A nasty surprise came to light entirely by accident. My little four-year-old sister, Lucy, had developed an umbilical hernia. The doctors said not to delaythe sooner the operation, the better. But Lucy flat-out refused to go to the hospital without Dad. We waited for him to return 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! Im just sighing loudly!”
And with that, she was wheeled away. A straightforward, routine procedure. But the hospital insisted Mum and Dad donate blood to the blood banknon-negotiable.
“Shouldnt you test us first?” Dad asked. “In case one of us isnt a match? Dont want to waste your time.”
“Theres no such thing as wasted blood!” the doctor said firmly.
So they both donated. Mum went palelooked like she might keel over any second. Then she couldnt sit still, darting in and out of the treatment room, chatting nervously with the nurse. Eventually, Lucy was wheeled out, and Dad, true to his word, went to meet her. He stayed with her the whole weekend. Mum finally relaxed enough to visit, then dragged me homethough I protested.
“I could stay with her too,” I insisted stubbornly.
I was eleven at the time. Lucy, my little blonde sister, was my favourite person in the world. Maybe even more than Mum and Dad. And who could blame me? She was an angel. A proper little golden-haired cherub.
Picture a small market town with its modest local hospital. New-ish, decently equippedblood bank and all. But a small towns a small town. Three days later, Lucy was home, and Dad was prepping for another haul. He popped out for cigarettesand came back looking like thunder.
“Daddy” Lucy wailed from her room (she was still on bed rest), “Did you get my marshmallows?”
Dad left the shopping bag in the hallway. Told me sharply to go to Lucys room. Then he took Mum by the elbow and steered her into the kitchen.
“John John, whats wrong?”
What followed was a conversation I wouldnt understand for years. Lucy was too young, and I did as I was told. Off to her room I went. She sniffled, demanding Daddy and her sweets, so I offered to read to her. Thank heavens she agreed.
In the kitchen, Johneyes wildbacked Mum, Jane, against the wall. Nowhere left to retreat.
“Is it true? Lucys not mine?”
“WhatJohn, have you lost your mind? How could you say that?”
“Ill tell you how. Im A-positive. Youre O-positive. And her?” He jerked his head toward Lucys room. “AB-negative. If theres been a mix-up, we can always retest.”
Jane shoved him aside, slumped at the table, and dropped her head into her hands with a groan.
“Those rotten I *told* them! Why couldnt they keep their noses out? Jealous, John. Theyre jealous of us. Weve got everything. Even our kids are perfect.”
“You told them Right. Got it.”
He walked out, leaving Jane in tears. One mistake. One stupid, lonely slipwith some engineer passing through. Dad was always on the road. In films, lorry drivers are romantic. In real life? Just cold and lonely. Jane told herself he probably wasnt faithful eitherweeks away, who could blame him? She leapt up to chase after him, but he was already gone. Only the box of marshmallows remained.
After his next trip, Dad sat me down for a serious talk. Asked me to leave with him.
“Dad, what about Lucy? Mum? Cant you stay?”
It felt like a boulder had been dropped on me. Id watched documentariesboulders are made of layers. This one was no different. Fear of losing Dad. Fear of choosing. Either way, I lost someone. I did the maths: Lucy + Mum outnumbered Dad. Though honestly, Lucy alone mightve tipped the scales.
I stayed.
Dad met me often after that. Lucy? Like she didnt exist. I didnt get it, but I figured if he couldve explained, he wouldve. At first, Lucy moped and criedheartbreaking to watch. Then she stopped asking about him altogether, retreating into her toys. I didnt know why shed been punished, but I could guess. As for Mum
Mum lost it. Started dragging rubbish home from the tip. First, useful bits. Then just anything. She stopped caring about us entirely, hunched over her “treasures,” muttering. How a pretty, young woman could turn into *that* in a year and a half? No idea. I never told Dad. Our neighbour, Auntie Mary, helped with Lucy and me. Food? Dads child support covered the basics. The smell, though? That clung. Kids at school mocked me, but I kept my head down.
“Auntie Mary, can you teach me to iron?” I knocked on her door one day.
“Greg, love, you need to *wash* them first” She wrinkled her nose.
“Pointless. I did. But Im seeing Dad tomorrow, and I cant”
“Wait, he doesnt” She gasped. “Hes got no idea about Jane?”
“Im not telling him. He left. Its not his problem!”
She let me in, then paused. “Bring Lucy too. Ill sort you both out. Andbring your clothes here. Change at mine. Least I can do.”
So we did. No more stinking up the classroom. But Auntie Mary wasnt done. She went to Dad and shamed him. He met me after school.
“Why didnt you say anything?”
“Would you have come back?”
“No. But you couldve lived with me.”
“And Lucy?”
Silence. I shook my head and turned toward home.
“Hold on! Lucy could stay with your nan.”
“Nans got a new bloke. Shes not bothered.”
“Right. Takes after her” Dad cut himself off.
He tried talking to his ex-mother-in-law anyway.
“John, are you mad? Why would I want kids? Im living my second youth!”
“But Lucys your granddaughter!”
“Pity.”
“*What?*”
“Pity motherhoods obvious, but fatherhoods not. If I had a son with kids, whod know if theyre really mine? But a granddaughter? Mine, sure. Still not my problem.”
“Yeah. Shouldve seen you properly before marrying Jane.”
One morning, Mum was gone. Her hoard remainedshed at least kept mine and Lucys room clearbut shed vanished. I opened the window, letting icy air dilute the stink. Fed Lucy, nibbled something myself, then took her to Auntie Marys.
“Mums gone. Ive got school.”
“Gone? In this freeze? Whered she go?”
My hopeless, broken mother ended her days on a rubbish heap. Why she froze instead of coming home? No one knew. Auntie Mary said social services would step in now. And they did. A woman eyed our flat, then turned to Mary.
“Could we sort the paperwork at yours?”
“Come in,” Mary sighed.
“Hold it.” Dads voice rang up the stairs. “Sorryjust back from a haul. These are my kids.”
“And the flats yours?” The social worker smirked.
Dad didnt even glance inside. “Pack your things, Greg. Were going home. Well deal with this later.”
“Lucy?” I whispered, terrified.
“Obviously. Lucy, you too.”
My sister peeled herself off the wall and wobbled toward him.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, love?”
“Is it really you?”
He scooped her up, holding her tight. “Its me. Im here. Its alright.”
“Dont leave again, Daddy!” she wailed.
I froze. Shed spill everything, and stern Miss Social Worker would take us, father or not. But the woman had lost interest, gossiping with Mary instead. And Dad? Tears streamed down his face as he held Lucy. Hed tried so hard to resent her too, to stay awaybut love won. Love for us. His kids.
“I wont. Im not going anywhere.”
