I shook my head. ‘I can’t do it,’ I said. ‘I’ve thought about nothing else from the moment Flynn was born, and I’ve dreamed about him knowing his daddy. But this is… I don’t know. It feels wrong. Andydied.I’m not sure it’s fair to anyone.’
‘Except Flynn is already starting to ask questions that you can’t answer, isn’t he?’
I looked down at the table. Rachel was right. At six years old, Flynn had been asking questions about his daddy for a while, but they were becoming more specific now. The other day he had asked me whether his daddy was in heaven like Zara’s in his class, and a few weeks before he’d asked whether his daddy hadrun away because he didn’t love him. I didn’t know what to say to that, so had rapidly changed the subject, the way I always did.
But I’d never wanted to outright lie to him. I couldn’t tell him his daddy was dead, because what if I did find him? How on earth would I explain that to a six-year-old? Besides, not having any photos of him would have made that weird. What sort of mother doesn’t keep photos of their child’s dead father?
And although I’d got away with being slightly vague about it so far, I knew it couldn’t go on much longer.
‘I’m scared,’ I said, looking up at Rachel.
‘What of?’
I shrugged, trying to work out how to explain it. ‘Nick rejected me once, when he thought I’d gone against his wishes. What if… what if I find him but he rejects me again?’ A heavy weight pressed against my heart. ‘Because it would mean he was also rejecting Flynn and I’m not sure I could bear that.’
Rachel’s hand slid across the table and she threaded her fingers through mine. ‘Just tell him you’re sorry for what you did, but you hope he’ll forgive you, and see whether he replies.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘Then you won’t have lost anything. But if he does – well, then you can decide what you want to do. Either way, you’ll never stop wondering if you don’t even try.’
It had been fairly easy to find Nick, in the end. Although Nick Flynn wasn’t an uncommon name, the fact that he’d spoken to a newspaper made him easier to trace. The things I’d discovered about him so far were that he had a Facebook profile but never posted, didn’t have Instagram or TikTok or any other social media, and he still worked as a maths teacher. About two yearsafter the crash he’d moved away from the area and now lived up in Suffolk. There were very few photos of him and none that seemed very up-to-date, so I had no idea what 58-year-old Nick might look like.
But the mere fact that he existed was a miracle.
Eventually I found his email address on the school website, then I wrote him an email.
Dear Nick
I’ve rewritten this email so many times because I don’t have a clue where to start. Sorry is probably a good place. So, I’m sorry. For everything.
If you’re reading this then I’m assuming you found and read the letter that I left for you in the bandstand. I hope you understand why I left it. I never wanted to leave things like that between us.
I know a long time has passed but I’d really like to see you. I wondered if it’s something you’d be interested in, with absolutely no pressure?
Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope to hear back from you soon.
Emma
I clicked send. Now all I could do was wait.
PART III
32
NICK
After Andy’s death, as the days had turned to weeks and the weeks into months, we all slowly started to heal. At least, the girls did, and Amanda, eventually. But the guilt felt as though it was eating me up from the inside, and apart from my work, I stopped engaging with the world. I stopped seeing friends, I saw the girls and Amanda less and less often, the pain of knowing what I’d done to them too much to bear. Eventually, I moved away, to Suffolk, and found a job in another school, far away from everything I’d known before. Ten years after his death I finally felt strong enough to set up a charity in Andy’s name, to help people who had unexpectedly lost a loved one to access grief counselling, and that kept me busy, but apart from that I led a quiet life, alone. It felt like all I deserved.
Now, in 2026, twenty years had passed since that fateful day. And although I’d learned to accept what I’d done and slowly started to forgive myself, it didn’t take much to set me back again.
And then, Emma’s email had appeared, and it was as though the last twenty years had never happened.
Emma Vickers.
The woman who had made me fall in love with her, then broken my heart.
The woman I had never truly got over. Or forgiven.
