A chilling discovery came about by sheer chance. My four-year-old sister, Lucy, had developed an umbilical hernia. The doctors insisted on acting quicklythe sooner the surgery, the better. But Lucy refused point-blank to go to the hospital without Dad. We waited until he returned from his lorry route, and he walked her all the way to the operating theatre.
“Daddy, will you wait for me here?” my sister sobbed.
“Where else would I go, love? Of course I will. Why are you crying? Youre my brave little girl.”
“Im not crying! Im just breathing funny!”
And with that, they wheeled her away. A routine procedure, they said. But the hospital required Mum and Dad to donate bloodstrict policy.
“Shouldnt you test first?” Dad asked. “Her blood type might only match one of ours. No point in us both giving if its unnecessary.”
“Theres no such thing as unnecessary blood!” the doctor snapped.
So Mum and Dad both donated. Mum went pale, swaying as if she might faint. She couldnt sit still afterwardfidgeting, darting off to chat with the nurses. When Lucy was finally wheeled out, Dad went to meet her, just as hed promised. He stayed by her side the entire weekend. Mum seemed to relax then, visiting briefly before dragging me home, though I protested.
“I could stay with her too,” I insisted stubbornly.
I was eleven at the time. Lucy, my little blonde sister, was the person I loved most in the worldmaybe even more than Mum and Dad. How could anyone not adore her? An angel. A golden-haired angel made flesh.
Picture a small provincial town with its modest hospital. New, well-equipped, even boasting a blood bankbut a backwater all the same. Three days passed. Lucy was home; Dad prepared for another haul. He popped out for cigarettes, but when he returned, his face was storm-dark.
“Daddy!” Lucy wailed from her roomshe was still on bed rest. “Did you get my marshmallows?”
Dad left the shopping bag in the hall, ordered me sharply to go to Lucys room, then steered Mum into the kitchen.
“John John, whats wrong?”
What followed was a conversation I wouldnt understand for years. Lucy was too young, and I obeyed without question. She whimpered for Dad and sweets, so I offered to read to her. Thank God, she agreed.
In the kitchen, John, eyes wild, cornered Jane until her back pressed against the wall. Nowhere left to retreat.
“Is it true? Lucy isnt mine?”
“WhatJohn, are you mad? How could you even say that?”
“Ill tell you how. Im blood type A positive. Youre O positive. And hers” He jerked his head toward the door. “is B negative. If theres been a mistake, we can re-test.”
Jane shoved past him, collapsing at the table. She dropped her head into her hands with a groan.
“Those bastards. I told them! Why do they always meddle? Jealous, John. They cant stand seeing us happy. We had everything. Beautiful children”
“You *told* themright, I see.”
He walked out, leaving Jane weeping. Just one slipout of loneliness, boredomwith an engineer passing through town. John was always on the road, hauling goods. In films, lorry drivers were rugged and romantic. In reality, it was cold and lonely. Jane had convinced herself he mustve strayed too, gone for days at a time. She sprang up, chasing after himbut he was already gone. Only a box of marshmallows remained on the table.
After his next haul, Dad sat me down for a grim talk. He wanted me to leave with him.
“Dad, what about Lucy? Mum? Cant you stay?”
A boulder of grief crushed me. Id seen documentariesrocks made of layers. This weight on my shoulders was no different. Fear of losing Dad. Fear of choosing. Either way, someone was left behind. Doing the maths in my head, I chose to stay. Lucy plus Mum outnumbered Dad. Though in truth, my sister alone mightve tipped the scales.
Dad visited me often, but Lucyit was like hed forgotten her. I didnt understand, but I knew: if he could explain, he would. At first, Lucy wept, aching with loss. Then she asked about him less and less, retreating into silence, surrounded by toys. I never learned why punishment fell on her head, but I could guess. As for Mum
Mum lost her mind. She dragged rubbish homefirst harmless bits, even useful. Then anything. She stopped caring for us entirely, muttering over her hoarded treasures. How a beautiful woman rotted into *that* in just a year and a half, Ill never know. But I never told Dad. Our neighbour, Mrs. May, helped when she could. I scraped by on Dads child support, but the stench clinging to our flat? Schoolmates laughed. I ignored them.
“Mrs. May, can you teach me to iron?” I knocked on her door.
“Oh, Oliver you ought to wash them first” She wrinkled her nose.
“Pointless. I tried. But Im seeing Dad tomorrow, and I cant look like this”
“So he doesnt?” She gasped. “He doesnt know about Jane?”
“I wont tell him. He left. Its not his problem!”
She let me in, then paused. “Bring Lucy too. Ill tidy you both up. Andbring your clothes here. Change at mine. Whatever I can do”
So we did. At least I no longer reeked like a tramp. But kind Mrs. May went furthershe confronted Dad, shaming him. He met me after school.
“Why didnt you tell me?”
“Why? Would you have come back?”
“No. But you couldve lived with me.”
“And Lucy?”
Silence. I shook my head, turning toward home.
“Wait! Lucy could stay with your gran.”
“Grans got a new husband. Shes not interested.”
“Right. Takes after” Dad cut himself off.
He tried anyway, calling his former mother-in-law.
“John, are you daft? Why would I want little ones underfoot? Im living my second youth!”
“But Lucys your granddaughter!”
“Pity.”
“*What?*”
“A pity motherhoods obvious, but fatherhoods not. If I had a son with kidswhos to say theyre mine? No consequences. But her? Shes mine, alright. And Ive 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 cracked the window, letting icy air dilute the stench. Fed Lucy, nibbled something myself, then took her to Mrs. Mays.
“Mums gone. Ive got school.”
“Gone? In this freeze? Whered she go?”
My reckless, broken mother ended her days on a distant landfill. Why she froze instead of coming home, no one knew. Mrs. May warned social services would take us now. And they came. The woman surveyed our flat, then turned to Mrs. May.
“Could we handle the paperwork at yours?”
“Of course,” Mrs. May sighed.
“Stop.” Dads voice cut in as he climbed the stairs. “Sorryjust off route. These are *my* kids.”
“And the flats yours?” the social worker scoffed.
Dad didnt even glance inside. “Pack your things, Ollie. Were going home. Well sort this place later.”
“And Lucy?” I whispered, terrified.
“Obviously. Lucy, love, get your things.”
My sister peeled herself from the wall, shuffling forward.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Is it really you?”
He scooped her up, holding tight, breathing deep.
“Its me. Im here. Everythings alright.”
“Dont leave again, Daddy!” Lucy wailed.
I froze. Shed doom usthis stern woman would snatch us away, Dad or not. But the social worker had lost interest, gossiping with Mrs. May. And Dad? He held Lucy, tears streaming. Hed tried so hard to resent her, to stay awaybut love won. Love for us. His children.
“I wont. Im never leaving you again.” His voice cracked. And he meant it.
