To avoid shame, she agreed to live with a hunchbacked man But when he whispered his request into her ear, she froze
“Tom, is that you, my dear?”
“Yes, Mum, its me! Sorry its so late”
Her voice trembled with worry and exhaustion as it carried from the dark hallway. She stood there in her old dressing gown, a torch in her handas if shed been waiting for him all her life.
“Tommy, my darling, where have you been wandering till this hour? The skys pitch black, the stars shining like the eyes of woodland creatures”
“Mum, I was out with Dave. Studying, revising I just lost track of time. Im sorry I didnt call. You know how poorly you sleep”
“Or were you out with a girl?” She squinted suspiciously. “Fallen in love, have you?”
“Mum, dont be silly!” Tom laughed, kicking off his shoes. “Im not the sort girls wait for by the gate. And whod want me anywayhunchbacked, with arms like a gorilla and hair like a thistle bush?”
But pain flickered in her eyes. She didnt say that she saw not a freak, but the son shed raised in hardship, in the cold, in loneliness.
Tom was no beauty. Barely five foot three, hunched, with long, apelike arms that nearly brushed his knees. His head was large, topped with wild curls like dandelion fluff. As a boy, theyd called him “monkey boy,” “forest spirit,” “oddity.” But he grewand became more than just a man.
He and his mum, Margaret, had come to this village when he was ten. Theyd fled the cityfrom poverty, from shame: his father jailed, his mother gone. Just the two of them left. Two against the world.
“Your Tommy wont last,” old Nan would mutter, eyeing the frail boy. “Hell vanish like smoke, leave no trace.”
But Tom didnt vanish. He clung to life like a root in stone. He grew, he breathed, he worked. And Margareta woman with a heart of steel and hands ruined from bakingmade bread for the whole village. Ten hours a day, year after year, until she broke too.
When she took to bed, never to rise again, Tom became both son and daughter, nurse and doctor. He scrubbed floors, cooked porridge, read old magazines aloud. And when she diedquiet as a field breezehe stood by her coffin, fists clenched, silent. He had no tears left.
But the village remembered. Neighbours brought food, gave warm clothes. Then, unexpectedly, people began visiting. First, boys fascinated by radios. Tom worked at the repair shopfixing receivers, tuning antennas, soldering wires. He had golden hands, though they looked clumsy.
Then girls started coming. At first, just for tea and jam. Then staying longer. Laughing. Talking.
And one day, he noticedone of them, Emily, always lingered last.
“You in a hurry?” he asked when the others had gone.
“Nowhere to hurry to,” she murmured, staring at the floor. “Stepmother hates me. Three brothersrough, cruel. Dad drinks, and Im just extra. I stay with a friend, but not forever Hereits quiet. Peaceful. I dont feel alone.”
Tom looked at herand for the first time, understood he could be needed.
“Live with me,” he said simply. “Mums rooms empty. Youll be mistress here. And I Ill ask nothing. Not a word, not a glance. Just be here.”
The village talked. Whispered behind his back:
“Hows that? A hunchback and a beauty? Its a joke!”
But time passed. Emily cleaned, cooked soup, smiled. And Tomworked, stayed silent, cared.
And when she had a son, the world turned upside down.
“Who does he look like?” the village asked. “Who?”
The boy, Daniel, looked at Tom and said, “Dad!”
And Tom, whod never dreamed of fatherhood, suddenly felt something warm unfold in his chestlike a tiny sun.
He taught Daniel to fix sockets, fish, read. And Emily, watching them, would say:
“You should find a wife, Tom. You shouldnt be alone.”
“Youre like a sister to me,” hed reply. “First, Ill see you wed. To a good man. Then well see.”
And such a man came. Young, from the next village. Honest. Hardworking.
They held the wedding. Emily left.
But one day, Tom met her on the road and said:
“I want to ask Let me have Daniel.”
“What?” She blinked. “Why?”
“I know, Emily. When you have a childeverything changes. But Daniel hes not yours by blood. Youll forget him. And I I cant.”
“I wont give him up!”
“Im not taking him,” Tom said softly. “Visit whenever you like. Just let him live with me.”
Emily hesitated. Then she called her son:
“Danny! Come here! Tell mewho do you want to live with, me or Dad?”
The boy ran over, eyes shining:
“Cant it be like before? Both of you together?”
“No,” Emily said sadly.
“Then I stay with Dad!” Danny cried. “And you visit, Mum!”
So it was.
Daniel stayed. And Tom, for the first time, truly became a father.
But one day Emily returned:
“Were moving to the city. Im taking Danny.”
The boy wailed like a wounded creature, clinging to Tom:
“Im not going! Im staying with Dad!”
“Tom” Emily whispered, staring at the floor. “Hes not yours.”
“I know,” Tom said. “I always knew.”
“Ill run back to Dad!” Daniel sobbed.
And he did. Again and again.
They took himhe returned.
Finally, Emily gave in.
“Let it be,” she said. “Hes made his choice.”
Then a new story began.
Next door, Marthas husband drowned. A drunk, a brute, a terrible man. God gave them no childrenthered been no love in that house.
Tom started stopping by for milk. Thenfixing the fence, mending the roof. Thenjust visiting. Drinking tea. Talking.
They grew close. Slowly. Carefully. Like adults.
Emily wrote letters. Told him Daniel had a sisterDiana.
“Bring her,” Tom wrote. “Family should be together.”
A year later, they came.
Daniel doted on his sister. Held her, sang lullabies, taught her to walk.
“Son,” Emily pleaded. “Live with us. The citytheatre, school, opportunities”
“No,” Daniel shook his head. “I wont leave Dad. And Aunt Marthas like a mum now.”
Thenschool.
When boys bragged of fathers who were lorry drivers, soldiers, engineers, Daniel never faltered.
“My dad?” hed say proudly. “He can fix anything. He understands how the world works. He saved me. Hes my hero.”
A year passed.
Martha and Tom sat by the fire with Daniel.
“Were having a baby,” Martha said. “A little one.”
“You wont send me away?” Daniel whispered.
“Dont be daft!” Martha hugged him tight. “Youre as dear to me as my own. All I ever wanted!”
“Son,” Tom said, watching the flames. “How could you think that? Youre my world.”
Months later, little Alfie was born.
Daniel cradled his brother like treasure.
“Now Ive got a sister,” he murmured. “And a brother. And Dad. And Aunt Martha.”
Emily kept calling.
But Daniel always answered:
“Ive already come home.”
Years passed. People forgot Daniel wasnt Toms blood. The whispers stopped.
And when Daniel became a father himself, he told his children and grandchildren about the best dad in the world.
“He wasnt handsome,” Daniel would say. “But he had more love in him than anyone Ive known.”
Every year, on the anniversary, their house filledMarthas children, Emilys children, grandkids, great-grandkids.
They drank tea, laughed, remembered.
“Best father we ever had!” the grown-ups would say, raising their mugs. “May there be more like him!”
And always, someones finger would point upwardto the sky, to the stars, to the memory of a man who, against all odds, became a true father.
The only one.
Unforgettable.
