Emily just uploaded a picture from the family holiday, and an hour later her sisterinlaw Claire calls, sobbing.
Look at this, isnt it lovely! Emily says, curled up on the sofa, thumbing through the photos on her tablet. James, check out how funny we look with Oliver!
James, her husband, pulls his eyes away from the spreadsheet of the household budget he meticulously updates each month and leans over her shoulder.
Not bad, he nods, but his gaze is more worried than delighted. The spending this month the seaside was great, but weve made a sizable hole in the budget.
James, we havent gone anywhere all year! We saved up for this. You even said we needed a break and to get the kids to the sea, Emily snaps, pursing her lips.
Yeah, I said that. But saying it is one thing, seeing the numbers is another, he sighs. Fine. Next month well tighten the belt. Olivers summer camp will have to be cancelled; we cant afford it.
How can we cancel it? Emily asks, upset. Hes been looking forward to ithiking, kayaking
Dont worry. Hell stay at his grans cottage, get some fresh air. Itll be good for him. Lets not argue, Ive decided.
Emily falls silent. Arguing about money with James is pointless. Hes a caring, reliable husband and father, but when it comes to finances hes as hard as a rock. Every penny counts. Hes proud of their safety cushion, the account they keep for unexpected expenses. Even though Emily sometimes complains that the cushion is too stiff, deep down she appreciates his prudence and planning.
She picks the best shot, in her opinion: the three of themEmily, James and twelveyearold Oliverstanding on a promenade, sunkissed and smiling, with the blue sea behind them and a white paddle steamer drifting in the distance. The perfect family picture. She hits publish on her socialmedia page and types simply, Our little slice of southern happiness.
Within minutes the likes and comments roll in: Stunning!, You all look great!, Where did you go? Emily answers with a grin, feeling the warm buzz of virtual attention.
An hour passes. Shes already forgotten about the photo and is preparing dinner when the phone rings. The screen shows Claire. Emily is pleased; she and her sisterinlaw get along famously.
Claire, hi! How are you?
Instead of the usual bright tone, Emily hears suppressed sobbing.
Emily is it true? Claire hiccups.
Whats true? Whats happened, Claire? Why are you crying?
The photo the one on the internet Is it a fake?
A fake? Its just a holiday snap. Explain, youre scaring me!
Look in the background, near the steamer a man in a white shirt Is that him? Is that David?
Emilys heart skips. DavidJamess best mate, the husband of her friend Helen. He died three years ago in a terrible crash on the M1, the car burned to the ground, buried in a sealed coffin. It was a huge blow to everyone. James went pale, aged ten years in an instant. Helen, his widow, still struggles, raising their daughter alone, scraping by penny by penny.
No, Davids dead! Youre imagining things, Emily says, frantic.
Dont! I recognise him! The mole on his neck, his watch! Emily, please look closely!
Emily drops the knife, wipes her hands, and rushes to the tablet. She zooms in. Past their smiling faces, the background shows a group by the steamer. A man in a white shirt and light trousers stands halfturned, talking to a woman holding a little girls hand. She zooms further. The picture is grainy, but the shoulders, the slight tilt of the head, the watch on his wristthey match the ones the whole office gave James and David for their thirtieth birthdays. And the dark spot on the neck, just visible under the collar.
Its him. David. Alive. Healthy. And, apparently, happy with another woman and another child.
The world spins. Emily slumps onto a chair, stunned. This cant be real; it feels like a cruel prank.
You see? Claire cries over the line. Hes alive and Helen has been grinding for three years, working three jobs, pulling her daughter through. And he just ran off! How could he?
I I dont know, Claire Ill call you back.
Emily hangs up, staring at the photo, at her own smiling face. How foolish shes been, how blind.
Then her brain, still numb from shock, starts piecing together the puzzle.
Jamess monthly transfers. He always said he was sending money to his elderly aunt in York, Shes struggling, her pension isnt enough, we have to help family. Emily never questioned it.
His hushed phone calls, always retreating to another room, speaking in clipped tones: Yeah, got it. No, she doesnt know. Dont worry. She assumed it was work.
His sudden stinginess that began exactly three years ago, the constant We must save, the refusal to buy Oliver a camp place.
She realises the truth: the aunt wasnt being helped. The money was going to his dead friend. James was complicit in the monstrous deception, siphoning family funds, depriving his own son of joy to bankroll Davids new, secret life.
The front door opens. James walks in, cheerful.
Hey! Whats that wonderful smell? he asks, entering the kitchen.
He sees her pale face, the tablet on the table, and stops. He watches her eyes fixed on the screen.
Something wrong? he asks, his voice suddenly tense.
Yes, James, she says slowly, her eyes cold, devoid of tears. Your sister called. She asked about Aunt Linda from York. She must be missing you.
What does Aunt Linda have to do with this? James frowns, confused.
Turns out shes settled nicely down south, near the coast, even looks younger, Emily says, turning the tablet toward him. Only now shes called herself David.
He glances at the enlarged image. His face flickers grey for a split second. He understands.
Emily, Ill explain
No, she cuts him off. I dont want your lies. How much did you send him over the past three years? £100,000? £200,000? A million? How much did you steal from us, from me, from our son?
I didnt steal! I helped a friend! He was in debt, theyd have killed him! Disappearing was the only way to start over!
And Helen? Her daughter? Theyre not in trouble?! she shouts. His wife thought she was a widow at twentyeight! His daughter growing up without a dad! Did you think of them when you funded this scoundrels fresh start?!
Irina is strong, shell manage, James says hoarsely. David had no choice.
Theres always a choice, James! Emily erupts, her fist pounding the table like a gunshot. You chose him over us! You lied to me every day! Every time you said we couldnt afford Olivers camp, you were lying! Every time I patched his jeans because we couldnt afford new ones, you were lying! You made me an accomplice to your deception!
James bows his head, mute.
I need to know one thing, her voice drops to a whisper. Our seaside trip we didnt end up in this town by accident, did we? You wanted to see him?
He nods slowly.
Thats the last straw. The whole little happiness was just a cover for his secret meeting. Emily and Oliver were merely props in his other mans drama.
She grabs her phone, her fingers trembling, and dials.
Who are you calling? James asks nervously.
To wherever truth still lives, she replies.
On the other end, a sobbing but composed Claire speaks.
Claire, put Helen on.
Emily, maybe we shouldnt she
Its necessary. She has to know. Weve lived a lie too long.
James watches, horrified, as the phone passes between them. He knows whats about to happen, that his secret and his whole life are about to crumble. He steps forward, trying to snatch the device.
Dont, Emily hisses, her eyes icy with fury.
A weary voice of Helen comes through.
Yes, Im listening.
Emily takes a deep breath.
Helen, hello. We need to talk. Its about David.
She sits at the table, back to the man frozen in the doorway. She doesnt know what tomorrow holdsdivorce, splitting assets, Olivers tearsbut right now she does the only thing she must: return the stolen truth to the woman whose whole life was robbed. It marks the beginning of her own freedom.
Sometimes a single, innocent photograph can shatter the illusion of a happy life and expose a terrifying reality. If this story makes you think, give it a like and subscribe. And tell us in the comments: do you think James ever had a justification?
