She said I wasnt cut out to be a father but Ive raised these children from the start.
When my sister Emily went into labour, I was miles away at a bike rally in the Lake District. Shed begged me not to cancel the trip, insisting shed be fine, that there was plenty of time.
There wasnt.
Three beautiful babies came into the world and she didnt make it.
I remember holding those tiny bundles in the neonatal unit, my hands still smelling of petrol and leather. I had no plan, no clue what to do. But I looked at them Lily, Sophie, and Oliver and knew I wouldnt walk away.
Late-night rides turned into late-night feeds. The lads at the garage covered my shifts so I could pick the kids up from nursery. I learned to braid Sophies hair, calm Lilys tantrums, and coax Oliver into eating something other than buttered pasta. I stopped going on long tours. Sold two of my bikes. Built bunk beds by hand.
Five years. Five birthdays. Five winters of flu and stomachaches. I wasnt perfect, but I stayed. Every single day.
Then he showed up. Their biological father. Not on the birth certificates. Never once visited Emily during the pregnancy. Hed told her triplets didnt suit his lifestyle.
But now? He wanted to take them.
And he didnt come alone. He brought a social worker named Claire. She took one look at my oil-stained overalls and declared I wasnt a suitable long-term environment for these children.
I couldnt believe my ears.
Claire walked through our small but tidy house. Saw the kids drawings on the fridge. The bikes in the garden. Their little wellies by the door. She smiled politely. Took notes. I noticed her lingering on the tattoo on my neck.
The worst part? The kids didnt understand. Lily hid behind me. Oliver started crying. Sophie asked, Is this man going to be our new dad?
I said, No ones taking you away. Not without a fight.
And now the hearing in a week. Ive got a solicitor. Good one. Bloody expensive, but worth every penny. The garage is barely staying afloat, but Id sell every last tool to keep my kids.
I didnt know what the judge would decide.
The night before the hearing, I couldnt sleep. Sat at the kitchen table holding Lilys drawing me holding their hands in front of our house, a sun and clouds in the corner. Just kids scribbles, but I looked happier in that picture than Id ever felt in my life.
That morning, I wore the button-up shirt I hadnt touched since Emilys funeral. Sophie walked in and said, Uncle Dan, you look like a vicar.
Lets hope the judge likes vicars, I joked.
The courtroom felt like another world. All beige and polished. James sat across from me in a fancy suit, playing the doting father. Hed even brought a framed photo of the kids like that proved anything.
Claire read her report. She didnt lie, but she didnt soften it either. Mentioned limited resources, concerns about emotional development, and of course the lack of a traditional family structure.
I clenched my fists under the table.
Then it was my turn.
I told the judge everything. From the call about Emily to the time Sophie threw up on my back during a road trip and I didnt flinch. I talked about Lilys speech delay and how I took a second job to pay for her therapist. How Oliver learned to swim because I promised him fish and chips every Friday if he didnt give up.
The judge looked at me and asked, Do you really believe youre capable of raising three children alone?
I swallowed. Couldve lied. Didnt.
No. Not always, I said. But I do it. Every day, for five years. Not because I had to. Because theyre my family.
James leaned forward like he wanted to speak. But he stayed quiet.
Then something happened.
Sophie raised her hand.
The judge, surprised, said, Yes, young lady?
She stood on her stool and said, Uncle Dan hugs us every morning. And when we have bad dreams, he sleeps on the floor by our bed. And once he sold his bike to fix the boiler. I dont know what a dads supposed to be, but weve already got one.
Silence. Absolute silence.
Maybe it changed everything. Maybe the judge had already decided. But when he finally said, Custody remains with Mr. Daniel Harlow, I let out a breath Id been holding for years.
James didnt even look at me as he left. Claire gave me the slightest nod.
That night, I made cheese toasties and tomato soup the kids favourite. Sophie danced on the kitchen table. Oliver waved a butter knife like a lightsaber. Lily hugged me and whispered, I knew youd win.
And in that moment, despite the greasy kitchen and the exhaustion, I felt like the richest man alive.
Family isnt about blood. Its about who stays. Again and again. Even when its hard.
