To avoid disgrace, she agreed to live with a hunchbacked man But when he whispered his request in her ear, she froze
“John, is that you, love?”
“Yes, Mum, it’s me! Sorry it’s so late…”
His mothers voice trembled with worry and exhaustion as it carried from the dark hallway. She stood there in her old dressing gown, torch in handshe might as well have been waiting for him all her life.
“Johnny, my darling, where on earth have you been till this hour? The skys pitch black, stars shining like foxes eyes…”
“Sorry, Mum. Dave and I were studying. Lost track of time. Shouldve called. I know you dont sleep well…”
“Or were you off with some girl?” she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Fallen in love, have you?”
“Dont be daft!” John laughed, kicking off his shoes. “Girls dont wait by the gate for blokes like me. Whod want a hunchback with arms like an ape and a head like a thistle bush?”
But pain flickered in her eyes. She didnt say that to her, he wasnt a freakjust her son, raised in hardship, in cold, in loneliness.
John was no beauty. Barely five foot three, bent-backed, with arms so long they nearly grazed his knees. His head was large, crowned with wild curls like dandelion fluff. As a boy, theyd called him “monkey,” “forest goblin,” “oddity of nature.” Yet he grewand became more than just a man.
He and his mum, Margaret Anne, had come to this village when he was ten. They fled the cityfrom poverty, from shame. His father jailed, his mother gone. Only the two of them left. Two against the world.
“That boy wont last,” old Mrs. Taylor muttered, eyeing the scrawny lad. “Hell vanish like smoke, and no onell notice.”
But John didnt vanish. He clung to life like ivy to stone. He grew, breathed, worked. And Margareta woman with a heart of steel and hands ruined by years in the bakerybaked bread for the whole village. Ten hours a day, year after year, until she, too, broke.
When she took ill, bedridden, John became son, daughter, nurse, and doctor all at once. He mopped floors, cooked porridge, read old magazines aloud. And when she diedsoftly, like wind fading from a fieldhe stood by the coffin, fists clenched, silent. He had no tears left.
But people remembered. Neighbours brought food, gave him warm clothes. Thenunexpectedlythey began visiting. First lads fascinated by radios. John worked at the repair shopfixing receivers, tuning aerials, soldering wires. His hands were gold, awkward as they looked.
Then girls started dropping by. First just for tea and chat. Then staying longer. Laughing. Talking.
One day, he noticedone of them, Emily, always lingered.
“Not in a rush?” he asked when the others had gone.
“Nowhere to rush to,” she murmured, staring at the floor. “Stepmother hates me. Three brothersrough, cruel. Fathers always drunk. Im just in the way. I stay with a friend, but that wont last Here, its quiet. Safe. I dont feel alone.”
John looked at herand for the first time, understood he could be needed.
“Stay with me,” he said simply. “Mums rooms empty. Youll be mistress here. And I Ill ask for nothing. Not a word, not a glance. Just be here.”
People talked. Whispered behind his back:
“A hunchback and a beauty? Ridiculous!”
But time passed. Emily cleaned, cooked soup, smiled. And Johnworked, stayed quiet, cared.
Then she had a son, and his world turned upside down.
“Whos he look like?” the village asked. “Who?”
The boy, Daniel, looked at John and said, “Daddy!”
And Johnwhod never dreamed of fatherhoodfelt something warm unfold in his chest, like a tiny sun.
He taught Daniel to fix plugs, fish, read. Emily, watching them, once said:
“You ought to find a wife, John. You shouldnt be alone.”
“Youre like a sister to me,” he replied. “First, well see you wed. To a good man. Then well see.”
And a good man came. Young, from the next village. Honest. Hardworking.
They held the wedding. Emily left.
One day, John met her on the road and said:
“Ive a request Let me keep Daniel.”
“What?” she gasped. “Why?”
“I know, Emily. When you have a child, everything changes. But Daniel hes not yours by blood. Youll forget him. And I I cant.”
“You wont take him!”
“Im not stealing him,” John said softly. “Visit when you like. Just let him stay with me.”
Emily hesitated. Then called her son:
“Danny! Come here! Tell mewho do you want to live with? Me or Dad?”
The boy ran over, eyes bright:
“Cant we be together? Like before?”
“No,” Emily said sadly.
“Then I stay with Dad!” Danny cried. “But you visit, Mum!”
And so it was.
Daniel stayed. And John, for the first time, truly became a father.
But one day, Emily returned:
“Were moving to the city. Im taking Danny.”
The boy wailed, clung to John:
“I wont go! I stay with Dad!”
“John” Emily whispered, staring down. “Hes not yours.”
“I know,” John said. “Ive always known.”
“Ill run back to Dad!” Daniel sobbed.
And he did. Again and again.
They took himhe returned.
Finally, Emily gave in.
“Have it your way,” she sighed. “Hes chosen.”
Then a new chapter began.
Next door, Marthas husband drowned. A drunk, a tyrant, a monster. God gave them no childrenthered been no love in that house.
John started dropping by for milk. Then to mend the fence, patch the roof. Then just to visit. Drink tea. Talk.
They grew close. Slowly. Carefully. Like adults do.
Emily wrote letters. Said Daniel had a sister nowDaisy.
“Send her too,” John wrote. “Family should be together.”
A year later, they came.
Daniel doted on his sister. Held her, sang, taught her to walk.
“Son,” Emily pleaded. “Live with us. The citys got theatres, schools, opportunities…”
“No,” Daniel said firmly. “I wont leave Dad. And Aunt Marthas like a mum now.”
Then school.
When boys boasted of dads who were lorry drivers, soldiers, engineers, Daniel never flinched.
“My dad?” hed say proudly. “He can fix anything. He understands how the world works. He saved me. Hes my hero.”
A year later.
Martha and John sat by the fire with Daniel.
“Were having a baby,” Martha said. “A little one.”
“You wont send me away?” Daniel whispered.
“Dont be silly!” Martha hugged him. “Youre as good as mine. The son I always wanted!”
“Lad,” John said, watching the flames. “How could you think that? Youre my world.”
Months later, little Sam was born.
Daniel cradled his brother like treasure.
“Ive a sister now,” he murmured. “And a brother. And Dad. And Aunt Martha.”
Emily still called for him.
But Daniel always replied:
“Im already home.”
Years passed. People forgot Daniel wasnt Johns by blood. Stopped whispering.
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 kids, Emilys kids, grandchildren, great-grandchildren.
They drank tea, laughed, remembered.
“Best father we ever had!” the grown-ups would toast. “May there be more like him!”
And always, someones finger pointed upto the sky, the stars, the memory of a man who, against all odds, became a true father.
The only one.
Unforgettable.
