Oh, my dears, if only you knew the life I’ve lived… Here I sit now in this care home, listening to the clock tick, and before my eyes—like a film reel—plays that day when my heart truly broke for the first time.
I remember arriving back in my hometown. The train stopped, and I struggled to step off with that heavy twin pram—no easy feat. Then an older gentleman, proper as they used to be, came over. Helped me down with the pram and even carried my bag. Blue for the boy, pink for the girl, their little faces like mirror images.
I thanked him and said, “No need to go further, someone’s meeting me.” And sure enough, my friend Jenny came running, heels skidding on the icy platform! Out of breath, she gasped, “Sorry I’m late!” We hugged, she grabbed the bag, and muttered, “How’s someone as slight as you lugging all this?” I just smiled. “No choice, are there? They’re mine.”
Then Jenny, eyeing the twins slyly, said, “They’re the spitting image of your Isaacs.” And inside, it cut like a knife—that name still burns. Coldly, I replied, “They’ve a different father.” She didn’t believe me, pressed for answers. But I stayed silent. Some truths aren’t meant to be known.
The truth was this… I’d just found out I was pregnant. Twins! After years of heartache and doctors saying “near impossible,” it felt like mercy. I rushed home to surprise my husband. He was meant to be away, but there he was. I opened the door and… there they were. My younger sister Lucy and my Daniel. Naked, tangled, asleep like I once was with him.
I stood frozen. Lucy even looked me in the eye—knew I’d seen everything. Don’t recall how I left. Just remember the ultrasound photo in my pocket and the cold that had nothing to do with winter.
No scenes. Just shut the door and walked. Swore I’d never forgive. Never tell a soul about the twins—they’d be mine alone.
The pregnancy was hard, but I held on. Isaacs kept calling, confused, desperate. I lied and said I’d moved on with someone else. Let him think what he liked. Lucy moved in with him soon after, playing house.
I left, started over far away. The twins saved me.
That day with Jenny, we were nearly at the taxi when the pram wheel caught, slamming into a parked Land Rover. I checked the twins—safe—then heard, “Susannah?” Looked up, and there he was. My ex.
And d’you know how my chest tightened? Some wounds never heal, no matter the years. So here I am, old among the old, wondering—if things had gone differently, maybe this age would feel warmer. But some choices leave you cold forever.