My Sister’s Lies. S.D. Robertson

he might find within.

      He remained there, contemplating this, for several minutes until eventually a large SUV came along, wanting to drive by, forcing him to move out of the way. So he stuck the unopened envelope into the side pocket of his shorts and wheeled the hefty case to the nearest lift.

      He made it halfway home before curiosity got the better of him. He stopped at a vacant bench, sat down and pulled the envelope out of his pocket.

      He took it in both hands, one holding each side like he was watching a video on his mobile, and raised it to eye level. The quivering of his limbs made the flimsy paper jiggle backwards and forwards. He told himself this was down to the breeze, but his raised heartbeat and shallow breathing were dead giveaways of the real reason.

      Mark scrutinised the four letters of his name, which were scrawled in a large, loose hand using blue biro. The writing style wasn’t dissimilar from Hannah’s; if there was any other information to be gained from examining it, Mark wasn’t the person to do so. He had absolutely no clue whether it had been written in haste, anger or whatever. As for what it contained: not much, by the feel of things; probably one or two sheets of paper.

      The only way forward was to open it, of course. He knew that, but it took a few more minutes of staring at the envelope – building up to it – before he felt ready to do so.

      His heart raced faster still as he finally ran a finger under the seal and pulled out the contents: a single sheet of plain A4 paper, folded three times and with writing on both sides.

      Taking a deep breath and then slowly exhaling, he unfolded the letter and read what Diane had to say to him, penned in the same blue ink as the envelope.

       Dear Mark,

       If you’re reading this, that means I’ve chickened out of speaking to you in person. I apologise. In my defence, my head’s all over the place right now.

       I’m writing this in the spare room of your lovely apartment. It’s after three in the morning. Mia is asleep in the bed next to me and, apart from the city noises that float in through the open window behind me, everything here is calm and still.

       Everything except me, that is. I can’t sleep tonight. I wonder if you and Hannah can after what I’ve asked of you.

       I really hope you’ll say yes. If you’re reading this, then you must have, so thank you for that, from the bottom of my heart.

       I don’t deserve your help – but Mia does. She’s an innocent party in everything that’s happened to bring us to this moment and I honestly believe there’s no better or safer place for her to be right now than here with you. Please don’t blame her for my mistakes.

       Now to get to the point. There’s no easy way to say this, which is why I’ve been waffling and, of course, why I’m writing this letter in the first place. I already know there’s a good chance I won’t dare to tell you in person tomorrow.

       I know you suspected this previously. I know you came right out with it and asked me, yet I denied it to your face. Honestly, I thought I was doing the best thing by everyone in telling you that. But it was a lie – and now it’s time for the truth.

       Your suspicions were right: Mia is your daughter.

       I know. That must be a shock to read. You probably don’t even believe me. I can totally understand why you’d think it’s yet another lie.

       But it’s not. I swear it on my own life, for what that’s worth.

       I’m afraid I can’t bring myself to swear anything on Mia’s life. She’s too precious to me. Look at her, though, and then look in your heart. Spend some time with her, like you did before, and I think you’ll see that what I’m saying is true.

       Why am I telling you this now? Well, for one thing, because it’s the right thing to do. Secrets and lies are no good. They eat you up inside.

       There’s more to it than that, of course, but I think I’ve given you quite enough to digest for now.

       For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry for everything I’ve put you through.

       Diane

      Mark read the letter three times in total, one immediately after the other. Even then he didn’t feel like he’d truly absorbed its contents.

      It was worse than he’d expected. Much worse. He’d been pretty sure it would be something to do with that one night they’d spent together. That huge mistake he’d made around fifteen years ago and regretted ever since. But not this. Not Mia.

      He’d feared maybe Diane was looking for money after all; that she’d been planning to blackmail him by threatening to tell Hannah unless he coughed up some cash.

      That was the most likely scenario he’d been able to come up with after she’d handed him the envelope.

      But not this.

      How could he be Mia’s father?

      He knew it was technically possible, but … if he actually was, how could Diane have kept that from him for so many years? Naturally he’d been suspicious once, because the dates were too close for comfort. He’d asked her outright on several occasions and, as her letter specified, she’d always been adamant that Mia wasn’t his child. Eventually, he’d believed her. It had been a relief, to be honest.

      He’d never forgotten their night of passion – and not in a good way. It was still a regular source of nightmares, which usually ended with Hannah walking in and discovering them in bed together. But in recent years, with so much water under the bridge, he’d barely thought about the possibility they might have conceived a child together. Had Mia been around and in his life, it may well have been a different story. He could have seen things in her to make him wonder, as had happened when she was younger.

      Having kids had never been on Mark’s agenda. He’d ruled it out long ago, thanks in no small part to a devastating experience he and his family had been through when he was still a child himself. It was something he avoided discussing or even thinking about to this day. He preferred to tell people he simply wasn’t a paternal kind of man, which was also true. It wound him up when parents fussed on social media over things like their child’s first day at school or the outfit they’d dressed up in to go trick-or-treating on Halloween.

      So after more than a decade of not seeing Mia – a girl Mark had been assured was only his niece by marriage – she’d been pushed far from his thoughts.

      Until now.

      At this moment Mia was right at the heart of his thoughts. He had no idea what he was going to say to her when he returned to the flat. How could he look at her or Hannah without giving away what he’d just read? What if Diane had already told Mia or given her some kind of hint? And how was he supposed to know for sure she wasn’t making it up?

      Mark’s mind leapt frantically from one thought to another. This was a potential disaster. No wonder Diane hadn’t wanted to tell him in person, although how he wished she had. There were a million questions he wanted to ask her. Not least, he needed to know if she’d told anyone else so far or planned to do so in the near future. Frank, his father-in-law, was a terrifying possibility. But even that paled into insignificance compared to the prospect of Hannah finding out.

      He knew how heartbroken she would be to discover he and Diane had slept together. He’d already imagined that scene countless times. And for Hannah to find out now, all these years later, knowing they’d kept it from her and lied to her face. It would be truly awful.

      But this was so much worse. The very idea of him fathering Mia – giving Hannah’s hated sister a child while denying his wife the same – that would devastate her.

      He’d have to get Diane’s mobile number from Hannah’s