Twice a week, my father would leave the house for hours at a time, returning full of energy and in the highest spirits. Soon, his secret was revealed.
I was only ten, my older brother twelve. He spent his days playing outside, while I helped Mum with chores. Dad worked long hours at the factory, often coming home late in the evening. Mum would set the table, and wed sit down for supper. Then, without a word, Dad would slip on his polished leather shoes, linger before the mirror, and vanish out the door. Mums eyes burned with silent fury as she stared after him. I wonderedwhere did he go? Why did it upset her so? Later, hed return, humming cheerfully. One night, I finally asked Mum why she was so angry when he left.
She said, *”Hes got another woman.”*
I refused to believe it. Id seen the way he adored Mumhed never betray her. The next time he left, I followed. He strode toward the grand facade of the Royal Opera House and disappeared inside. My heart poundedshould I go in? Then, a hand touched my shoulder. I turned to see a stunning woman. The famous soprano, Elizabeth Harrow. She smiled, and before I knew it, I was inside.
The auditorium was packed. And there, beneath the golden lights, stood my fatheron stage. I never knew he was an opera singer. His voice soared, rich and powerful, filling the hall. Tears pricked my eyes as I sat in the back row. When he finished, the crowd erupted. Flowers were tossed at his feet.
Afterwards, we walked through Hyde Park together, laughing under the streetlamps. When we got home, I whispered to Mum, *”He doesnt have a mistress. He sings at the theatre.”*
She smiled softly and whispered back, *”I know.”*
