**Tears in the Kitchen: A Family Drama Shrouded in Secrets**
William returned from work to his modest flat in the quiet outskirts of Leeds and found his wife in tears. Margaret, usually composed and strong, sat on the sofa with her face buried in her hands, her shoulders trembling with sobs.
“What’s wrong?” William asked anxiously, dropping his briefcase on the floor.
Margaret only waved him off, stood abruptly, and hurried to the kitchen, where she began clattering pots and pans as she prepared supper. William followed, unease tightening in his chest, and sat at the table, trying to catch her eye.
“Margaret, what’s happened? Speak to me!” His voice trembled with worry.
“Oh, what’s the use?” she muttered irritably, keeping her back to him as she stirred the pot. “Emily came by. She told me something.”
“What did she say? Out with it!” William leaned forward, his pulse racing.
Margaret sighed deeply, wiped her hands on her apron, and finally met his gaze. Her eyes were red and swollen.
William repeated his question, but his voice faltered this time, shadowed by dread. Margaret, as if bracing herself, began to speak.
“Emily—James’s wife—visited. She said our son… has a child with another woman.”
William went still, as if struck. James and Emily had long lived like cats and dogs—their quarrels were nothing new. William had even taken James’s side at times, thinking Emily too demanding. But for James to father a child outside his marriage? That was beyond understanding. He stared at Margaret, unable to believe it.
“Are you certain? Or is Emily just suspecting?” he rasped.
“James confessed it to her himself,” Margaret answered, her voice cracking. “Said he has a daughter.”
“A daughter? His?” William clenched his fists, struggling to grasp it.
Margaret nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
“I don’t know the details!” she burst out, turning back to the stove. “James told her the child is frail—always ill. That’s why he finally confessed.”
“Good Lord…” William exhaled heavily, his chest tight with pain. “I’ll talk to him. Man to man.”
“And what will you say?” Margaret spun around, her eyes blazing with anger and despair.
“I’ll tell him to end this farce! Either he makes a proper life with his wife or—”
“They’re filing for divorce!” Margaret cut in, her voice breaking into a shout.
William sank onto the chair as if the air had been knocked out of him. Divorce? The word struck like another blow. He shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts.
“I’ll still speak to him,” he insisted stubbornly. “This is beyond the pale!”
“I already did,” Margaret admitted, lowering her eyes. “As soon as Emily left, I called him.”
“And what did he say?” William leaned in, his voice shaking with fury.
“Told us not to worry. Said everything would be fine.” Margaret gave a bitter laugh.
“Fine?!” William exploded. “He abandons his wife, fathers a child out of wedlock, and calls it fine? Who does he think he is?”
Margaret turned away suddenly, and William heard quiet weeping. She was crying again, standing over the stove where something sizzled in the pan.
“Margaret, love?” he said, his tone softening. “What now? Tears won’t help.”
“James said his little girl was born weak,” she choked out. “Always sick. That’s why he wants to be with her—to help.”
William gritted his teeth.
“So that’s it…” he groaned. “A reckoning for his sins, God forgive him…”
“Don’t say that!” Margaret whirled around, eyes flashing. “How can you? It’s a child!”
“All right, all right, calm down,” William stood and awkwardly embraced her. “Tears won’t mend this. Blast it, I wish I’d taken a belt to James when he was a lad… Too late now. Should’ve raised him better.”
Margaret buried her face in his shoulder, still weeping.
“What do we do now, William?” she whispered. “How do we bear this? Am I meant to love that girl when all I feel is resentment?”
“Resentment? Why?” William frowned.
“Because she’s the reason everything’s fallen apart! James is leaving Emily for her—for her illness!” Margaret’s voice trembled.
“The child isn’t to blame—James is,” William said firmly. “And truth be told, there’s been no joy between him and Emily for years. Three years married, always fighting. At least they’ve no children of their own…” He trailed off, then shook his head. “Strange, though, Margaret. They’ve none, yet he’s fathered one elsewhere. So perhaps the fault lies with Emily after all?”
“She was checked by doctors!” Margaret defended. “They said there’s no reason she couldn’t conceive!”
“Doctors said, yet another woman bore his child,” William muttered darkly. “A sickly one, at that… Never mind. We’ll see her right.”
“What?” Margaret pulled back. “We will?”
“We’ll nurse her to health!” he declared. “Remember my grandmother saying my mother was born frail? Nearly died. And she lived past eighty! Must run in the blood. How old’s the girl?”
“Eighteen months,” Margaret whispered.
William’s brow furrowed. “Eighteen months? How long’s James been keeping two families? Bloody hell… What’s her name?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.”
“And the woman?”
“Wouldn’t say that either.”
“Then we’ll have them all over,” William decided. “James, the woman, and the child.”
“Why?” Margaret gasped. “He’s not even divorced yet! How can we?”
“I’ll not wait for them to sort their mess,” William said sharply, eyes glinting strangely. “And ring James, Margaret. Ask the woman’s name.”
“Why?”
“Something’s come to mind,” he said vaguely. “A bit of the uncanny… Hard to credit, but before my mother passed, she said something odd.”
“What?” Margaret eyed him warily. “She didn’t know us at the end—just rambled. Nonsense, surely?”
“Tell me the woman’s name, and I’ll tell you. Ring him.”
Reluctantly, Margaret dialed their son’s number, putting it on speaker so William could hear.
“Yes, Mum?” James answered.
“James, your father wants to know… the woman’s name.”
“Why’s he asking?” James sounded wary.
“Tell me!” William barked. “I’ll do her no harm!”
“It’s… Victoria,” James muttered.
William’s eyes widened, and he nodded slowly, as though confirming something to himself. Margaret ended the call and stared at her husband, uneasy.
“Then I was right,” he murmured. “Seems my mother had moments of clarity before she went. Days before, she took my hand and said something mad… Thought it was delirium. But now I understand.”
“What did she say?” Margaret pressed.
“She said, ‘You and James mustn’t wrong Victoria. In a year and a half, she’ll birth me anew.’ You see? Eighteen months ago, that girl was born. My mother died three years back. And the child’s weak, just as she was. Now tell me—who is that girl?”
“Who?” Margaret’s voice was faint with horror.
“Could be my mother,” William smiled suddenly. “Come back to us.”
“William, have you lost your mind?” Margaret cried.
“Why not?” He laughed. “They say souls return. Mother must’ve known. In her last days, she wasn’t here—already halfway to heaven. Maybe they told her who’d bear her next. This Victoria!”
“William, stop it!” Margaret jumped up. “That’s impossible!”
“Possible or not, we can’t know for sure,” he said cheerfully. “But I believe it now—that girl’s no accident. She’s heaven’s gift to us!”
“What gift?” Margaret stared at him as if he were mad.
But William only laughed, repeating, “Say what you will, Margaret, but I believe it! She’s heaven’s gift! I know it! A gift! From heaven!”