The Cemetery of Forgotten Books

Beautiful Disaster

“You saved me."

I hear a thud. First one, then a second, then more and more.

Splash. Splash.

It sounds like rain. Or tears. And, as I had almost forgotten him, he rocks me back and forth in his arms, whispering quietly, “I never wanted this to happen.”

Briiiing!

With a startled shock, my alarm awakens me from my troubled sleep and I fling my arm out like a reflex action, banging it down on the ‘off’ button of my alarm, cutting off that hateful sound that always signals the beginning of the school day. With a groan, I rub my eyes with my fists, trying to erase the visions of the dream that always seems to follow me around.

The dream. It’s something that has been a part of me for as long as I can remember; ever since I was a small child and I would run into my parents’ room crying, allowing them to hold me tightly until the static, thrilling atmosphere around the dream would disappear. That’s the thing. I never understand the dream. It’s always the same and it’s always incredibly short, but it always leaves me with this thrilling aftertaste that seems to hang to my body long after I have woken. There is always this voice, though the owner of it is always out of my vision. “You saved me.” I wish I knew what they were saved from. And I am always just a small baby, being rocked in the comforting arms of a man, while his tears fall like rain onto my skin. I always try to look up at his face, but I always awaken before I am able to do so. That scares me the most. There is nothing more frightening than having to put your whole trust into a stranger, a complete unknown man. Not just once, but every single time I have this dream.

It would be so easy right now to turn over and snuggle back down under my duvet; back into the comforting warmth below. But by now, the sun has started to peep through my curtains, announcing itself with a warm glow around my room and, with a sigh, I sit up in bed and shrug off the covers. But as I wash, dress, and sort out my things for school that day, the dream lingers over my head, like a storm cloud just waiting to become so heavy that its secrets will start to fall all around me.

**

“Laura, are you even listening to me?”

I look up from my plate of toast and glance at my mum, who is busy unloading the dishwasher. I hadn’t been listening; in my mind I had been replaying the dream again, trying to find some kind of meaning in it. I don’t know why today would any different; why today I would spot the hidden meaning in my dream when I had failed to find one so many times before.

My mum carefully scrutinises my face and then crosses the room to sit down in the chair opposite mine. “Honey, are you ok?” she asks me, the familiar lines of worry etching themselves into her face. “You seem a little…distracted.”

“I had the dream again last night,” I mumble, taking another bite of my breakfast.

“Again?” She sighs deeply.

My mum doesn’t like it when I bring up the dream. As a child I never noticed that, because all I longed for was her comforting embrace, removing all my fears in the same way that a sponge soaks up water. But as I grew older I began to realise that, when I brought up the dream, her eyes would darken ever so slightly, as if a shadow had crossed right behind them. I used to think that shadow was one of concern, since I’m pretty sure that most 18 year olds don’t have to repeat the same dream every few months, or weeks. But now I’m not entirely sure.“And the same thing happened?” my dad questions, looking up from where he sits at the end of the table reading his newspaper. My parents know the details of the dream just as well as I do, and they know that it never changes. But every time I mention that I’ve had the dream again, one of them always feels the need to ask me if it was the exact same events as always. It gets quite annoying actually.

“Yes, dad. The same thing happened. It’s always the same thing. Nothing before it, nothing after it. Just the same passage of events, every single time!” I can feel my frustration building up as the sentence spills from my lips. I grab my glass from beside my plate and down my water, before placing it harder than usual back onto the table. My mum looks at me gently.

“It’s just a dream, Laura. Only a dream,” she says, and I notice that the shadow behind her eyes has gone, leaving only sadness and worry behind. “You shouldn’t let it get to you so much.”

“That’s easy for you to say! You’re not the one who has to experience it all the time, without any reason why it keeps coming back! I mean, why me? What did I ever do?”

For a second, it looks like my mum is on the verge of making a response, but then she looks down at her lap dejectedly.

I scrape back my chair, taking my plate and my now empty glass and, setting them down on the kitchen counter next to the sink, I take a deep breath. I slowly walk to the tall, glass door next to the sink which leads out into our garden and, leaning my head against the cool panels of glass, I close my eyes to try and calm myself down. This is exactly what I’m talking about. After the dream, it always seems like my nerves are on edge. Then I feel the weight of a hand on my shoulder.

“It will be ok, Laura,” says my mum. “None of us know why you’ve always had this dream, but it’s not like its reality, is it? That’s something to be thankful for, at least.”

Turning around, I wrap my arms around her body, burying my head in her embrace as if I could hide myself away in her protection forever. “I’m sorry,” I murmur under my breath.

"I don’t recall there ever being anything to be sorry about, darling,” my mum replies, and when I look up into her eyes they are twinkling, like two stars watching down over me. “Isn’t that right?’

I flash her a smile. “That’s right,” I say, with confidence that I don’t fully have.

“So why don’t you grab your bag? If you’re walking to school today then you’re going to have to leave pretty soon.”

But as I leave the room, what I don’t notice is the look that passes between my parents; a look that suggests that they know more than what they are letting on.

**

“So, if you go and find yourselves a computer, you can get started on your research for the remaining 20 minutes of the class,” says Mr Lauden, his eager expression the exact opposite of our glum ones. “There should be enough computers in this room for one per person, so you can focus entirely on your own research.”

We are sitting in my Carousel lesson, otherwise known as the most pointless class in the syllabus. We never seem to cover anything of any relevance to our other classes and the topics are always so random; they range from things such as the running of Parliament, bullying and even drama and role-play. It doesn’t help that it’s also the last period on Friday, which means that any motivation that any of us may have had throughout the week; the day; has totally dissipated. By this point, all any of us want to do is go home and escape the burden of work that comes with being at school.

“What are you waiting for? We only have 20 minutes left, so you better get started,” calls out Mr Lauden, and sighs, accompanied by the scraping of chairs on the floor, fills the room as we make our way to the separate computers. Mr Lauden’s next big project for this class is genealogy. He, or rather the coordinators for this class, have decided that it’s highly important for kids our age to have at least some knowledge of our ancestry and where we came from, so we’re expected to research some of our family history online and then create a short powerpoint on our discoveries, which we will then have to present to the class. It’s supposed to help us ‘grow in our understanding of ourselves’ apparently. As if our family’s past unequivocally controls who we are I think to myself, sitting down at the nearest computer.

With a loud groan, my best friend Katie flops down into the vacant seat next to mine, staring at the computer screen like it’s her biggest enemy.

“Why do I even care who I’m related to?” she protests, slamming down her fingers on the keys as she logs on.

“I think you may have to re-think that question, since it’s clear to me that you don’t care at all,” I respond, grinning at her.

“Oh shut up!” she says irritably, but I can see the corners of her lips trying hard not to rise into a smile.

“But you know I have a point,” I say, laughing at her struggle to keep a straight face. “Go on, you know I do!”

She gives up and her face breaks into a large smile. “Oh alright smarty pants. I meant; I don’t know why I should care about who I’m related to. Ok? Better for you?” She reaches over and nudges me slightly on the shoulder. I nudge her back until we start laughing, finding ourselves engaged in a mock fight like two primary school kids in the playground.

“Right class, pay attention! And yes, I mean you two as well, Laura, Katie!”

We snap back, focusing our attention on our teacher, who is looking at us sternly. I look at Katie out of the corner of my eye and catch hers, and then we both have to look away before we’re in danger of bursting out into laughter in front of the whole class.

“Now, the best way to start searching for your family history is to search for your mother on the data base,” explains Mr Lauden, pacing back and forth at the front of the classroom. “That’s because you can enter in both your mother’s maiden name and her current surname, and that means that the search is more specific and you’ll be more likely to find the right person. If you search for both names, you’ll most likely come across her marriage record first. Once you’ve found that, then you can stem off depending on whether you want to look at your mother’s side or your father’s side. Any questions before you get started?”

It seems easy enough and I have to say, even though the rest of the class seem anything but eager to take part in this research, I’m pretty curious. I never knew either of my grandparents and neither of my parents share much about their families. If I have aunts, uncles and cousins, I’ve never been aware of them. In fact, it dawns on me, I don’t know anything much about my family, other than the obvious. Slowly, I raise my hand.

“Yes, Laura?” Mr Lauden asks, looking at me directly.

"I don’t think I know my mother’s maiden name.”

“You don’t?” He stares at me in disbelief. “Ok then. Well, I guess you need to search for your own birth record then. Your mother’s maiden name should be on there.”

I nod, and then turn back to face my computer screen. I can see Katie staring at me out of the corner of my eye. I try to ignore her and get started on my research, but she continues to stare at me. Eventually, I give up and turn to face her.

“What is it now?” I ask her impatiently.

“You actually care about this project, don’t you?” she says, her eyes wide. I can’t help but laugh at her expression.

“So what if I do? Someone in this class has to,” I reply with a smile, before turning my attention back to the genealogy website that Mr Lauden recommended we use.

First Name requests the first box. ‘LAURA,’ I enter, and the blinking cursor on the screen immediately jumps to the next box which requests my surname and I fill that in too; ‘WINTERS.’ The next box asks for my year of birth which I enter as ‘1994.’ Place of Birth questions the next box, but that is also another gaping hole in my knowledge, so I leave it blank. I select ‘Birth Records’ from the drop-down list and place my fingers over the ‘enter’ key. This might be the closest I’ve ever been in my whole life to finding out something, anything, to do with my family. I have no idea what I will find. Slowly and carefully, I press my fingers down on the key.

A whole list of results appears on my screen, and I scroll through them rapidly, searching through the lists of people with the same name as me. When I find a name that seems to fit my description, I bring up the birth record and a quick scan of the parents’ names shows me that this Laura Winters is not me. I return back to the initial list of names and work my way down the page. The next one is not me either. Or the next one. Or the next. Once I reach the bottom of the list, I start to panic, and I scroll rapidly back up to the top of the list and work my way down again. Nothing. There is no Laura Winters born in 1994 to a mother named Emma and a father named David. At least, not according to this list.

Shaking, I raise my hand in the air, and within a few minutes, Mr Lauden is behind me.

“How can I help you, Laura?” he asks, looking down over me.

My voice trembles slightly as I speak the words out loud. “I don’t exist in the record list.”

“What do you mean, you don’t exist? Of course you do. Every birth of every child is recorded and catalogued. Maybe you just haven’t done the search correctly or something?”

I take a deep breath. “But I have. Look.” I scroll to the top of the page to the search boxes. “First name, last name, year of birth and I don’t know my place of birth,” I say quickly, pointing to each one with my mouse. “But there is no Laura Winters with my parents’ names there. I’ve checked twice.”

“It’s probably just a mistake.” Mr Lauden frowns, leaning closer to the screen. “They may have spelt your surname wrong or something. These things happen. Do you know your exact time of birth?”

Strangely enough, I do. I was born on the 1st September at exactly 12:05am. My mum told me that when I was little, and I was always fascinated by the fact that if I had been born six minutes earlier, I would have been born in a different month, in a different school year. It always amazed me how much difference 6 minutes would have made. Because of that, my birth time has stuck in my head ever since. I look up at my teacher and nod. I’m don’t trust myself to speak right now, even though I keep telling myself that Mr Lauden must be right and it’s just a mistake.

"In that case, do an advanced search. Just put in your first name, your exact date, year and time of birth and your mother’s first name and see what happens. Give me a shout if you have any difficulties.” He smiles at me gently and then turns his attention to a boy in the far corner of the room who is calling out for his attention.

With shaking hands, I fill out the details for this new advanced search. This time, when the new list appears on my screen, there are only two entries, and one is from the other side of the country so I know that can’t be me. I click on the other Laura and scan the birth record quickly, my heart beating in my chest.

The birth date is spot on. 1st September 1994, 12:05am. It says I was born in Redhill, which is close enough to where I live for it to be me this record is talking about. The mother is listed as an Emma. But that is where the similarities end. Because, instead of it saying ‘Emma Rose Winters’ which is what my mother has always been to me, it says ‘Emma Rose Hamilton (nee Oaks).’ Instead of my name being listed as ‘Laura Katherine Winters’; the name I have grown up with my whole life; this strange name ‘Hamilton’ is there in place of my surname. And the biggest difference of all? The one that sets my heart beating so fast, I fear it might break out of my chest? There is no ‘David Winters’ at all. According to this document, my dad doesn’t exist. Instead, there is this stranger; a name that looks so out of place next to my mother’s. ‘Edward Oliver Hamilton.’

And suddenly, I feel like someone has sucked all the oxygen out of the classroom so that I cannot breathe. I feel like my whole world is spinning around me, totally out of control, and there is nothing I can do to stop the dizziness in my head. How could my parents’ not be married? Their wedding photos sit on the window sill in our living room at home! I had seen them a million times!

“Laura, are you ok?” Katie is looking at me concerned. But I can’t speak. I feel like something has lodged itself in my throat, rendering my voice useless. I hear the bell ring; normally it is so loud and piercing that it makes me jump, but right now it sounds like I’m hearing it from the other side of a tunnel. Without consciously realising what I’m doing, I hit the print button on the computer, grab the birth record from the printer, knocking my chair over backwards in the process, and run out the classroom as fast as I can. But no matter how fast I run, I can’t run away from the truth that has just hit me square in the face.

**

I don’t stop running, finding myself concentrating on the rhythm of my heart beating blood around my body, losing myself in it till I’m no longer aware of my surroundings, until I finally arrive at my front door, panting heavily. I fumble with the keys in my pocket, locating the right one and forcing it into the lock, throwing open the door and ignoring the crash as it makes contact with the wall. I kick off my shoes, nearly falling over in my haste to get them off my feet, and storm toward the living room, determination and anger flowing through every vein in my body. I know that both my parents will be home. My dad, a policeman, only does shifts during the day, and by this time on a Friday evening, he will already be home. My mum, who works for some charity that helps women, will also be home by now. And I want to confront them together.

Just as I expect, my parents are curled up together on the sofa, watching their favourite television programme. They don’t even notice that I’ve entered the room until the television suddenly exchanges its colourful picture for the black of ‘standby’ as I press the ‘off’ button on the remote, which I had picked up from where it lay on the floor next to the sofa.

“Laura, what are you doing?” My dad turns to look at me, staring at me indignantly, but his emotions cannot match the way that I am feeling inside right now. I march around the sofa so that I am facing both of them. I am still breathing heavily, and I try to transfer all my anger, confusion, distrust and feelings of betrayal to them just through a single look in my eyes.        

“Laura, honey, what’s going on?” my mum questions in a steady voice, but she can’t deceive me again, because for a split second I see her visibly flinch backwards.

“Is this true?” I spit out, throwing the birth record onto the coffee table; the barrier between me and them.

It lies between us, just like the truth my parents never told me. I find myself wondering how such an innocent looking piece of paper could have the power to turn my whole world upside down. My mum reaches over to the coffee table and picks it up with trembling hands, holding it gingerly like it was a hand grenade that could explode at any minute. Or is it me that feels like that hand grenade? My emotions are too jumbled right now for me to even try to make sense of them.

All the blood in my mum’s face drains away, leaving her face as white as the deadly piece of paper she holds. She shrinks backwards, pressing herself into the back of the sofa as if she could pass straight through it, out the front door, and away from this situation. Wordlessly, she passes the document to my dad. He studies it for a moment, his face unreadable, and then he looks up at me over the top of the document.

“Laura-” he begins, but I don’t want to hear the excuses, the small talk. I just want the truth.

“Is this true? Yes or no?” I demand, glaring at him with fiery emotions behind my eyes. He tries to hold my gaze, but he cannot, and he drops his head.

"Yes,” he murmurs under his breath, barely audible, while staring down at the floor.

“I. Can’t. Hear. You,” I say one word at a time, the volume of my voice increasing. My dad reaches over and takes my mum’s hand in his. Then he looks up at me, tears falling from his eyes, sliding down his cheeks in the same way that raindrops slide down a window. I hadn’t even noticed he was crying, but that’s the last thing I’m worried about right now.

“Yes,” he states, sadness welling up in the look in his eyes. “Laura, please, let us explain.”

But right now, I don’t want any explanations. I just want my family back the way it’s always been. Now it is my turn to cry. Each tear, a symbol of their betrayal. I can’t even look at them, and I flee the room, hiding my tears from view behind a trembling hand. I won’t let them see my tears because I feel like, now I know they lied to me, they lose that right.

**

I lie face down on my bed, crying tears that will not cease, no matter how hard I try. All I want right now is to go back to this morning, back to the life I had before this shocking news landed at the epicentre of my life, radiating outwards like earthquake vibrations, knocking me off my feet. I want to go back to when everything made sense. Apart from the dream, a stubborn voice in my head says, but I don’t even have the energy to be curious about that right now.

There is a gentle knock at my door, and then I hear the hinges groan in protest as someone cracks open the door. “Laura, can we come in?” asks my dad, his voice no more than a whisper.

“No. Go away!” I bury my face deeper into my pillow, as if I could hide myself within it. But they seem to ignore me, because the door groans further, and then I feel my mattress dip at the end as they perch on the end of my bed. I feel like their weight is settling on my heart too. I could tell them to leave. I could tell them that their presence in my room just reminds me of what I have to lose, now that I know the truth is coming. But I’m too tired to even open my mouth.

“Laura?” A hand, my mum’s I guess, slowly rubs my back. “Can we talk?”

"Why didn’t you tell me before?” My voice is muffled because my face is so tightly pressed against my pillow so, gathering together all the energy I have, I force my body to sit up. Sitting with my back against the wall, I draw my knees up to my chest and hug them tightly with my arms. Then, I turn my tear-stained face to my mum. “You had 18 years to tell me. Why didn’t you?”

My mum takes a deep breath. “When you have suffered in the past and it finally stops, you have two options. You can either act like it never happened, or remember it for the rest of your life. If you remember it for the rest of your life, then you can never really move on. But if you act like it never happened, you are in danger of forgetting the person that you used to be. The hardest thing is trying to find a balance between the two. Sometimes you wish that you could just go back to a time before you had to make that choice; when everything made sense.”

I look at my mum quizzically. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

She looks down at her hands, studying each fingernail in detail. “You were just a baby, Laura. You would never remember what happened. But if I told you, I would have changed your perception of your family in so many ways. I couldn’t to do that to you.” She pauses, taking another deep breath, as if she can breathe in the courage she needs to speak these words aloud. “But then you started having the dream. I was going to tell you then, I swear. But it soon became apparent that you only remembered one fixed point of that night, and that fixed point was in no danger of exposing the rest. So I decided against telling you. We decided it was for the best.”

“And who gave you the right to decide whether I should have the truth?! This is my family and I had a right to know!” My hands have curled into fists by my side.

“It’s your mother’s family too, Laura. And he was like family to me, too. We thought it was for the best. For your sake.” My dad reaches out for my hand, but I move it away sharply.

“You of all people have no right to decide what is best for me,” I answer back spitefully. As soon as the words are out my mouth, I wish I could take them back, just because of the sorrow that flashes across my dad’s face in an instant. “Sorry,” I mutter, resting my head on my knees and closing my eyes. “I didn’t mean that.”

“But you’re right, Laura. We should have told you earlier.”

I lift my head to look back into his eyes. “Then why didn’t you?”

My room descends into silence. Then my mum replies quietly, “Will you let me tell you now?”

I don’t even need to think about that. Ever so slightly, I nod my head.

Hesitantly, my mum beings to speak.

**

I was drinking a mug of coffee during my lunch break at work, leaning casually against a wall of our communal cafe engaged in a conversation with a friend of mine, when I met David Winters for the first time. You know how sometimes there are moments in your life that you look back on and see them as turning-points; as the points where one chapter of your life ended and the next instalment of your story began? I view that first time I set eyes on David as one of these turning-points. I just never imagined it that way, and even if I had done, I don’t think I could have anticipated the scale of the change that that one meeting would have on my life.

He was still standing by the door looking around the cafe, a lost expression in his eyes like he had never seen the cafe before. Maybe he hadn’t, I thought to myself. After all, I had been working for this company for 3 years now, a job which I now no longer have, and I had never seen him before. Suddenly, feeling the urge to be a good Samaritan, I walked over to where he stood, flashing a friendly smile at this stranger.

“Hey. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before? I’m Emma, by the way.” I hoped I didn’t sound patronising; I just wanted to be helpful.

He regarded me, gratification lighting up his face in the form of a smile. “Hello Emma. You don’t know how glad I am right now that you came over here! I’m David,” he said, smiling graciously.

I took his outstretched hand and shook it warmly. “You’re that pleased to see me, huh?” I joked. “Lunch break really that bad?”

“For the new guy, yeah. It’s like going back to school and not knowing which table you’re supposed to sit at, and not wanting to take a stab in the dark and pick one for fear of offending someone or starting an argument.” For a moment, I thought he was serious, but then I noticed the twinkle in his eyes.

“Well, you’re definitely welcome in my designated area,” I laughed, leading him over to where my friend was waiting for me, surprise and suspicion written all over her face in response to my actions.

That initial first meeting was the start of one of those special kinds of friendships. It turned out that David was to be working in my department and I took it upon myself to ease him into his role, introducing to my friends and showing him the general basics of the department. Over the next year, he became my best friend. He was a steady presence by my side, always willing to support, encourage and defend me when these qualities were needed from him. We ended up knowing everything about each other. He told me about his childhood growing up around the hills of Surrey, the friends that he had met at school who he was still in contact with and his concern for his parents, who were now rather elderly and struggling to live in their own house. In return, I exchanged anecdotes from my past too, from both my childhood and my university days. Many of our colleagues were certain that the two of us would end up dating; they even had a bet running as to how long it would take before we got together as a couple. But that wasn’t necessary for us. We were friends, we had a great friendship that meant so much to both of us, and that was all that we needed.

**

My company always celebrated the end of the working year with a massive Christmas party, and that year was no exception. I knew that, like myself, David was not one half of a couple, so I had fully expected him to turn up alone. So I was highly surprised when David told me that he was bringing along someone to the party who he wanted me to meet. For the days running up to the big event, I pondered what kind of woman could have stolen David’s heart, and why he had not mentioned her before, seeing that we told each other pretty much everything. Therefore, I had to laugh when I saw that it was not a woman who David had by his side, but a tall, handsome man.

When David caught my eye across the room, he excused himself from the conversation that he had been a part of and, tugging on his good-looking friend’s hand, led him over to where I was standing.

“Emma! Finally, you’re here! I thought you were never going to show up! I’d like you to meet my good friend Edward. Edward, this is Emma, my best friend from work that I’ve been telling you about.”

Edward. Now he had said the name, it seemed familiar to me. David had told me all about him during one of our many conversations. Edward had grown up not far from David; their parents had been close friends and because of this, Edward and David had established a firm friendship before they had even started school. When Edward’s parents had died when he was 5, David’s friendship was the one constant in his life that kept him going, while everything else, his home and new family, changed drastically. They had practically grown up with each other and, despite the fact that they now rarely saw each other, their friendship had continued to be steady in adulthood. I knew how much he meant to David and I was very interested in getting to know this man better.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Edward. David has told me so much about you,” I said, holding out my hand for Edward to shake. He did not take it immediately; instead he studied me carefully, like I was some kind of exhibition on display. Just when I was starting to feel uncomfortable, he reached out and grasped my hand which, for some reason, I had continued to hold outstretched.

“The pleasure is all mine. And may I say, you look beautiful tonight.” he complimented, his deep voice slightly husky, the smile on his face lighting up his blue eyes until they shone. I felt myself blushing, which just made me more embarrassed, which made me blush even more. I didn’t know where to look; I was not used to attention from men other than David, who most certainly didn’t mean it in the same way; and I found myself searching for something to say in return.

“Um…thanks! So do you!” I blurted out in a rush. Inwardly, I cursed. Well done Emma, I thought to myself. Congratulations on just making yourself look like a total idiot! This caused me to blush even more, so I just avoided eye contact and looked down at the ground. Please swallow me now I pleaded with it.

I heard David’s familiar laugh. “Looks like you’ve gone and embarrassed her now mate!” he chuckled. But I couldn’t hear Edward laughing at all. Suddenly, I felt his fingers under my chin and he lifted my face until I was looking at him again. He looked into my eyes, his gaze soft and gentle in comparison to the previous look he had when he had been watching me carefully. Slowly the corner of his lips rose into a smile.

“You’re sweet,” he said, and the way he said it made it sound like fact rather than opinion. He lifted his gaze away from mine, watching the couples on the dance floor swaying in time to the music. Then he looked back at me. “Would you like to dance with me?” he questioned, his eyes sparkling.

Without warning, I suddenly beamed at him. “That would be lovely,” I said, grateful and slightly surprised that after making a fool of myself, he still seemed to care. Gracefully, Edward led me to the dance floor, his arm in the crook of mine, and when I turned back to look at David, he winked at me. For the rest of that night, Edward refused to dance with anyone but me.

**

I can remember every detail from that first day I met Edward. Just as I can remember everything from those first few years; when we dated, when we became more familiar with each other, when we had our first kiss under the stars and all the kisses that came after it, when he got down on one knee during our holiday in Venice and told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, when I walked down the aisle with everyone’s eyes on me, feeling like the luckiest person in the world. Every small detail has become firmly etched in my memory, like tracks on a record, and I sometimes find myself replaying them in my mind, trying to see the signs in his behaviour that things were not as perfect as they seem. I never saw them then, and I can never see them now, but sometimes I wonder if I’m simply not looking hard enough, because those years were perfect and I don’t want to find anything that changes that.

If I had to pinpoint a moment where things started to change, I think it would have to be the day that I found out that I was pregnant with you. I was so excited that day, my happiness and eagerness to share my news with him practically radiating out from my body. But it didn’t have the happy ending I expected.

**

Waiting for him to come home that night seemed like eternity, but finally I heard his key in the lock and a few minutes later, he was holding me in his arms in our kitchen.

“Edward, I have some news for you,” I began, already grinning despite my attempts not to for the sake of the element of surprise.

“Hmmm?” He continued to hold me close and, as much as I wanted him to have his full attention on the news I was going to tell him, I didn’t have the heart to push him away. Holding each other like this always felt so perfect, like we were the final two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that slotted together to create a beautiful picture.

“I’m pregnant, Edward. We’re going to have a baby!”

I felt Edward’s hold on my body grow tighter, and I thought that he was hugging me in delight, so I hugged him tighter too. “Isn’t that amazing?” I breathed, feeling totally elated.

“Yes, brilliant,” he answered shortly, lacking all emotion. For the first time, I suddenly felt panicked. Because I realised that Edward wasn’t hugging me anymore. He was squeezing me so tightly I felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore.

“Edward, what’s wrong?” I asked him, trying to push away from his tight grip, but that just made him hold me even tighter. “You’re hurting me!”

Roughly, he pushed me away from him so that I hit my back against the edge of the kitchen counter.  “And you’re hurting me,” he said grimly; the voice of a person I thought I knew so well but clearly didn’t.

“What do you mean?” I asked him tentatively, not comprehending him. “I’m not even touching you!”

“Physical blows are not the only way to hurt a person,” he said sharply. He stared down at my stomach and I automatically placed my hands there to shield from his eyes, because if looks could kill, you would be dead already. “You’re hurting me because you didn’t even care to ask if I wanted a child too. Of course you didn’t. How can you expect me to be a good father when I didn’t even have one for the majority of my life? I should have known you would be so selfish.” The expression on his face scared me, not because it was angry or threatening or anything like that, but because I couldn’t read it. This was the man I loved more than anything else in my life, but I couldn’t make sense of the look in his eyes. It was totally alien. “Tomorrow, you will get an abortion.”

I felt like throwing his own words back at him: Do you even care to ask if I want a child too? But right now, it felt safer to simply say nothing.

“Do I make myself clear?” he demanded, taking a step closer. I flinched backwards, rapidly nodding.

“Say it!” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yes,” I mumbled, looking down at the ground, ironically just like the first time I had met this man.

“Good,” he replied, before walking out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

As soon as he had left the room, I started to cry, not only for myself, but for you too.

**

As I lay in bed that night, I pondered over what Edward had told me. I knew that his parents’ death had affected him psychologically in many ways, but I hadn’t known that it extended so far, to the extent where he didn’t even want a child himself. It was never something we had spoken about; I had just assumed that we would create a family together, and I had thought Edward wanted that too, because it was something that he couldn’t really remember having as a child. I guessed, in that respect, Edward was making a fair evaluation of my behaviour. Then again, it had been within his power to mention this to me before we got to this point. He was my husband; I shouldn’t have to guess his feelings, I should feel like he was willing to share them with me. I rested my hand on my stomach. There was no way I was aborting you. You were a part of me; prove of the love that Edward and I shared, at least, I hoped we still shared. I already loved you. And I thought that Edward would make a great father, he just needed time to adjust to the idea and realise that in himself.

When Edward found out that I hadn’t gotten an abortion as he had requested, he completely lost it. He grabbed my wrists so tightly that he left visible marks, telling me that I was disobedient and, because of that, I was a bad wife and I had let him down. Then he started yelling at me, bringing his face close up to mine so that my whole vision was taken up by his eyes, burning with fire and anger.

“Don’t you get it, you stupid excuse for a woman?!” he said, spitting on my face as he threw the words out of his mouth, creating puncture wounds in my heart. “I don’t want a child! What part of that don’t you understand? I. Don’t. Want. A. Child.” Over and over again, until even a voice in my head seemed to be saying it in sync with his words. “Why would you do this to me?! I thought you loved me!”

“I thought you loved me too,” I responded in a moment of bravery. My punishment for that came seconds later. His hand, the one that I used to hold as we walked together, that I knew as well as I knew my own, came speeding in towards my vision, making contact with my cheek with a loud slap, echoing around our kitchen. My skin burned where he had hit me, and it felt like, with his one strike, he had created a crack in my heart that would never fully heal. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor and I cupped my head in my hands, a headache starting to build up behind my eyes. I tried not to cry, because crying was a sign of weakness.

“Pathetic,” he muttered to himself, looking at me like he was disgusted with what he saw. And then he left me sitting there and marched out of the room, not looking back even once.

**

Over the next few days, I tried to tell myself that Edward was just scared. He had lost his mother and father at such a young age and that had hurt him so deeply. It made sense to me that he would be frightened of having a young child to care for; someone who completely and utterly depended upon him; because he didn’t want to let his child down. He knew what it was like to grow up without those figures of love, care, and affection in his life, and he was so scared of failing that the idea of having a child terrified him. And I tried to tell myself that he only struck out at me because it was the only outlet for his fear. I tried to believe, deep within my heart, that the Edward that I knew and loved was only hiding below the surface, too afraid to come out for fear of what he might find. But as the months went on, it became harder and harder for me to make excuses for him. It soon became obvious that I was pregnant and that just made him even more aggressive, until the only constant rule in my life was to keep you safe.

When I was at work, I confided what was happening with David. He had grown up with Edward and I hoped that he would be able to shed some light on how one man could change so drastically with one single piece of news. At first he didn’t believe me and I didn’t blame him for that, because if someone had told me about this side of Edward in the years that we had dated, I would have never believed them. It was only when I lifted the sleeves of my top one day to show him the bruises on my arms that he started to believe me. Two days later, I came home to find Edward waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Once I walked through the front door and removed my shoes, he started to descend down the staircase.

“You told David.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. I knew by now what it meant when Edward was in a mood like this. I was tired of it.

“Yes,” I said, looking at him defiantly. “I’m worried about you, Edward. You’re not yourself.” Understatement of the year I found myself thinking, and I tried very hard not to smile. Then another thought popped into my head. Are these situations so normal now that you find yourself joking in your head? All of a sudden, the urge to smile was no longer there.

“I thought David could help you, you know? I know how close you are.”

“You thought David could help me?” he said, advancing closer. “You think that I’m the one who needs help? I slave away all day at work, and what do you do? You go to work so you can sit there with my friend and tell lies about me!”

“What lies, Edward?” I whisper gently, only just loud enough for him to hear me.

“He called me! He said you were scared of me! He really believes that my own wife is scared of me?! I laughed at him! I said that Emma would never be scared of me because we’re married and we love each other. But he seems to think the opposite! And so I thought, where could David have gotten those ideas? And then it came to me. You!” He pointed his finger at me. “My own wife has been spreading lies about me! How could you do that to me, Emma?” He actually looked hurt and for a second I felt sorry for him, but then I inwardly pulled myself back together.

“How could you do this to me, Edward?” I retorted, much louder than I intended. He stopped short, hesitating, and I could almost see the cogs in his mind trying to fit together a clever response and failing. Taking advantage of the situation, I brushed past him and ran up to the bedroom, leaving him stuttering on the stairs.

Later that night, I got an email from work telling me that they were sad to hear from Edward that I was resigning, but they wished me all the best in my future career. But, surprisingly, I didn’t care. I had won back then on the stairs, and each little victory meant something to me; a step in the right direction. When David texted me even later that night, asking me why I had resigned, I locked myself in the bedroom while Edward was in the shower and rang him. I told him the truth, and he promised me that he would always be there for me, no matter when I needed him. His words gave me the confidence I needed, just like they had throughout our friendship.

**

I thought that things would get better once you were born. I was convinced that he would take one look at you and fall so in love and, in my happiest daydreams, he would hold me close, not tightly but supportively, and tell me that he was so sorry for the way he had been treating me and that he would start afresh. He would become the loving husband and doting father that I was convinced was hidden away in his soul. But I should have known that the world was not going to turn in my favour. I doubt I would be telling this story if that had been the case. I think that time in our relationship was the moment when I realised that Edward was never going to change. That scared me so much. I would have never thought that the birth of a child, supposedly a special moment in the life and relationship of a couple, could change a man so drastically, and I began to realise that his soul really had been greatly damaged by the premature death of his parents. He was my husband, and the love that we had shared had been so perfect. But he was slowly falling apart inside, leaving in his wake one disaster after another.

**

When you were born, Edward seemed to grow ever more distant from not only me but his friends too. I texted and talked to David whenever I knew that Edward wasn’t likely to walk in on me; even little things like that were quick to set him off these days; and he told me that he hadn’t talked to Edward for such a long time, and when he did, he seemed like his mind was anywhere but focused on the conversation. And it was true. It made a change from the violence that had happened before you were born and I was glad about that, but I just wanted my husband back.

Because of this, I was scared to leave you alone with him. I knew all too well all the fears that had haunted him before your birth and, now that he was barely speaking to me, I had no idea how he felt about you. I tried to make sure that you were in my eyesight at all times, because I would have never forgiven myself if something had happened to you. But there were moments when I was forced to leave you alone for a few minutes, whether it was when I was in the bathroom or cooking a meal, or even when I was asleep, which left you unwatched even though your cot was close to my bed. Once, I returned to the room where I had left you to find Edward staring down at you, his fists clenched.

“Edward?” I stood by his side and put my hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. “Are you ok?” He nodded, before taking one more look at you and leaving the room without uttering a word. I watched him leave sadly and whispered to myself, “Edward, where is your heart?”

**

But there is a reason why I’m telling you this story. I’m not just here to tell you about the ups and downs of my relationship with Edward. But I thought that you should understand a little of my story with him before you heard about what happened. That way, you could understand that, despite what happened that night, your father was not a bad man. What we had together was so special at the beginning, but your existence brought out so many painful memories of his childhood, memories that I didn’t even realise existed, that it completely changed his very essence. But that doesn’t mean it was your fault, Laura. You were just a baby. If your birth had not triggered his transformation, something else would have sooner or later. Those scars were only just below the surface. Never forget that, Laura. It was never your fault. Looking back, I always refer to Edward as my beautiful disaster, because he was that to me, and to himself. He was amazing in so many ways, but ultimately he was more than I could take and there was nothing I could do to bring back the man I used to know.

**

That night, Edward was supposed to be out at a work party which allowed me some time to myself, which was something I had been looking forward to for a long time. The atmosphere at home always felt suffocating when Edward was around; there was always the tension of unspoken words between us. I tucked you into your cot, kissing you lightly on the head, before making my way downstairs to enjoy an evening watching my favourite programmes curled up on the sofa with my dinner. In hindsight, I wish I had been more aware that night because then I might have been able to hear the front door open, the footsteps on our wooden hallway and the creak of the stairs. Rather, I was so focused on the programme that the first indication I had that something might have been wrong was when you started crying.

Sighing, I pressed the ‘pause’ button on the remote and headed towards the stairs, mentally running through the things that you might have been crying for. But once I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked up, I froze in shock.

Edward was standing in the first floor hallway looking down over the stairs to where I was standing, holding you high above his head. I didn’t even begin to question what he was doing home or when and how he had managed to get into the house without me hearing. My only thoughts were for you and your safety.

“Hello Emma,” he said, so calmly that if I had had my back to him, I wouldn’t have known that he was holding you in such a dangerous position.

“Put Laura down!” I screamed at him, beginning to run up the stairs in wild panic.

“Stop where you are, right now,” he commanded, and ever so slowly, he moved you until you were hanging over the landing. “Take one more step and I drop her.”

My heart leaped into my throat. I didn’t know if he would actually do it, but I didn’t want to take that risk, so I abruptly stopped, adrenaline pumping all through my body.

“Much better,” he observed. “Now go back down the stairs. I don’t need you getting in my way.”

Slowly, I made my way back down the stairs, not taking my eyes of your face. You were crying and wriggling, trying to get out of Edward’s grasp and I hoped above everything that Edward had a firm grip on you.

He watched me as I made my descent, and once I had reached the bottom, he slowly moved you back over on the safe side of the banister and placed you hard on the floor. “If you even try to come up here, I will drop her,” he warned me, before moving out of my view.

I couldn’t see what he was doing; all I could hear was you crying; but that also meant that he couldn’t see me. And I had to use that advantage. Fumbling in my pocket with my unsteady hands, I pulled out my phone.

David, Edward’s gone crazy. Please get here now! NOW!

I stood there staring at my phone, willing it to vibrate and the screen to light up, indicating that David had seen my message and replied. It must have only been a few minutes later that he replied, but it felt like forever.

On my way.

It was short and sweet, but at that moment, I felt like David was my guardian angel.

“Edward, what are you doing,” I questioned tentatively, afraid that even speaking aloud would cause him to grab you and dangle you over that banister again. But he didn’t do anything like that, to my relief.

“That’s for me to know,” came the short reply. But I heard you start to cry again.

“What are you doing with our child?!” I asked hysterically; your cries were making my heart ache and all I wanted to do was to scoop you up in my arms, hold you tightly against my chest and never let anyone hurt you again.

“Don’t you mean your child?” he snarled. “I never wanted this, Emma. You were the one who wanted this! I was happy when it was just the two of us, but you went and ruined everything that we had!”

I wanted to scream at him. None of this was my fault; he was the one who had changed so suddenly over night with no explanation. He claimed that he was simply afraid of being a father and abandoning his child like his parents’ had done to him. But at that moment, his excuses didn’t really make sense to me. His parents’ hadn’t abandoned him; they had died in an accident! He was the one being totally unreasonable. But yelling at him was certainly not the best approach to take in this dangerous situation. The most I could do was to try and get him to explain what was going on inside his confused head, and to try and reason with him, if such a thing was possible.

“Edward, what is this all about?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady and hide the tremble.

“What do you mean?” he answered sharply.

“Your parents died in a car accident, Edward. Don’t get me wrong, I know that affected you so deeply, but is that really why you hate Laura so much?” I held my breath, longing for a clear answer for once, but also very scared for what it would be if there was one.

First there was silence. And then there came a chilling laugh that made the hairs stand up on my arms. “An accident? Who said it was an accident?” He sounded like he was asking a genuine question, and for a second I started to question his sanity. But then I heard that chilling laugh again. “Oh yeah, that was me, wasn’t it? And it’s not only you who thought it was an accident. I told everyone it was an accident. Why?” He paused, and I first thought this was for dramatic effect, but then I realised that he was actually pondering this question because, when he finally spoke again, he sounded like the words were news to him too. “Because I would have preferred it to have been an accident rather than the truth.”

There was another pause, and I considered questioning him further, but suddenly he spoke again, unravelling the thoughts in his mind.

“I always thought it was an accident too. But when I was old enough to know, at least, according to my foster parents, I found out that it was never an accident at all. After my birth, my mum was…depressed I guess. She couldn’t cope with me.” His voice was shuddering and I could picture him trying very hard not to cry. “My dad tried to help but…there was nothing he could do. What was said to be an accident was exactly the opposite. I just wish my dad wasn’t in the car too.” By now, I could hear that he was openly sobbing. “I wasn’t old enough to know that. What kind of kid wants to know that it was his fault that his parents aren’t here anymore?”

Despite everything that Edward and I had gone through in the last year, I felt my heart breaking for him, the new cracks dividing off from the ones that Edward himself had created. I wanted to ask him why he had never shared this with me, but I knew that there were different words he wanted to hear right now. “It’s not your fault, Edward. You were just a child. It was your mother’s problem, not yours,” I said softly.

“Of course you would say so.” He seemed to ponder something else before he spoke again. “But I am her son. Her blood is part of my blood too. What if I’m like her?”

“But you’re not. You are not your mother. You are your own person, and you have me, and I won’t let you hurt Laura.” I put all my conviction into my next words. “I promise.”

“You don’t have to. In a few minutes, Laura won’t be here anymore and I won’t have to fight this battle. I won’t hurt Laura like my mother hurt me. I can’t let her down like she let me down. But I will, I know it because I have my mother’s genes. So Laura has to go.”

His words hit me like bullets, and I lost control of all sense of reason. “No! You’re totally insane!” I yelled, running up the stairs as fast as I could so that he would not have time to grab you again. “Leave my daughter ALONE!”

I was intent on grabbing you to safety, but before I had even rounded the corner, his strong hand made contact with my stomach and I slumped back against the wall, hitting my head hard on the floor. I struggled to sit up because you had started to cry again, and I mouthed your name even though I couldn’t focus on where you were. My head started to ache and I was trying so hard to stay conscious.

“Don’t you dare come near me,” he spat, grabbing my throat roughly with his hand and holding me tightly. I started to black out and I felt myself drifting.

“Get off Emma NOW.” The familiar voice sounded like music to my ears, and I focused on that, even though I felt so faint that I couldn’t focus on who it was. Then the grip around my throat slackened and I took deep gulps of air and opened my eyes. Standing in front of me, pulling Edward off me, was David, my best friend and guardian angel.

The next few minutes are hazy. I think over the years I’ve tried to hide them away, because visiting them in my mind was too scary. All I remember is David and Edward, shouting and landing punches on each other. And then Edward’s scream as he fell down the stairs, landing with a loud crash on our hardwood floor. And then the silence, blissful silence, until you started crying again.

Still lying on the floor, I looked up into the eyes of my saviour. “You saved me.” It wasn’t an exclamation or an expression of respect, thankfulness or passion, at least, not at that stage. No, the emotion I expressed in that statement was bewilderment; I couldn’t quite believe what had happened.

Then I heard knocking at the door. First one knock, then another, and then more and more until I thought the knockers would bang down the door. I wondered if David would answer the door, but he seemed to be incapable of doing anything at that moment. He had run to your side, crouched down and had gathered you into his arms, barely noticing that he was crying all over you. He was rocking you gently, trying to soothe you so that you wouldn’t cry. “I never wanted this to happen,” he said, and I recognised bewilderment in his voice too. The knocking persisted, but I was too overwhelmed to face people right now, so I moved over until I was sitting next to David, and rested my head on his shoulder. The knocking finally ceased, and so I decided to speak.

“None of us wanted this to happen. It wasn’t your fault. You saved me, David.”

He continued to sob uncontrollably. “I wasn’t only talking about what just happened. I introduced him to you, Emma. If I hadn’t had done that, hell, if I hadn’t have met you in the first place, this would have never happened. I should have never brought him to that party.”

I stroked his arm gently. “I was the one who married him, David. That was never your fault.” I sighed. “But I don’t regret anything. He wasn’t a bad man. He was a beautiful disaster.” And so I told him everything that Edward had told me about his parents and how he only tried to hurt you because he genuinely thought he was doing you a favour, saving you from himself. And when I had finished, we sat there together with you tucked between us, now fast asleep.

Then we jumped as there was another knock on the door. We heard the noise of someone fiddling with the letter box, and then there came a voice through it.

"Is anyone at home? It’s the police. Your neighbours said they heard some loud noises so we came to your door but no one answered. We have reinforcements now. I repeat, is anyone at home?”

David and I looked at each other in shock. “What about Edward?” he whispered to me.

“What about him?”

“What do we say?” His eyes were wide and he was shaking uncontrollably again. It was clear to me that Edward wasn’t going to move again, otherwise he would have done so by now. And in that moment, I decided that David didn’t need to suffer for what had happened. He was the innocent in this. In a way, so was Edward, but in a way that the police would never understand. In that moment, I knew which person I truly loved.

“What is there to say? He fell, right? That’s all.”

He looked up at me, gratitude written all over his face, just like the first time I had met him. “Thank you,” he whispered softly, and he kissed me gently on my forehead.

**

The whole time my mother talks, I can’t take my eyes off her. At first she speaks hesitantly, like the words are heavy on her lips and the effort of putting them out into the world is too much, but as her story continues, she starts to speed up, as if by saying it faster, the story won't affect her so much and she can finish it quicker. But that doesn’t stop the tears from falling from her eyes, glistening in the light of my desk lamp, and I see my dad reach out his hand to take hers, rubbing it gently with his thumb. When she finishes, she turns her face away from mine, leaning into my dad for support, who wraps his arms around her and rocks her gently, in the same way that he once rocked me I guess. Without thinking, I put my arms around my mum’s shuddering body too while she cries, resting my head on her back. A small tear trickles out of my eye too, and I brush it away with my hand. When she’s ready, my mum breaks the hug and turns to look at me.

“I’m sorry, Laura,” she says, taking my hands in hers.

“Why are you sorry?” I ask, smiling sadly at her. “I understand why you didn’t tell me before. Oh mum, I am so, so sorry. That must have been hard.” Though to be honest, I have no right to say that, because I can’t even imagine what my mum must have gone through.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“You had every right to yell at us. We should have told you sooner. There just never seemed to be a good time or a right way to say it.”

We sit in silence, and I mull over the news that my mum had just told me. A few minutes later, I ask the next question that was burning in my mind. “Did the police think it was an accident?”

My dad slowly nods. “Yes. We told them he had just fallen down the stairs. There was nothing to suggest otherwise, and he had died so it wasn’t like he could put forward his own version of events.” He looks down to the floor. “Sometimes I feel bad, like I wish I had told them the truth. But discovering the love I had for your mum, being with her, marrying her and watching you grow and develop; I wouldn’t trade that for the world.”

I smile warmly at him, and I instantly know the right words to say. “I love you, dad.”

His smile lights up his whole face and his features soften, like something inside him had relaxed. “I love you, too,” he replies, his eyes twinkling again just like they had all my life.

"I just have another question. If my name is Laura Hamilton, then why have you always called me Laura Winters?” What if my real name wasn’t what I had always thought it was?

My mum looks at me, surprised. “But your name is Laura Winters? When David and I married, we didn’t want you to have Edward’s surname anymore. That was too painful for both of us. David officially adopted you as his own child and you took his surname, just like I did when I married him.”

The warmth of relief radiates through my body. Not only did I have the name I had always thought I had, but my dad was my dad in all but blood. I smile at him shyly, though I’m not really sure what reason I have to be shy. I guess I’m looking at him in a new way now. “I’m really glad you adopted me,” I say, and I mean it with all my heart.

He flashes me his warm smile again. “Me too.”

“But I still have a question. If my name is Laura Winters now, then why didn’t I appear on the database at school? That was the search I made first but I didn’t come up. That’s why I had to search specifically for someone called Laura with my birth details, and that’s how I found the record. So, if my name was changed, why didn’t I show up?”

My mum frowns. “Can you remember what you entered in the search boxes?”

I think hard, trying to remember though all the new revelations of the day back to that lesson. It’s hard to believe that I was sitting in that lesson only 2 hours ago. It feels like a lifetime. “It asked me for my first name, my surname, year of birth, place of birth which I didn’t know, and then I had to select birth records from this list, then…” But my mum interrupted me.

“Ah, well that makes sense,” my mum says, hitting my bed in realisation. You searched for birth records only, didn’t you? If you had searched in all categories then ‘Laura Winters’ would have shown up in the record of your change of name and in the adoption records. But you only searched for birth records, and no matter how many times you change your name, or whether one of your parents remarries, your birth record will never change.”

It feels like the weight that had been hanging over me, not only since I found the birth record but since I had first had the dream, has lifted. Not only do I know that my dream wasn’t really a dream but my only memory from the night my biological father died, but I know the truth about my family. My life suddenly feels complete again, even though this news will take a little while to sink in and get used to. But ultimately, nothing important has changed. Not inside. Not in the way that I feel about my parents.

Apart from one thing.

“Mum, Edward was afraid that he would be the same as his mother because of the shared genes, right? She let him down and he was so afraid of letting me down too that the fear wormed its way into his mind, destroying him. Is that right?”

She looks at me sadly, and gently nods. “Yes. My beautiful disaster. He let this fear get to him so much that, when it seemed to him like it was going to come true, he became so irrational. His soul was just too broken, and no one ever realised it until it was too late.”

“But he’s my father. I share blood with him. Does that mean…”

For the second time, my mum interrupts me. “Oh, Laura. Your family’s past may control who you are when you come into this world, but it can’t ever control who you will become. Laura, you are not your father and you never will be.”

“Can you be sure of that?”

“Yes,” she says defiantly. “Edward’s problem was that he believed the opposite too much, so that he almost brought it on himself. You are your own person, and you and you alone decide what that means, even if other people around you may influence that in different ways.” She hugs me tightly, and I cling to her, breathing in her familiar scent.

I think back to the words my mum had said before she had told me this story. About how we have to decide whether to forget the past or embrace it in our lives, each having their own bad side effects. But, as I hug my mum, I realise that she had just given me another option. My parents and I could choose to remember the past and remember the man that Edward was before everything spun out of control, but that didn’t mean we had to forget who we were before. Because ultimately, we haven’t changed. Only our perceptions have changed, and that can be a good thing in some ways. My dad is a policeman and my mum works at a charity which, I realise for the first time, helps women who were once like her. It seems to me that they have already embraced that idea in their own lives and I am proud of them.