I blink at the phone in confusion. “Father? What on earth are you talking about?” I stammer. The voice on the other end, official and weary, cuts in sharply: “Look, no idea what file says, but you’re listed as the father. Come collect the twins!”
Three years divorced, and suddenly I’m a father to newborn twin boys. Should have made it official properly! But it turns out… perhaps this is a blessing in disguise.
Olga and I were married for ten years. We had two little girls, practically Irish twins, Hannah and Emily. On paper, it seemed picture-perfect: work by day, family by evening. But our mother started lingering elsewhere, barely home on time. Off to meet a friend, stuck in the shop queue, swamped at the office… Eventually, I heard the whispers. People pointed out her affair.
Naturally, I confronted her. Olga mounted a defense instantly – attack being the best form, as the saying goes. I hadn’t given her enough attention, she didn’t feel desired anymore, chores ate her time, and the girls? Well, they apparently only loved me… She shouted it all out, declared she was leaving for her lover, and actually did it. Walked out, leaving Hannah and Emily with me.
The girls were bewildered at first, but they adjusted. Soon after, a promotion offered a fresh start in Manchester, a branch to manage. I took it. We packed quickly, moved swiftly. In the rush, I never got round to formalising the divorce.
At my new job, I met Sarah. She was my age, raising two daughters single-handedly. We weren’t long thinking it over; we moved in together, one big family. The girls, all similar ages, filled our evenings with constant noise – sometimes playing happily together, other times squabbling over toys. A proper madhouse! Sarah and I revelled in them, though privately, we yearned for a son together. But try as we might, nothing happened.
We’d been together two years when that bizarre phone call came. We’d all but given up on a son… Well, it wasn’t meant to be, we’d focus on our girls. But this call…
I recognised the Blackburn area code instantly on my mobile: landline.
“Nicholas James?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“Difficult news, I’m afraid… Your wife, Olga, never regained consciousness, I’m sorry. She has passed away. Please come for the children; they’re being discharged tomorrow. We’ll discuss arrangements for Olga when you arrive.”
“Are you joking?” My voice cracked. “I haven’t seen Olga in three years! My daughters with her are right here.”
“Look, I don’t have details,” the voice insisted, “but you are listed as the father on the form. Come and collect the twins!”
The line went dead. Stunned, I quickly looked up the number online. It was genuine: Blackpool Maternity Hospital.
Sarah stood wide-eyed, having heard everything. We hurriedly packed, dropped our girls at her parents, and sped off to find out what had happened with my ex.
Outside the hospital, we bumped into Charlotte, an old friend of Olga’s. In tears, she explained that Olga’s lover abandoned her the moment she announced the pregnancy. It was a rough pregnancy, twins are hard work, and something terrible happened near the end… The babies were saved immediately, but the mother slipped into a coma and died days later. Registering the twins, with their mother unable to communicate, meant using current registry records. Those records still listed me as her husband. So automatically, I was named the father.
Charlotte, crying, promised help if needed, then left. Beside me, Sarah gripped my hand surprisingly tight.
“Sarah? What is it?” I asked.
“Nick,” she said, her voice thick but barely hiding a hopeful tremor, “we will take them, won’t we? Please?”
Her eyes sparkled, fighting back a broad smile.
“Who? The twins?”
“Yes! Yes, please!” she rushed out. “What if we never have our own? And here are two, absolutely ready-made…”
“Sarah, love, they aren’t toys,” I protested, flustered. “It’s…”
“Nick, I mean it properly! And our girls? Just think how thrilled they’ll be! Yours are actually stepbrothers too… Oh, please, Nick! Please!”
Well, I caved. We collected the little boys, Alfie and Finley. We paid our respects properly as Olga was laid to rest.
Our house erupted. Hannah and Emily squealed with pure joy meeting their baby brothers, utterly bewildered, asking Sarah how they’d missed her having a bump!
