Anton’s Hidden Gift: A Twist of Fate
Anton woke up to the clatter of a frying pan in the kitchen, the kettle whistling, and the smell of fried potatoes filling the air. His dad, Peter, was up before dawn, getting ready for a fishing trip. The old motorbike, creaking and groaning, waited outside while Peter fussed over packing sandwiches, a thermos, and checking his fishing gear. He tried to be quiet, but he’d still woken up his wife, Marion. She’d felt unwell since the night before but thought she’d sleep it off. Peter, cheerful about the morning ahead on the lake, had no idea the day would bring anything but peace—instead, it would shake their world.
Once the motorbike rumbled off, Marion tried to rest, but suddenly, she felt worse. A sharp pain shot through her stomach, her head spun, and she cried out, “Anton, love—call an ambulance, quick!”
Still half-asleep, Anton rushed in, saw his mum pale as a sheet, and dashed for the phone. But the ambulance took forever. He gave her water, tucked her in, and a helpless dread crept over him. Not knowing what else to do, he hugged her tight—and then he felt it. Her weakness seeped into him. A minute later, Marion sat up, color returning to her lips. “Love, it’s gone… like it was never there.”
Anton stepped back, breathing hard. His mind raced—*it’s happening again*. Since he was little, he’d had this strange knack for “pulling” pain from others. It was like someone ancient and wise lived inside him, letting him heal—but at the cost of his own strength.
Meanwhile, Peter ran into trouble. On a bend in the woods, his motorbike stalled, and a speeding Range Rover nearly wiped him off the road. The driver, a bloke in a fancy jacket, leapt out, frantic. “You alright, mate? Bloody hell, I’m sorry! Look, don’t call anyone—here, take this, get yourself a new bike!” He shoved two thick wads of cash into Peter’s hands, jumped back in, and sped off. Peter had to haul the bike home on a tow. At dusk, he pulled up to the house. Marion stormed out, eyes wet. “Peter, where *were* you? I nearly died here, and you—where’s your fish, then?!”
Peter, pale and shaken, clenched the money. “This… this is for my life, Marion. Today could’ve been the end.”
Soon, a secondhand but sturdy car sat in their driveway. Peter grinned like a kid. “There we go—sorted for life now!”
Anton, though, was laid up. Marion huffed, “Useless, the lot of you—one’s always off fishing, the other moping about! You ought to settle down, but no, you’re just a loner!”
But Anton perked up soon enough. He’d been hired to finish fitting a kitchen in a new house—and there, he spotted Emily. She just stood there, watching him work. Not a word, but her gaze was warm, kind.
Next day, he went back—”forgot some fittings,” he said. He fixed the handles; Emily offered tea. Scones, quiet, smiles. Then, out of nowhere, Anton said, “What if we… went out? Cinema, maybe. I’d introduce you to my folks, you’d introduce me to yours. And then… well, maybe a wedding?”
Emily didn’t hesitate. “I’d say yes.”
And so it began. The parents were chuffed; everyone loved Emily. Anton got promoted to foreman, work went smoothly, and soon—they were expecting.
Sometimes, he’d recall his gran’s words: “Some folks haven’t the strength to live. They just… exist. You, Anton, love—you’ve got to be there for them. But don’t forget to look after yourself too.”
He tried. Never let on how much those “transfers” drained him. Stayed quiet when they called him a loner. And only to himself would he admit—if this was a gift, so be it. At least now, he wasn’t alone.
