**Anton’s Hidden Gift: A Twist of Fate**
I woke to the clatter of a frying pan, the whistle of the kettle, and the rich smell of fried potatoes filling the air. My father, Peter, was bustling about in the pre-dawn quiet, preparing for a day of fishing. His old motorbike, groaning and creaking, waited in the yard while he packed sandwiches, a thermos, and checked his gear. He tried to stay quiet, but he still woke my mother. Maureen had felt poorly since last night but thought rest would do her good. Peter, cheerful at the thought of a morning by the lake, had no idea the day would bring anything but peace.
Once the motorbike rumbled off, Maureen tried to sleep, but a sharp pain seized her stomach, and her head spun. She gasped, “Tony! Call an ambulance, love!”
Still half-asleep, I bolted to the kitchen and froze at the sight of her pale face. I grabbed the phone, but the ambulance took too long. I gave her water, tucked the blanket around her, and a helpless dread swelled inside me. Not knowing what else to do, I hugged her tight—and suddenly, her weakness flowed into me. A minute later, she sat up straight, her lips regaining colour. “Son, it’s like it never happened,” she murmured.
I stumbled back, breathless. Again. Again, I’d *taken* someone’s pain. This strange gift had haunted me since childhood—like some ancient, knowing presence lived inside me, letting me heal but stealing my strength in return.
Meanwhile, Peter ran into trouble. His motorbike stalled on a forest bend, and a speeding Range Rover nearly ploughed into him. The driver, a bloke in a posh jacket, leapt out in a panic. “You alright, mate? Christ, I’m sorry! Look, take this—no calls, yeah?” He shoved two thick wads of cash into Peter’s hands before speeding off. The bike had to be towed home. At dusk, it finally rolled into the driveway. Maureen rushed out, eyes wet. “Peter, where’ve you been? I nearly died today, and you—where’s your fish, then?”
Peter, pale and shaken, gripped the money. “This… this is for my life, love. It could’ve ended today.”
Soon, a sturdy second-hand car sat in the drive. Peter beamed like a boy. “Now we’ve got something decent to last us!”
I, however, was laid up. Maureen huffed, “Useless, the lot of you! One’s always off fishing, the other moping about. You ought to settle down, but no, you’re happy as a hermit!”
But I roused myself when a job came—installing kitchen fittings in a new house. That’s where I saw *Rosie*. She just stood there, watching me work. Not a word, but her gaze held a quiet warmth.
I went back the next day—claimed I’d forgotten fittings. I fixed the handles; she offered tea. Buns, silence, shy smiles. Then, out of nowhere, I said, “What if we went out? The cinema, maybe. Meet each other’s families. Then… a wedding?”
Rosie didn’t hesitate. “I’d like that.”
And so it began. The parents were chuffed; Rosie charmed everyone. I was promoted to foreman, work thrived, and soon, we learned a baby was coming.
Sometimes, I remembered Gran’s words: “Some folk haven’t the strength to live. They just sit, going nowhere. You, Tony lad—you’re meant to stand by them. But don’t forget to guard yourself too.”
I tried. Never let anyone see how those “trades” drained me. Stayed silent when they called me odd. Only to myself did I admit—if this was a gift, so be it. At least now, I wasn’t alone.
