The air in the tiny London flat was thick with grief. Six-year-old Alfie clung to his fathers leg, his small fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers. “Daddy, dont go! Pleasedont leave us!” His voice cracked, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. “I dont want toys or sweets, nothing! Just stay with us. Please!”
Upstairs, their mother, Claire, sobbed into her hands, her body too heavy to move, too broken to face the scene unfolding below.
Fourteen-year-old Oliver stood rigid by the door, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. Love and hate warred inside himlove for the man whod taught him to fish by the Thames, whod read him stories by torchlight under the duvet, and hate for the man walking out on them.
Alfie was too young to understand. But Oliver had seen it allhow his mother had knelt on the kitchen floor just hours before, begging his father to wait, just until Alfie was older. But begging hadnt worked.
“Stop it!” Oliver snapped, yanking his little brother away. “Get up! Dont humiliate yourselfhe doesnt want us! None of us!”
His father sighed, rubbing his temple. “Ollie, dont be like this. Ill still visit. Ill still help. Im just living somewhere else now. But I love you just the same. Wewe agreed this was best.”
“Who agreed? You decided!” Olivers voice shook. “Mum begged you not to go! Were your family! But youre leavingfor some woman! Is she worth more than us?!”
***
Family Games
If his father had dropped his bags, hugged him, and said it was all a stupid mistakeOliver wouldve forgiven him in a heartbeat. Because this was Dad. The man whod fixed his bike, whod taken him to Brighton for ice cream, whod whispered, “Love you, champ,” every night before bed.
How could he just erase them?
Alfie wailed. Claire wept. His father looked at them all, shoulders slumpedthen walked out.
The echo of Alfies screams chased him down the street. “Daddy! Come back!”
***
Life wasnt the same after that.
Oliver despised him. He refused visits, hurled gifts back at him. Alfie waitedperched by the window, staring at the street.
Their father asked for visits. Claire refused.
Not that Oliver wanted to go. But Alfie did. They told him, “Dad doesnt want to see you.”
Their mother, bitter, spat, “He fell in love. Thats what happens. The grass is always greener. Now hes got new children to play with.”
Oliver listened in silence. Alfie cried.
***
A year later, their father came backor tried to.
Alfie was out. Only Oliver and Claire were home.
“I was wrong,” their father said, voice breaking. “I cant live without you. Without my boys.”
Claire shut the door in his face. Oliver didnt stop her.
The hurt was still too raw.
Alfie was never asked. He was too young.
***
Years passed. Oliver went into business. Alfie became a doctor.
Oliver had a family now. Alfie cared for their mother until she passed.
Before Alfies wedding to his childhood sweetheart, Emma, Oliver suggested a tripa chance to clear their heads. They took the train to Manchester, sipping tea as the countryside blurred past.
They rarely argued, though they were different. Oliver, sharp and unyielding, called Alfie “Saint Mercy” as a joke. “Kindness isnt in fashion,” hed say.
After their meetings, they wandered the cityuntil, near the station, Oliver nearly tripped over a man on the pavement.
“Blood hell, watch where you sit!” he sneered.
The man was filthy, bearded, legless. Then he looked up.
Alfie had walked aheaduntil he heard Oliver laughing.
He turned.
Oliver was pointing, grinning. “Look who it is!”
Alfie grabbed his arm, pulling him away. “Stop it! Thats not funny!”
“Not funny?” Oliver scoffed. “Look closer. Dont recognize him? You were too small. But I do. Those eyessame as ours. Green. Mum always said she fell for his eyes. Pity, really.” He stepped closer, voice dripping venom. “Hello, Dad. Surprised? Didnt think youd see us again, did you? Look at you now. This is what you deserve. For Mums tears. For ours. For everything!”
***
Alfie couldnt speak. The man on the ground wept silently, murmuring, “Youre so handsome.”
Oliver kept taunting. “Not like you, though. Shame youre our father. Disgusting. Rot herethis is your punishment. Wheres your great love now, eh? Found some tramp to”
“Enough!” Alfie snapped.
***
Oliver tried to arguebut froze as Alfie knelt.
He touched the mans dirty cheek. “Hello, Dad.”
His father grabbed his hand, pressed it to his face, and sobbed.
Maybe he saw the little boy whod clung to his leg years ago, screaming, “Daddy, dont go!”
Oliver cursed, stormed off.
***
Alfie lifted his father into his armslight, frail.
People stared. Some shook their heads. Others whispered, “Thats love.”
Oliver was already gone.
“I forgave you long ago, Dad,” Alfie murmured. “Im not leaving you here.”
His father trembled. “Im sorry, son. I wanted to come backit just never worked. Let me go. I dont deserve this.”
Alfie smiled. “Remember when I used to play doctor with my stuffed animals? Youd drive them in your toy lorry. Im a real doctor now. Youre coming home with me.”
And he carried him outpast the stares, past the judgment.
Some said he was a fool. Others called it love.
But the little boy whod healed toy animals had grown into a man who still believed in second chances.
And he loved his father. Despite everything.
