Two Fates of One Blood: The Story of Emily and Alice
As many families as there are in the world, so too are there countless fates. It all begins, it seems, the same: a cosy home, kind parents, the bright laughter of children. Then life paints its own strokes—mercilessly, unexpectedly, even cruelly at times.
Sisters Emily and Alice were born just a year apart, raised in a warm, unassuming family. Their mother, Margaret, and father, Edward, adored their daughters. Emily, the elder, was spirited, her temper like fire. Alice—gentle, quieter than still water. Both excelled in school, earning praise from teachers, and Margaret returned from parent evenings with pride.
“Emily was held up as an example today,” she told Edward. “They say she’s lively, always helping. Alice’s meeting is next week—will you go?”
“Of course,” Edward nodded. “Our girls are golden.”
Next door lived James, a year older than Emily. Since childhood, they were inseparable—the river, school, long walks. Friendship bloomed into a quiet, tender love. One evening, as in their younger years, he tapped on her window:
“Em, fancy a walk?”
She stepped out—wearing a new blouse, a touch of makeup, almost a woman now. James froze. But instead of words, he simply took her hand. She smiled, as she always did.
“Fancy the pictures instead?”
“Let’s walk first. The films can wait.”
They wandered down the country path to the river. There, under the hush of night, he suddenly squeezed her fingers.
“I’ve loved you for ages. Just never said.”
“I knew,” Emily replied softly. “And I love you too.”
He spoke of the future, of leaving for military service that autumn. He feared she wouldn’t wait. She swore she would—that no one else mattered.
“When I return, we’ll marry,” James said. “Agreed?”
“Consider that your proposal,” she teased.
Margaret had seen this coming, though she took no joy in it. She disliked James’s family—boisterous, always squabbling. She hoped university might broaden Emily’s horizons.
“Why must she fixate on that James?” she fretted. “The world’s full of lads.”
But Edward stayed calm.
“Let her be, love. It’s her choice.”
James left for service; Emily went away to study. She visited on weekends, wrote letters, kept her promise. Yet when James returned, she barely recognised him. Weary, hardened, distant.
“I’ll mend him,” she thought. “He’s been through something dreadful. I’ll bring him back.”
She loved him still. Hoped still. Margaret, watching Emily return home stone-faced, pleaded:
“He doesn’t love you. Why ruin yourself?”
Emily wouldn’t listen.
They married. Emily switched to part-time studies. Fell pregnant. And he—began to stray. With Lucy, the neighbour’s girl, now grown during his absence. Emily turned a blind eye. Even when Alice once said:
“I saw them. Arm in arm, heading to the river.”
“Don’t make up tales,” Emily snapped. “Everyone just wants us divorced.”
She bore a daughter. Hoped, perhaps, this would change everything. It didn’t. James ignored the child, was cold to his wife, sometimes cruel. One night, fearing for her baby, Emily packed their things and fled to her parents’.
“He didn’t even blink,” she whispered. “Just said nothing.”
“Now your James is living with Lucy,” Alice told her. “Not even divorced yet, and she’s playing house.”
Emily slumped—but didn’t break. Her parents helped; her daughter grew. Three years later, at work, she met Peter—visiting on business. Warm, thoughtful, he loved her and her child. Proposed. Moved them to another town. Built a home. A second daughter came. True happiness settled in.
Meanwhile, Alice’s life had unfolded too. She’d fallen for Andrew, a lad from the next estate. Reserved, kind, humble. They courted two years. Her parents approved.
But Alice fell pregnant, and Andrew—said nothing. As if it were nothing to do with him. Then she confessed to her mother: this was her second pregnancy. The first, at his mother’s urging, she’d ended.
Margaret didn’t know what hurt more—her daughter’s betrayal, or the betrayal of a grown woman letting a boy shirk responsibility.
She went to Andrew’s mother.
“Your son doesn’t love my daughter. Won’t marry. I won’t let him ruin her life,” the woman said coldly.
Margaret left crushed—but resolved. Her girl would have this child. And no one but family was needed.
Alice bore a son. Her parents helped, raised him as their own. Never regretted it. Then came Henry—steady, well-off, kind. He adopted the boy, proposed. The village turned out for their wedding. Later, a second son was born. Alice blossomed. At last, she was happy.
One family. Two sisters. Emily and Alice. Seemingly so different. Yet fate led them nearly the same: young love, shattered hopes, betrayal, loneliness. Then—salvation. Hope. And new happiness.
Only for one, a daughter came in wedlock; for the other, before. But what did it matter now?
Both found their joy. Though it took pain. Took tears. Still—they found it.
