The Illusion
Working at the Royal Academy of Music, Emily had never cared for anything but music. That had been her life since childhoodjust her mum and the piano. At twenty-eight, she wasnt married. Shed dated a colleague once, but it didnt work outtoo complicated when both were talented, each lost in their own world.
But for the last three months, shed been seeing Oliver, a solicitor. Theyd met by chance in a café near the academy. She hadnt wanted to go homeher mother had passed away recently, and the flat was too quiet, too lonely.
«You look sad,» Oliver had said, sliding into the chair opposite her, coffee in hand. «Im Oliver. And you?»
She was beautiful, distant. He had to know her.
«Emily,» shed replied softly, offering a faint smile.
Since then, theyd been seeing each other. Oliver often stayed over, even proposed, but shed hesitated.
«I cant say yes yet, Ollie. Ive only just lost Mum.»
Her mother had raised her alone. Emily had never known her fatherwho he was, where hed gone. Shed never asked. She knew it pained her mother to speak of him, so she never pried. And then Mum was gone. The grief and loneliness crushed her. Sometimes she wonderedshould she try to find him?
«I dont even know how to feel about it,» she confessed to Oliver. «Ive never met him. What if he doesnt want me?»
Emily had lived with her mother, blissfully unaware of bills, taxes, anything practical. Mum handled it all while she lost herself in music. Her mother had warned her
«Emily, love, youve got to learn these things. What will you do when Im gone? Youre too dreamy for your own good.»
«But youre brilliant at it, Mum! Why would I bother?» shed laugh.
Life, though, was cruel. It took her mother suddenly. An illness, swift and brutal. The doctors shook their heads.
«Too late to treat her.»
«But she never complained!» Emily sobbed.
«Maybe she was trying to spare you,» the doctor said gently. «But the body always gives signs.»
Oliver was sharp. The first time he visited her flat, he froze. Expensive paintings hung on the wallsthough Emily had never cared for art. Shed grown up with them. But Oliver knew their worth.
In the evenings, she practiced for her next concert while he listenedor pretended to. Hed already realised Emily had assets worth pursuing. He rifled through her mothers documents, letters. The only relative was Aunt Margaret, who lived in Scotland. So he pushed for marriageshe was the sole heir.
It frustrated him that she kept refusing. She barely knew him, and something in her hesitated. But Oliver didnt give up. He waited, nudged. He knew she wanted to find her father.
One day, he met her with news.
«Weve got guests tonight. Lets grab champagne on the way.»
«Guests?» she frowned.
«I found your father.»
«Oliverreally? Where? I always thought he lived abroad or something!»
«Hes here in London.»
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. Oliver answered. A tall, dark-haired man stood there.
«Sweetheart.» He rushed to embrace her. «Ive never seen you. Youre beautiful.» He introduced himself»Robert Thompson.»
Emilys middle name *was* Roberta. They talked.
«Your mother and I split, but she never told me she was pregnant.»
Oliver seized the moment.
«Robert, since everythings worked out so wellmay I ask for Emilys hand?»
Still dazed, Emily blinked.
«If he loves you, Ive no objection,» Robert smiled. «Youve got my blessing.»
From then on, Robert became a regular visitor. But Emily learned little about her parents pasthe claimed it was brief.
She sent wedding invitations to Aunt Margaret and her husband. They arrived earlyMargaret insisted on helping with preparations. One evening, the doorbell rang.
«God, what a journey!» Margaret huffed. «Trains these days!»
They met Oliver. That night, he left earlygiving Emily time with family. Over tea, she admitted:
«Aunt Margaret, I found my father. WellOliver did.»
«Whats his name?»
«Robert Thompson. My middle names Roberta.»
Margaret exchanged a look with her husband.
«Oh, love. Weve a problem.»
«Whats wrong?»
«Your fathers name isnt Robert. Its James. James Wilson. The birth certificate lists no father. Your mother made up the middle name. She never wanted you to know. James is the dean of your old conservatoire.»
«James Wilson? Thatsmy old music professor! Then whos Robert?»
«Well ask Oliver tomorrow. Whys he staging this? Andlove, have you claimed your inheritance yet?»
«Not yet. Ive got to see the solicitor»
«Emily! Wake up! Your mother wasnt poor. Those paintings? Worth a fortune. Our parents left us both plenty. And since weve no children, ours will go to you too.»
She cancelled the wedding.
Emily had been naïve. Now, with her aunts words ringing in her ears, she wonderedwhy had Oliver rushed things?
«Aunt Margaret, does Jamesmy fatherknow about me?»
«No. His mothers to blame. She arranged a better match for him, split them up. Your mother only realised she was pregnant after. James married someone elsea lie about a baby. He saw your mother with you once, assumed shed moved on. She never told him.»
Emily gasped. «James handed me my diploma. He had no idea I was his daughter.»
That evening, Oliver was met with packed bags. Under Margarets glare, he didnt dare argue. Robert vanished.
«I feel relieved,» Emily admitted. «Something always felt off.»
The next night, Margaret grinned.
«Weve a guest.»
«Who now?»
The doorbell rang. Margaret returnedwith James.
«Good Lord,» he breathed. «You look just like me. I had no idea. Margaret told me everything.»
They talked for hours. She learned about her half-brothera soldier, living abroad.
«Only you inherited my love of music,» James smiled. «Im so proud.»
From then on, they visited her mothers grave together. He introduced his wife, Gracekind, welcoming. Later, she met her brother on leave.
A year later, Emily married Williama friends son, an economics lecturer. Hed fallen for her instantly.
Margaret approved. «Solid man,» she nodded.
And Emily? Shed never been happier.
