**Diary Entry Emily Whitaker**
*16th October 2023*
Emily Catherine, your father he passed this morning
The words from Margaret Bennetts trembling voice struck me like a blow. My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles paled.
What happened? I asked, barely recognising my own voice.
His heart gave out. Edward James Whitaker died peacefully in his sleep.
Fifteen years. Thats how long it had been since Id last seen my father, heard his voice. Now, I never would again.
The journey from Manchester back to my hometown in Yorkshire took three hours. With every mile, memories surfacedfamiliar lanes, weathered cottages, the crisp scent of autumn. Everything was exactly as Id left it.
The house stood silent. On the doorstep waited a woman in her forties, fair-haired, dressed in black. Beside her stood a lanky boy with my fathers sharp blue eyes.
You must be Emily? she said softly. Im Charlotte. This is Thomasyour brother.
The word *brother* hung strangely in the air. I had a sibling Id never known.
Mum told me I had a sister, Thomas said, studying me with open curiosity. Is it true you ran away at fifteen?
Thomas! Charlotte scolded. Come inside, Emily. Margarets waiting.
The house smelled of fresh baking and sorrow. Margaret sat at the kitchen tableolder, but as brisk as ever.
Emily, love, she embraced me. Youve gone too thin. Arent you eating properly?
Im fine, Margaret.
Where are you working now?
At a hotelfront desk.
Charlottes brow lifted slightly.
A hotel? I thought youd left to study, build a career.
There was no judgementjust confusion. Still, my chest tightened.
Your father asked about you often, Margaret murmured. He was proud you made your own way.
*Proud?* Bitterness crept into my voice. After he threw me out?
He didnt throw you out, Margaret corrected sharply. You leftafter that row.
Charlotte exchanged a glance with Thomas and stood.
Well visit the neighbourstheres still arrangements to make. You two talk.
Once theyd gone, Margaret poured tea and sat opposite me.
Tell me about Daniel, I said. What really happened?
She sighed.
Your father had his reasons for disapproving. Daniel Hartley was stealing car parts from the garage and selling them. At first, Edward suspected the ladsthen he found out it was him.
Why didnt he *tell* me?
He feared you wouldnt believe him. A fifteen-year-old in love sees her father as a tyrant meddling in her life.
I stayed quiet, absorbing it.
What became of Daniel?
Six months after you left, he was caught. Served a year in prison, then moved away. No ones seen him since.
The funeral was the next day. So many camemy father had been well-respected. Afterwards, only family remained.
The solicitors coming tomorrow, Charlotte said as she cleared teacups. Mr. Pembroke will read the will.
Why not today?
Your father wanted to waituntil you returned.
I was stunned. Had he *known* Id come? Or simply hoped?
That evening, we sat together in the kitchen. Thomas did his homework; Charlotte ironed shirts. A normal family lifeone I didnt belong in.
What was Father like, these past years? I asked.
Charlotte paused.
A good husband. A devoted father. Hardworking, honest. But sadespecially on your birthday, or Christmas. Hed say, I wonder how my Emilys celebrating.
Mum, Thomas piped up, why didnt Dad ever tell me about Emily?
He did. You were just too young.
Then why didnt she visit?
Charlotte looked at me.
Perhaps you should ask *her* that.
Pride, I admitted. Stupid, childish pride.
The next morning, Mr. Pembroke arriveda lean man in his sixties, stern in his tweed suit. Behind him was Geoffrey Thornton, my fathers business partner.
Emily! He beamed. Youre the image of your motherjust as lovely!
I shook his hand but couldnt smile. Something in his tone unsettled me.
The solicitor laid out documents.
We shall now read the last will and testament of Edward James Whitaker.
His voice was detached, formal. The house and garage went to the family. Then came the shock.
The sum of £250,000, held in trust at Barclays Bank, is bequeathed to Emily Catherine Whitaker.
Silence. Charlotte went pale. Geoffreys smile vanished. Thomas looked confused.
A *quarter of a million?* I repeated. Where did Father get that?
Savings from the garage and investments over fifteen years, Mr. Pembroke explained. The account was opened in your name at birth.
Thats *outrageous!* Geoffrey stood abruptly. That money should go to his *family!* He has a wife, a son!
The will is legally binding, the solicitor replied coolly.
Charlotte stayed silent, but pain flickered in her eyes.
Mrs. Whitaker, Mr. Pembroke added, your husband left you a letter.
Her hands trembled as she unfolded it. Her expression shifted as she read.
What does it say? I asked.
That this money was always meant for you. He hoped youd returnwanted you to have a fresh start. For Thomas and me, theres the house, the garage, and another account with £50,000.
Geoffrey flushed red.
What about our *partnership?* Half that garage is *mine!* And part of that money!
Do you have proof of that? Mr. Pembroke asked.
Of course! Edward and I built that business together!
Once the solicitor left, the argument erupted. Geoffrey demanded his share; Charlotte tried to mediate; Thomas shrank into silence.
Emily, you cant take *everything*, Geoffrey insisted. Think of your familyyour responsibilities.
*What* family? I shot back. Fifteen years ago, I walked out with *nothing!*
Lower your voice, Charlotte cut in. Thomas can hear you.
Guilt twisted in me. The boys wide eyes were fixed on us.
Sorry, I murmured. Grown-ups argue sometimes. Its not as bad as it sounds.
Thomas nodded, but the worry didnt leave his face.
That night, after Geoffrey left, the three of us remained. Charlotte put Thomas to bed; I wandered the house, touching familiar things.
On Fathers desk lay a folder labelled *Emily*. Inside were dozens of lettersall addressed to me, none ever sent.
*My dearest Emily, today you turned sixteen. Margaret says youre doing well. Im so proud*
*Two years have passed. Every day, I wondershould I have explained about Daniel, instead of just forbidding you?*
*Ive opened an account for you. Every month, I set money aside. When you come home, its yours to do with as you wish*
The letters painted a portrait of a father who loved fiercely but didnt know how to bridge the gap. Hed kept tabs on my life through mutual friends, celebrated my small victories, fretted over my struggles.
One passage undid me:
*Geoffrey insists we invest your money into expanding the garage. He promises high returns. But this money isnt for businessits for you. So you can forgive this old fool and begin anew.*
Tears blurred the page. So much time wasted. So many words unspoken.
Emily? Charlotte called from the kitchen.
I wiped my eyes and joined her. She sipped tea, watching me.
Couldnt sleep?
I found Fathers letters.
She nodded. He wrote one every month. I offered to post them, but hed say, Not yet. Emily isnt ready to forgive me.
And how do *you* feel? About him leaving me everything?
She hesitated.
At first, I was hurt. I thought of Thomass futurehis education, our needs. But then I understood: your father was fair. Thomas inherits the house and business. Youhe gave a chance to start over. You left with nothing.
But *£250,000*
For fifteen years, he denied himselfno new car, no holidays, no renovations. All for *you.*
The next day, Geoffrey returned, clutching a folder.
Emily, look, he spread papers across the table. Our partnership agreement. Half the profits are rightfully mine.
I scanned the documents. Legally, he *did* have
