I Secretly Recorded My Parents’ Conversations

The key turned in the lock, and Emily, careful not to make a sound, slipped into the flat. The hallway was dark, save for a thin strip of light creeping from the kitchen. Her parents were still up, though it was well past midnight. Lately, this had become routinelong, hushed conversations behind closed doors, sometimes escalating into muffled bickering.

Kicking off her heels and dropping her work bag by the console table, Emily tiptoed to her room. She wasnt in the mood to explain why she was late, even if the reason was perfectly validher project deadline was looming, and the numbers refused to cooperate.

Through the wall, she caught fragments of their whispers.

“No, James, I cant keep doing this,” Mum said quietly, irritation edging her voice. “You promised last month.”

“Emma, be reasonablenows not the time,” Dad replied, sounding defensive, as usual.

Emily sighed. Lately, her parents were always arguing about *something*, yet around her, they pretended everything was fine. Sure, they were in their fifties, and she was long past needing their protectionbut it still stung to realise something was off.

She changed, washed up, and crawled under the covers, but sleep wouldnt come. Her thoughts spiralled. Her brother, Oliver, lived in Manchester and rarely visited. If her parents divorcedwho would stay with whom? Whod get the flat? And why were they hiding their problems?

The murmurs next door continued. Emily fumbled for her headphones, desperate to drown out their secrets with music. Her hand knocked her phone off the nightstand, and as she picked it up, the voice recorder app flickered open. Her thumb hovered over the screen.

What if she recorded them? Just to know what was really going on, instead of guessing. If she asked outright, theyd just brush her off with another “everythings fine.”

Guilt prickled. Eavesdropping was wrong, let alone recording private conversations. But then againthey were *her* parents. Didnt she have a right to know if something was seriously wrong?

Before she could overthink it, she hit record, placed the phone closer to the wall, and pulled the duvet over her head.

The next morning, as she rushed to get ready for work, she noticed how exhausted both her parents looked. Breakfast was a stilted affair, just polite small talk.

“You were back late,” Mum remarked, pouring tea. “Work again?”

“Yeah, wrapping up the project,” Emily nodded. “Why were *you* up so late?”

“Oh, just watching a film,” Mum waved it off, not meeting her eyes.

Dad buried his nose in the *Daily Mail*, suddenly engrossed in an article.

“Dont wait up for me tonight,” he muttered, still not looking at her. “Client negotiationsmight run late.”

Mum pressed her lips together but said nothing.

The entire Tube ride to the office, Emily battled the urge to listen to the recording. But it was too crowded, too public. Shed wait till she got home.

The day dragged. Finally back in the empty flatMum had left a note saying shed gone to a friends, and Dad was, unsurprisingly, still at workEmily curled up on the sofa, hit play, and braced herself.

At first, only fragments were audible, then the voices sharpened.

“should we tell Emily?” Dad sounded anxious.

“I dont know,” Mum sighed. “What if she doesnt understand? After all this time…”

“But she *deserves* to know.”

“Of course she does, but how do we explain why weve kept quiet for *years*?”

Emily froze. *What* truth were they hiding?

“Remember how it all started?” Dad asked suddenly, a smile in his voice.

“How could I forget?” Mum chuckled. “I thought itd just be a flingturned out to be for life.”

“And what a life its been,” Dad snorted. “Even when it was tough.”

“*Especially* when Emily came along.”

Her chest squeezed. What did *especially* mean? Had she been unwanted? Or was it something else?

“But we managed,” Dad continued. “And shes turned out brilliantly.”

“She has,” Mum said warmly, and Emily relaxed slightly. “But now weve got to decide whats next. Im tired of this double life, James.”

*Double life?* Emilys stomach dropped. Was one of them having an affair? The thought made her nauseous.

“Emma, lets at least wait till Oliver visits. Well talk as a family.”

“Fine,” Mum conceded. “But no more delays after that. Either we change everything… or I dont know what.”

The recording cut offmaybe theyd left the kitchen, or the phone had stopped.

Emily sat stunned. What was happening to her family? What *double life*? Why did they need Oliver there to explain?

A thousand questions, zero answers. Should she record them again? No, that felt like crossing a line. Better to call Oliver. Or Aunt MargaretMums sister, always the straight shooter.

Decision made: shed ring Oliver tomorrow and visit Aunt Margaret this weekend.

Oliver didnt pick up all day, finally calling back that evening.

“Em! Sorry, left my phone in the van. Whats up?”

“When are you visiting?” she blurted.

“Was planning this weekend. Why?”

“Parents are being weird. Whispering, pretending everythings normal. Talking about a *double life*.”

A pause.

“Ollie?”

“Yeah, sorry. Look, dont overthink it. People have secretseven parents.”

“So you *know* whats going on?”

“Ive… got an idea,” he hedged. “But if theyre not ready to talk, neither am I. Wait till Saturday, yeah? Well figure it out then.”

Reluctantly, she agreed. “Should I visit Aunt Margaret?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “Keep her out of it. This stays between us.”

The call left her more unsettled. So Oliver *did* know. And why shield Aunt Margaret? Maybe it *was* an affairsome ugly family scandal they wanted buried.

That evening, Mum returned from her friends in high spirits, cheeks pink, eyes bright.

“Guess what? Sarahs selling her flat! Moving to the countrysidesays shes sick of the city.”

Emily nodded vaguely.

“Would *you* ever move to the countryside?” she asked suddenly.

Mum stilled, then answered carefully, “I dont know. Sometimes, yes. The quiet, the fresh air… a garden.”

“And Dad?”

“What about Dad?”

“Would *he* want to?”

“Ask him yourself,” Mum said tightly. “Hell be late tonight. Dont wait up.”

Miraculously, Dad came home earlier than expected. Emily was making tea when she heard the front door.

“Tea, Dad?” she called.

“Please,” he replied, loosening his tie as he entered. “Wheres your mother?”

“Watching a film. How was work?”

“Fine,” he sank into a chair. “Client agreed to our terms, so the projects greenlit.”

“Great.” She slid him a mug. “So is it true you and Mum have something big to tell me?”

Dad stiffened. “Whered you hear that?”

“Oliver let it slip,” she lied. “Said youd explain when he visits.”

Dad rubbed his temples. “There *is* something. But lets wait for Oliver, alright? Its better that way.”

“Is it bad?” she pressed. “Are you two splitting up?”

“*What?*” He looked genuinely shocked. “No! Why would you think that?”

“Youre always whispering, arguing. Mum mentioned a *double life*.”

Confusion, then understanding, thenrelief?flashed across his face.

“Em, youve got it all wrong,” he exhaled. “No ones splitting up. Quite the opposite…” He trailed off. “Just wait till the weekend, okay? Promise, its nothing bad.”

“Really?”

“Cross my heart.” He squeezed her hand. “Now drink your tea before its cold.”

That night, she tossed and turned, piecing together snippets of conversations, tones, evasions. If not divorce, then what? Illness? Money trouble? Moving? The last thought chilled her. Shed just settled into her job, her friendsshe *loved* London.

Still, something didnt add up. Why had Dad said *opposite*? The opposite of divorce was *marriage*? But theyd been married thirty years. Renewing vows? A second honeymoon?

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

“Still awake?” Mum peered in.

“No. You?”

“Just thinking.” Mum sat on the beds edge. “What did you and Dad talk about?”

“Nothing much. Work. Olivers visiting this weekend.”

“I know,” Mum