BLOOD RUNS THICKER
“Emma, as your husband, Ill set one condition. Lets forget this ridiculous fling with that eager young lover of yours. But I ask one thinggive me a son.” Id never sounded so pathetic.
“Alright, James, Ill try,” my wife agreed hesitantly. The arrangement weighed heavily on her.
Emma and I had three daughters: twelve-year-old Charlotte, nine-year-old Sophie, and eight-year-old Lily. Where this twenty-year-old upstart, Daniel, came from, Ill never understand. He tore my life apart. They say its not the years that age you, but the grief
The girls were confused. Their mother, once warm and attentive, had become distant, overly groomed, like a ghost. The house fell into neglectdust gathered in thick layers, dishes sat unwashed, and my temper frayed. I didnt know how to bring her back.
It started six months earlier. A chance meeting on a cruise ship. Emma had taken the girls to the seaside and returned distracted, speaking absently, looking right through me. The girls noticedshe no longer smothered them in hugs. Something felt off, but I held my tongue. The truth would hurt too much.
“Daddy, Mummy spent the whole holiday holding hands with Daniel,” Sophie blurted one day.
“Tell me more, love,” I said, forcing calm.
“He was always with us. Made her laugh. Even saw us off at the station. Handsome, stylish. Younger than you.” Her words shattered me.
Surely it was just a holiday romance. Why would a young rake chase a thirty-year-old woman with three children? Plenty of girls his age on the promenade. But I was wrong.
Emma and Daniel fell deeply in love. No pleading, no guilt over the children could save our marriage. My peace was gone.
She did give me a sonWilliambut he never knew me as his father. I barely saw him. Daniel raised him. Emma took the boy and left for good. I was left with the girls. At times, I wished to end it all.
“Daddy, if Mummys gone, well cook, clean, and iron for you,” Lily said, wiping my tears. It was the only time I broke down.
I pulled myself together. Three young ladies depended on me. I taught them how to run a homesometimes harshly, but the house became clean again. Charlotte loved washing up, Sophie swept, Lily dusted. I managed the cooking.
Emma visited occasionally, but it only hurt. The girls wept for days afterward. So I asked her to stay away.
“James, I love them. Youd have me abandon them for your sake?” she argued.
“No, Emma, for theirs. If you love them, let them grow before they choose to see you.”
She kissed them goodbye and left.
As teens, the girls despised their mother and William. I think they envied himhe had the mother theyd lost.
But time softened their anger. When they marriedCharlotte and Sophie with four children each, Lily with threethey became forgiving mothers themselves, determined to do better.
I live alone. There have been women, but I called them all Emma. None stayed. The past cant be undone.
Emma passed at sixty. A week before, she came to me, tearful, begging forgiveness. She confessed her griefWilliam had come out as transgender, undergone surgeries, and was now living as a woman named Willow.
Her will shocked everyone. Daniel, a wealthy businessman, had transferred everything to her, trusting her completely. But Emma left him nothingher estate went to the girls and Willow.
The girls offered it all to me. “You deserve it, Dad.”
I refused. That money burned my hands. I passed it to my grandchildren.
Daniel went bankrupt, begging my daughters for help. They turned him away. “You stole our mother. Now go.”
Willow married an Italian named Roberto. They plan to adopt. Lily keeps in touch, but Charlotte and Sophie want nothing to do with her.
This all happened in England, where Id brought my family for a better life.
