This story is by Kellie Ogawa and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
‘Dad says it’s almost ready.’ The smell of barbequed sausages wafted in as my daughter opened the patio door, closing it behind her to block the summer flies.
Jasmine’s sandy blonde hair was in a ponytail, and her tanned skin evidenced the hours she spent playing beach volleyball.
‘So, what do you think?’ she asked, sitting on the stool across the kitchen bench from me as I arranged the salad.
‘He seems nice,’ I commented. Her current boyfriend, Mitch, was talking with Chris while they supervised the sausages. ‘You must be confident, leaving him alone with Dad.’
‘He’ll be alright,’ she agreed. ‘He’s pretty open about things; it’s refreshing.’
‘Open about what?’ I frowned, concerned.
‘I told you about his dad being in prison in the UK and his mum wanting to start a new life here,’ she reminded me.
‘Hmm.’ I nodded. ‘What’s he in for?’
‘Drugs, money laundering, sounds like some pretty heavy stuff,’ Jazzy admitted. ‘But you’ve always taught us to judge people on their own merit.’
I nodded again and let the matter drop, her words bringing up memories of my own.
Later that evening, Jazzy and I were washing the dishes while Chris cleaned the barbeque. I could hear our son, Lachlan, playing video games in his room upstairs.
‘So, you and Mitch met at uni?’
‘Yeah, he transferred up from Melbourne after Covid.’
We both smiled. There had been an influx of families moving north for a more relaxed lifestyle.
‘What’s his surname?’
‘Baxter.’
The world seemed to stop, and I could feel my heartbeat throb behind my eyes, distorting my vision. I took a deep breath and nodded, not ready to try my voice in case it betrayed me.
‘He lives over near King’s Beach,’ Jazzy continued, showing no reaction to my distress.
‘What’s he studying?’ I forced my voice to sound normal when inside my thoughts were racing. It was a coincidence; plenty of immigrants from England would have the same surname. Just as jails held many people convicted of money laundering and drug-related crimes.
‘He wants to be a social worker. He said it’s because his dad did lots of bad stuff and hurt lots of people.’
‘Noble,’ I nodded.
‘His mum’s always been honest with him about his dad. She says you can shape your own future if you’re truthful about the past.’
‘What’s her name?’ I both needed and feared her answer.
‘Wendy. I like her. I reckon you’d like her too; she’s pretty straightforward.’
Wendy Baxter. Short skirt, tight top and stiletto heels. Heavy makeup with bright red lipstick. Dyed blonde hair and piercing green eyes.
‘And his dad’s?’
‘Joe. Wendy has this tattoo on her arm, his name in a heart. It’s pretty corny, but she says she keeps it to remind her of what not to do.’
Joe Baxter. Jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket. His short brown hair, broad shoulders and the way he dominated a room.
Why does your mind try to deny or come to other conclusions when in your heart you know the truth? I had heard enough; I didn’t want to hear any more. I changed the topic to the upcoming beach volleyball season and was glad when Jasmine chatted on, none the wiser.
Lying next to Chris that night, I couldn’t sleep. With each gentle snore, a new memory surfaced. Memories I had kept hidden – no – suppressed. When we were different people. Of Joe Baxter. A charismatic man, who took what he wanted, and few could resist.
I remembered our last dinner, just the four of us. Chris was his accountant, and he looked small and weak next to Joe, who dictated the conversation. Wendy and I could never be friends; while she had actively embraced Joe’s life, he drew me in until I saw no way out. I thought her gaze lingered on me a few times and wondered if she knew. But perhaps it was only my tension as I felt the life stirring beneath my hand as it rested on my belly. How this would change everything.
When we got home from dinner that night, I told Chris I was pregnant. I refused to bring this new, innocent life into our dangerous and deceptive world. While we had chosen this life, this child had not.
Then there were police on our doorstep, and Joe was arrested. They questioned us endlessly, and we lived in fear. Until we fled to Australia to start a new life. Until my daughter met Mitchell Baxter, son of Joe and Wendy Baxter.
Did the man who slept beside me and the daughter down the hall need to know? I buried the truth again, naively believing it might never come to light.
‘What? When?’ I asked in panic. I put the coffee pot down as my hand trembled. Chris’ announcement two weeks later over breakfast caught me off guard.
‘Next Saturday for lunch.’ He frowned, puzzled at my reaction. ‘There’s nothing on the calendar.’
I stared at him in silence, open-mouthed.
‘Jenn?’ His voice conveyed his concern. ‘What’s wrong? Why don’t you want to meet Mitch’s mum?’
How could I tell him? How could I destroy the perfect life he had created for us here?
‘Babe, what’s wrong?’ he asked again as I continued to stare at him.
‘Not here.’ I shook my head, knowing both Jasmine and Lachlan were in their rooms. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’
‘What the hell’s this about?’ Chris demanded, not moving.
I reached over and grasped his arm. I looked up at my husband, and still I hesitated, unwilling to be the one who would say the words to shatter our world.
‘What?’ he said more gently, seeing how distraught I was.
The words formed in my brain but refused to be spoken. I shook my head as tears filled my eyes.
‘Joe Baxter,’ I whispered.
I watched my husband’s face change. From recognition, to disbelief, to fear. We locked eyes, our expressions mirroring each other.
Without another word, we left the house. We walked hand in hand, supporting each other, just as we had for so many years. From a turbulent past riddled with lies and deceit, to a happy, normal, well-adjusted family.
We sat on the park bench. The cloudless blue sky and the sound of children playing mocked the dread that had settled in the pit of my stomach.
‘Are you sure?’ Chris asked, staring at the grass in front of him.
‘Mitch Baxter is the son of Joe and Wendy Baxter.’
‘Mitch? Jazzy’s Mitch?’ There was a moment of silence. ‘Holy shit.’
Chris leaned forward and took a deep breath to steady himself. I put my hand over his as it gripped his knee. I watched as his own memories surfaced and allowed him time to process our situation.
‘Jazzy told me his mother, Wendy, has a tattoo on her arm of Joe’s name in a love heart.’ I said, my voice soft.
‘He told me all about his dad being in jail. He was so honest and open. I never thought…’
‘Apparently, Wendy believed it was better he knew the whole truth.’
Chris turned towards me. ‘What do we do?’
I glanced at my husband and knew once more the decision was mine. We had escaped to Australia, assumed new identities and tried to forget the past because I had convinced him to. And I had done that to protect our unborn child, the same child we had lied to all her life.
‘We have to tell her, and Lochie.’
‘How? How can we tell them their entire past is a lie?’ Chris echoed my own thoughts. ‘Even our names were given to us by Witness Protection.’
‘We can only tell them the truth now and hope they understand,’ I shrugged.
‘And Jazzy and Mitch? What happens when she knows her dad’s testimony helped put his father away?’
‘That’s not our decision. That will have to be hers.’
My sole focus had been to escape our criminal past and fashion a better life for our child. And now we risked losing what we had tried so hard to protect. People focus on those who are lied to. The perceived damage done to them elicits more sympathy than for those who concealed the truth. But in the end, we all feel the pain.
Chris sighed and stood. He held out his hand, and I took it. We had to believe that our children would understand that the decisions we made over twenty years ago were ultimately for them, for our family. I smiled at my husband. At least we would do this together.
Leave a Reply