A Valentine’s Day Surprise That Revealed a Bitter Truth
Eleanor had spent weeks preparing for the fourteenth of February with all the tenderness of first love. She’d bought a charming little gift—a heart-shaped keyring—and resolved to surprise her beau, Edmund. In their two months together, she’d never once visited his home. Something always came up—work, appointments, or the vague excuse that it “wasn’t the right time.” But today, she was certain things would fall into place.
She rang the bell at his flat. Footsteps echoed inside, yet no one answered. Frowning, she pulled out her mobile and dialled his number.
“Hullo?” His voice was muffled, distant.
“It’s me. Open the door—I’m right outside.”
“You… came over? Why didn’t you tell me?” His tone was edged with panic.
“It just happened. Open up, and I’ll explain.”
“I’m not home. At the office. The boss called me in. Sorry—gotta go, he’s coming.” The line went dead.
Eleanor stepped back, studying the building. She was sure he was inside. The neighbour she’d met at the door swore she’d seen Edmund enter not long ago. A light burned in his window, and there, on the sill, sat the Christmas star plant she’d given him.
None of it added up.
She retreated to her car, parked nearby, but didn’t leave. Her thoughts tangled like old yarn. Then it struck her—why not wait and see?
Across the road stood a little chippy. She ordered fish and chips and settled on a bench with a clear view of the building. She ate slowly, eyes fixed on the windows.
Then, the curtain twitched. Moments later, Edmund’s face appeared, scanning the car park as if searching for something—or someone. Eleanor’s breath caught. He was looking for her car.
So he had been home all along. Lying.
Minutes later, the front door swung open. Eleanor nearly stood, then froze. Edmund wasn’t alone.
He wore a baby sling, a tiny infant nestled inside. A boy of about eight walked beside him, gripping the hand of a toddler. Behind them, a bespectacled woman herded the little procession.
Eleanor didn’t make a sound. She raised her phone and snapped a few pictures—not for vengeance, but to fix the moment in her mind like a full stop.
She didn’t follow. Her heart ached for the children. They deserved better than a father who lied.
Later, at home, she blocked Edmund’s number. Soon, messages came. Then calls. When silence didn’t satisfy him, he turned up on her doorstep.
She met him outside, barring the door.
“What’s happened? Why are you acting like this?” he began.
“Are you sure you want the answer?”
“Of course! I don’t even know what’s wrong—”
“Take a look,” she said, thrusting the photos at him.
Edmund’s face darkened.
“Right. You saw everything.”
“And you still came here as if nothing was amiss? Thought you could talk your way out of it?”
“Eleanor, wait—it’s not what you think.”
“Oh, of course. The woman’s a stranger, and those children just escaped from nursery? You told me you had a dog named Buster. Seems Buster is your son?”
“Aye. He’s mine. The other two as well. The woman’s their nanny. My wife—ex-wife—left us. Went abroad.”
“Why didn’t you say so from the start? Why hide it?”
“We’d only just met. I didn’t know how you’d react. Didn’t want to scare you off.”
“And when were you planning to tell me? At the altar?”
“Eleanor… I never meant to deceive you.”
“You already did. More than once. You hid your children, your whole life. Told me it was just you and a bloody dog. I won’t stay in something built on lies from the first day.”
“So you’ll leave? Like everyone else?”
“I’m nineteen, Edmund. I’m not afraid of children. But I am afraid of deceit—and I don’t forgive it.”
She clutched the keyring, still in her pocket, never given. Then she turned and walked away. Without a glance. Without regret.
“I’ll give it to someone honest from the start. Someone worthy of love.”
