**Thursday, 12th March**
A dreadful discovery came about purely by chance. My little four-year-old sister, Lucy, developed an umbilical hernia. The doctors said not to delaythe sooner the operation, the better. Lucy outright refused to go to the hospital without Dad. We waited till he got back from his lorry route, and he walked her all the way to the operating theatre.
“Daddy, will you wait here for me?” my sister sobbed.
“Where else would I go, love? Of course Ill wait. Why are you crying? Youre my brave girl, arent you?”
“Im not crying! I just sigh a lot!”
And off she went. A routine procedure, nothing complicated. But the hospital insisted Mum and Dad donate bloodstandard practice, they said.
“Shouldnt you test first?” Dad asked. “Her blood type might only match one of us. No point in both donating if its not needed.”
“Theres no such thing as useless blood,” the doctor said firmly.
So they both gave blood. Mum looked pale, swaying like she might faint any second. Afterwards, she couldnt sit stillkept pacing, chatting with the nurses. When Lucy was wheeled out, Dad went to meet her, just as hed promised. Stayed with her the whole weekend. Mum seemed to settle, visited briefly, then took me home even though I protested.
“I can stay with her too,” I insisted.
I was eleven at the time. Lucy, my little blonde sister, was my world. Maybe even more than Mum and Dad. How could you not love her? An angel. A real-life golden-haired angel.
Picture a small market town with its modest hospitalnewish, well-equipped, even had a blood bank. But a village is still a village. Three days later, Lucy was home, and Dad was packing for another haul. He popped out for cigarettes. Came back looking like storm clouds.
“Daddy!” Lucy wailed from the nursery (she was still on bed rest). “Did you get my marshmallows?”
Dad left the shopping bag in the hall. Told me sharply to go to Lucys room. Took Mum by the elbow and steered her into the kitchen.
“John John, whats wrong?”
What was said in that kitchen, I only learned years later. At the time, neither Lucy nor I understood. She was too young, and I obeyed Dad without question. Stay in the nursery? Fine. Lucy whimpered, demanding marshmallows and Daddy, so I offered to read to her. Thankfully, she agreed.
In the kitchen, Johneyes wildbacked Jane against the wall. Nowhere left to retreat.
“Is it true? Lucys not mine?”
“What on earthJohn, have you lost your mind? How could you even say that?”
“Ill tell you what Im saying. Im blood type A positive. Youre O positive. And hers” he jerked his head toward the nursery, “is B negative. If theres been a mistake, we can check again.”
Jane shoved him aside, slumped at the table, and dropped her head into her hands.
“Bastards. I *told* them not to say anything. Whats it to them? Jealous, John. They envy us. Weve got everything. Even our kids are perfect.”
“You *told* them right. Got it.”
He walked out, leaving Jane weeping. Just one slipone moment of loneliness with that visiting engineer. Dads always on the road. In films, lorry drivers are rugged and romantic. In reality? Cold. Empty. Jane thought, *Hes probably no saint either, out there for weeks.* She jumped up, ran after himbut he was already gone. A lone box of marshmallows sat on the table.
After his next haul, Dad had a serious talk with me. Asked me to come live with him.
“Dad, what about Lucy? Mum? Cant you stay?”
A boulder settled on my shoulders. Id watched documentariesboulders are made of layers. This one was no different. Fear of losing Dad. Fear of choosing. Either way, Id lose someone. Simple maths: Lucy + Mum > Dad. Though truthfully, Lucy alone mightve tipped the scales.
Dad met me often after that. Lucy? Like shed vanished from his mind. I didnt understand, but I knewif he *could* explain, he would. At first, Lucy cried constantly. Then she stopped asking about him. Withdrew into her toys. I never knew exactly why this curse fell on her, but I could guess. As for Mum
Mum lost it. Started dragging rubbish home from the bins. First, harmless thingsmaybe useful. Then just anything. Stopped caring about us entirely. Sat muttering over her hoard. How a beautiful woman could turn into *that* in eighteen monthsIll never know. I didnt tell Dad. Our neighbour, Mrs. Wilkins, helped with meals. Dads child support kept us fed, but the stench in our flat? School was torture.
“Mrs. Wilkins, can you teach me to iron?” I knocked on her door.
“Goodness, Oliver, youd need to *wash* them first” She wrinkled her nose.
“Pointless. I tried. But Im seeing Dad tomorrow, and I cant turn up like this.”
“Does he not” She gasped. “He doesnt know about Jane?”
“I wont tell him. He left. Its not his problem anymore.”
She let me in, then sighed. “Fetch Lucy too. Ill sort you both out. Bring your clotheschange here whenever you need.”
So we did. At least I didnt reek at school anymore. But Mrs. Wilkins wasnt done. She hunted Dad down, shamed him. He met me after school.
“Why didnt you say anything?”
“What good would it do? Would you have come back?”
“No. But you could live with me.”
“And Lucy?”
Silence. I shook my head and turned toward home.
“Wait! Lucy could stay with your grandmother.”
“Grans got a new husband. Shes not interested.”
“Right. Takes after her” Dad cut himself off.
He tried talking to Gran anyway.
“John, are you mad? Why would I want small children? Im living my second youth!”
“But Lucys your *granddaughter*!”
“Pity.”
“*What*?”
“Pity maternitys certain, but paternity isnt. If Id had a son, who knows if his kids would even be mine? But a daughters different. Still, Ive got my own life.”
“Christ. Shouldve looked closer at *you* before marrying Jane.”
One morning, Mum was gone. Her hoard remainedshed at least kept mine and Lucys room cleanbut shed vanished. I opened the window; icy air diluted the stink. Fed Lucy, nibbled toast, then took her to Mrs. Wilkins.
“Mums gone. Ive got school.”
“Gone? Its *freezing*. Whered she go?”
My reckless, broken mother ended her days on a distant landfill. Why she froze instead of coming homeno one knows. Mrs. Wilkins said social services would take over now.
When the social worker saw our flat, she turned to Mrs. Wilkins.
“Could we handle the paperwork at yours?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Wilkins sighed.
“Hold on.” Dads voice echoed up the stairs. “Sorryjust back from a haul. These are *my* kids.”
“And the flats yours?” The woman smirked.
Dad didnt even glance inside. “Pack your things, Oliver. Were leaving.”
“And Lucy?” My voice shook.
“Obviously. Lucy, love, you too.”
Lucy peeled herself off the wall and shuffled toward him.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Is it really you?”
He scooped her up, held her tight, and exhaled hard.
“Its me. Im here. Its alright.”
“Dont leave again, Daddy!” she wailed.
I froze. *Shell ruin it. Social services will take us.* But the woman had lost interest, gossiping with Mrs. Wilkins. And Dad? Tears streamed down his face. Hed tried so hard to resent Lucy, to stay awaybut love won. Love for *us*, his children.
“I wont. Im never leaving you again.”
**Lesson learned:** Blood types and birth certificates dont define family. Love does. Even when its messy. Even when it hurts. Especially then.
