Emma had just tossed a picture of their recent family break onto the internet when, an hour later, her brotherinlaws sister called, sobbing.
Look at this cutie! Emma said, curling her legs under her on the sofa and flicking through the snaps on her tablet. James, check out how funny we look with Harry!
James, her husband, snapped his attention away from the spreadsheet of their household budget the one he updated with obsessive precision each month and leaned over her shoulder.
Not bad, he said, though his eyes were more worried than delighted. The expenses this month the sea was wonderful, but its left a pretty big hole in the purse.
James, we havent gone anywhere all year! Emma pouted. Weve been saving for this. You were the one who kept saying we needed to get the kids to the coast.
Yeah, I said that. Its one thing to talk, another to look at the numbers, he sighed. Fine, well tighten the belt next month. Harrys summer camp will have to go we cant afford it.
What? Cancel it? Emmas face fell. Hed been looking forward to it! The hike, the kayaking
Itll be fine, James shrugged. He can stay at Grandmas cottage, get some fresh air. Better for him. Lets not argue Ive made the decision.
Emma fell silent. Debating money with James was a lost cause. He was a devoted husband and dad, reliable as a postbox, but when it came to cash he was as solid as a rock. Every penny was accounted for. He was proud of their safety cushion, the separate savings account theyd built for unexpected expenses. Emma sometimes complained that the cushion was too firm, but deep down she respected his prudence.
She chose the best shot, in her opinion: the three of them Emma, James, and their twelveyearold son Harry standing on the promenade, sunkissed and smiling, bright blue sea behind them and a white paddle steamer glinting in the distance. Perfect family postcard. She hit publish on her social media page and added the caption: Our little southern bliss.
Within minutes the likes and comments poured in: Stunning!, You look radiant!, Where did you go? Emma replied with a grin, feeling the warm glow of virtual compliments.
An hour later, shed almost forgotten the post, busy chopping veg for dinner, when the phone rang. The screen read Sophie Jamess sister. Emma was pleased; she and Sophie got on like a house on fire.
Hey, Soph! Hows it going? she chirped.
Instead of Sophs usual bright tone, Emma heard a sobbing mess.
Emma is it is it real? Sophie sniffed.
What do you mean? Whats happening, Sophie?
The photo online Is it a fake? Sophie wailed.
A fake? Its just a holiday snap. Explain, please, youre scaring me!
In the background, by the steamer theres a man in a white shirt Is that him? Is that David?
Emmas heart did a doubletake. David Jamess best mate, the husband of their mutual friend Claire had died three years earlier in a horrific crash on the M6. The car went up in flames, his body was laid to rest in a sealed coffin. The loss had knocked James flat; he aged a decade overnight. Claire, his widow, was still scraping by, raising her little girl alone, pennytopenny.
David is dead, Sophie! You must be seeing things.
No! I recognise him! The mole on his neck, the watch! Emma, please look closely! Sophie shouted.
Emma ripped her hands off the dishcloth, rushed to the tablet, opened the picture and zoomed in. Her eyes skimmed past the smiling family, straight to the distant steamer. A small group stood there, and among them a man in a white shirt and light trousers, turned halfaway, chatting with a woman who held a little girls hand.
She zoomed further. The image was grainy, but the shoulders, the slight tilt of the head, the watch on his wrist the very watch theyd all gifted James and David for their thirtieth birthdays were unmistakable. And that dark spot on his neck, just peeking from under his collar, was the mole.
It was him. David. Alive. Well. And apparently happy, with another woman and another child.
The world tilted. Emma sank onto a chair, feeling as if shed stepped onto a stage for a cruel prank.
You see? Sophie sobbed. Hes alive And Claires been struggling for three years, working three jobs, raising her daughter alone! And he he just ran off! How could he?
I I dont know, Sophie Ill call you back.
Emma hung up, eyes glued to the photo of her own beaming face. How could she have been so blind?
Then the pieces started to click. Jamess monthly transfers. Hed claimed they went to his elderly aunt in York because her pension was short. Emma had never questioned it aunt, auntie, who knows. The hushed phone calls James made, slipping into another room and speaking in clipped tones: Yes, got it. No, she doesnt know. Dont worry. Hed said it was workrelated. The sudden stinginess that had appeared about three years ago the relentless we must save, no extra spending, the refusal to fund Harrys camp all now made a grim picture.
He wasnt helping an aunt. Hed been funneling money to his dead friends secret life, to keep Davids new existence afloat. Hed been a coconspirator in a monstrous lie, stealing from his own family to fund a second chance for a traitor.
The front door creaked open. James stepped in, humming.
Hey! Whats that lovely smell? he said brightly, heading for the kitchen.
He spotted Emmas pale face, the tablet on the table, and stopped dead. He followed her gaze to the screen.
Everything alright? he asked, his voice tighter than before.
Its happened, James, Emma said slowly, her eyes devoid of tears, only cold steel. Your sister called, asking about Aunt Lucy from York. Turns out shes doing fine down south, by the sea. In fact, shes called David now. You know why?
She turned the tablet toward him. For a split second his face went ashen. He understood.
Emma, Ill explain he began.
Dont, she cut him off. Im not interested in your lies any more. How much did you send him over the past three years? A hundred grand? Two hundred? A million? How much did you steal from us? From me? From our son?
I didnt steal! James snapped. I was helping a friend! He was in debt, they wouldve killed him! The only way out was to disappear, start over!
What about Claire? What about her daughter, little Anya? Shes been left a widow at twentyeight! Did you think of them when you were feeding this scoundrels new life?
Claires strong, shell manage, James muttered. David had no choice.
Everyone always has a choice, James! Emma lunged, her fist thudding the table like a gunshot. You chose him over us! You lied every day! Every time you said we couldnt afford Harrys 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 deceit!
James stared at the floor, speechless.
I need to know one thing, Emma whispered hoarsely. Our sea trip we didnt end up in this town by accident, did we? You wanted to see him?
He gave a slow nod.
That was the final straw. The whole little southern bliss had been a cover for his secret rendezvous. Emma, Harry, and the picture were merely scenery in someone elses drama.
She fumbled for her phone, fingers trembling, and dialed.
Who are you calling? James asked, tension in his voice.
To the place where truth still lives, Emma replied.
On the other end, Sophies voice, still shaking, managed to say, Emma, can we can we let Claire know?
Yes, Emma said. She needs to hear it. Weve been living a lie for far too long.
James watched her, horror dawning, as he realised his world was about to crumble. He reached for the phone, but Emma pulled it back.
Dont touch it, she hissed, her eyes flashing cold fury.
A weary voice came through from Claires side of the line.
Yes, Im listening.
Emma took a deep breath.
Claire, hello. We need to talk. Its about David.
She sat down, her back to James, who now stood frozen in the doorway. She didnt know what tomorrow would bring divorce, split assets, a sons tears but she was doing the only thing she could: returning the stolen truth to the woman whose life had been robbed. It was the first step in her own liberation.
Sometimes a single, innocent photo can shatter the illusion of a perfect life and expose a frightening reality. If this tale made you pause, give it a like and subscribe. And tell us in the comments: does James have any excuse for what he did?
