why keep it from me? I demanded.
Helens expression softened. Because you always said you hated the countryside. Remember being taken to Grandmas farm? Youd cry and beg to go home. When we suggested weekend trips out of town, you always found excuses.
That was childhood! I snapped. Im an adult now.
Its just that we never wanted to disappoint you, Stephen said. We kept it vague, calling it a cottage instead of a fullscale farm. It became our secret.
Double life, I whispered, recalling the earlier conversation.
Exactly, Stephen nodded. In the city were office workers; out in Ashford were farmers. And were happier there.
Do you intend to move permanently? I asked.
Im retiring next month, Helen said. Stephen arranged to work remotely, coming into the city once a week for meetings.
What about the flat? I queried.
We can leave it to you, or sell it and split the proceeds. Its your choice.
I sank back onto the sofa, the weight of the revelation pressing down.
So all this time you had a whole farm and I knew nothing about it, I said, bitterly.
We never meant to hide it, love, Helen said, moving to sit beside me and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. It just happened. We didnt know how to tell you.
I stayed quiet, processing.
Can I visit? I asked finally. See the house, the animals?
Absolutely! Stephen beamed. Tomorrow, if you like.
Tomorrow then, I agreed, a strange mixture of resentment and curiosity bubbling inside me.
That night sleep fled again. Anger wrestled with intrigue, annoyance with excitement. How many years had I missed while chasing deadlines, friends, and city life?
A soft knock later interrupted my thoughts.
Cant sleep? Helen whispered, peeking in.
No, I admitted, sitting up. What did you and Stephen talk about?
Nothing extraordinary, she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Just work, Olivers visit.
I pressed, Are you both really okay?
She smiled oddly. Were fine. Life tosses us surprises, even after fifty. We just have to decide what to do with them.
Good or bad? I asked.
Both, she replied, smoothing my hair. Dont worry too early. Youll find out soon enough.
She kissed my forehead and left, leaving me with a lingering feeling that perhaps I was finally on the brink of understanding them.
The next morning we all piled into the car and headed out. The further we drove from London, the more animated Stephen and Helen became, chatting about neighbours, experimental crops, the sauna Stephen built himself, and Helens newfound love for canning.
When the road turned from tarmac to a quiet lane, Helen turned to me.
Weve wanted to tell you this for ages, especially now were moving for good. We feared your reaction.
We thought youd laugh at us, city retirees playing farmer, Stephen added, chuckling.
I wouldnt laugh, I whispered.
We get that now, Helen said. Youre grown, and we should have trusted you more.
The car stopped at the gate of a sprawling plot topped by a charming timber house.
Welcome to our real home, Stephen said, turning off the engine. Ready to meet our secret life?
I nodded, opened the car door, and was hit by the fresh scent of grass and blossoms. Cows lowed in the distance, chickens clucked, and the buzz of bees drifted on the breeze. Oliver was already unloading bags, grinning.
I still cant believe you kept a whole farm hidden from me, I muttered, shaking my head. But you know what? I like it.
Helen pulled me into a hug. Were glad you do.
The house even has a spare room for you, Stephen added. If you ever want a weekend retreat.
Or a summer stay? he suggested.
I smiled. Well discuss it, but first, show me the bees. I want to know what made you trade city life for country.
We walked down the garden path, and for the first time I felt Id gained more than an answer to a family mysteryId discovered a whole new world that might have a place for me too.
Lesson learned: sometimes the truth is hidden in plain sight, and the courage to face it can open doors to lives we never imagined.
