The Sunday Dad: A Story “Where’s my daughter?” Olesya repeated, her teeth chattering—was it from fear or from the cold? She had left Zlata at a birthday party, in the children’s playroom at a shopping centre. She barely knew the birthday girl’s parents but didn’t worry—this wasn’t the first time she’d left her daughter at a kids’ party, it was nothing out of the ordinary. Only today, she was late—the bus hadn’t come for ages. The shopping centre was in an awkward spot, everyone usually drove there, but Olesya didn’t have a car. So she’d taken Zlata by bus, gone home for her scheduled lessons, which couldn’t be cancelled, then come back—and was just fifteen minutes late, sprinting over the icy car park, out of breath. Now, the birthday girl’s mum, a petite woman with big blue eyes, stared at Olesya in surprise and said: “Her dad picked her up.” But Zlata didn’t have a dad. Well, technically she did, but he’d never met his daughter. Olesya met Andrey by chance—out walking with a friend along the river, her friend twisted her ankle, some lads offered help. Just like in a familiar movie, they lied about being students at Oxford, about generals and professors for fathers. Why they did it, who knows—young and foolish. But when Olesya got pregnant, and Andrey found out she was a trainee primary teacher and her dad was a bus driver, he shoved money for an abortion into her hands and vanished. Olesya didn’t get the abortion, and never once regretted it—Zlata became her lifelong companion, wise beyond her years and utterly dependable. They were always happy together; while Olesya taught lessons, Zlata played quietly with her dolls, and afterwards they’d cook milk soup or eggs in the kitchen, sharing tea and buttered biscuits. Money was always tight—most went on rent—but neither Olesya nor Zlata complained. “How could you hand my child over to a stranger?” Olesya’s voice trembled and tears welled up. “But he wasn’t a stranger,” snapped the blue-eyed woman. “He’s her father!” Olesya could have set her straight, but what would’ve been the point? She needed to speak to the security staff, get the CCTV footage… “When did this happen?” “Just ten minutes ago…” Olesya spun round and ran. Over and over, she’d told Zlata: never go off with anyone you don’t know! Her legs wouldn’t obey, her vision blurred, she bumped into people but didn’t stop, didn’t apologise. On instinct, she cried out: “Zlata! Zlata-aa!” The food court was noisy, most people ignored her shouts, but a few glanced round. Breathless, Olesya had no idea what to do—maybe her daughter hadn’t left yet, maybe… “Mummy!” For a moment, she couldn’t believe her eyes. There was her daughter, coat flapping, ice cream smeared all over her little face, running towards her. Olesya grabbed her and clung on as if letting go would make her collapse right there (and maybe it would). Then she stared at the man. Respectable, short-cropped hair, ridiculous jumper with a snowman, ice cream in his hand. He saw in her eyes all she wanted to say, and babbled: “I’m so sorry! I should’ve stayed right there, but those little monsters were teasing her! Said Zlata didn’t have a dad, and he’d never come, because she’s weird. So I thought I’d teach them a lesson—said, ‘Come on, love, let’s get an ice cream till mummy arrives,’ Honestly, I didn’t realise you’d be so worried…” Olesya was shaking. She wasn’t about to trust a stranger. But had they really been teasing Zlata? She looked into her daughter’s eyes, and Zlata got it instantly. She sniffed, stuck out her chin. “So what! I’ve got a dad now too!” The man spread his hands awkwardly; Olesya still couldn’t say a word. “Let’s go,” she finally managed. “It’s late—we’ll miss the bus.” “Wait!” he offered, tentatively waving. “Can I give you a lift? I mean, after all this… No, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a weirdo! My name’s Arthur. I’m a good guy! Look, that’s my mum—I promise, she’ll vouch for me.” He pointed to a woman with purple curls at a nearby table, buried in a novel. “If you like, we can go to her—she’ll give the best references!” “I’m sure,” muttered Olesya—still quite tempted to whack him over the head. “Thanks, we can manage.” “Mum…” Zlata tugged on her sleeve. “Let them see daddy’s driving us home!” The birthday girl and her mum were still by the playroom with another child Olesya didn’t know. Her daughter’s eyes were pleading. It would be hard tramping home over icy pavements in this state. Olesya made up her mind. “Alright,” she said, curtly. “Brilliant! I’ll just let my mum know!” “Mummy’s boy,” thought Olesya, not unkindly. The woman gave her a friendly wave, and Olesya spun round, mortified. What a ridiculous situation! On the way, she tried not to meet Arthur’s eyes but couldn’t help noticing how gentle he was with Zlata. Zlata sang like a lark—Olesya had never seen her so happy. But when they stopped outside her block, Zlata suddenly drooped. “Will we see you again?” she asked Arthur quietly, looking furtively at her mum. Olesya realised he was waiting for her permission. She wanted to say, “No, Zlata, you mustn’t,” but seeing her daughter’s anxious little face, she couldn’t. She caught Arthur’s look and nodded. “Well, if your mum says yes, I can take you to the cinema for a cartoon. Have you ever been?” “Really? No—I haven’t! Mum, can I go to the movies with daddy?” Olesya coloured. Now she was the one stumbling over her words. “Right, Zlata, you can—on two conditions. First, it’s not polite to call a stranger daddy—call him Uncle Arthur, alright? Second, I’m coming too, because what did I say? Never go with someone you don’t know, no matter how nice they seem!” “I said the same,” Arthur cut in. “About not going off—I did say.” “So can I go?” “I just said—yes.” “Yay!!!” Olesya knew she ought to nip all this in the bud, but couldn’t. She had no one left in the world but Zlata. If only she had someone to turn to! Like her own mum. Olesya barely remembered her—her mum died when she was five, the same age Zlata was now. A boy fell through an icy pond, no one dared go in, but she did. She saved him, but… she caught pneumonia and, with diabetes already, deteriorated fast. That’s why Zlata had diabetes too—Olesya still blamed herself for passing it down. Olesya worried all week until the weekend, but it turned out she needn’t have: when they went to the cinema, Arthur brought his own mother. “So you know I’m not some nutter, my mum can be my best advert,” he grinned. “Well, he is a bit mad,” his mum said with a smile that showed she doted on her son. And while Arthur took Zlata for popcorn, his mum did, in fact, “advertise” him. “You see… May I call you Olesya? Arthur grew up without a father too. I’ve been married four times, and my last husband was perfect! Absolutely perfect, Arthur’s just like him. But, fate had other plans—he never got to hold his son. Heart attack. I gave birth early, I’ve no idea how I coped. Of course, my first husbands helped… Don’t give me that look! We’re still on good terms—first one still loves me, second was the wrong gender, and third loved women far too much to settle down. They all helped try to be a dad to Arthur, but a dad’s a dad. That’s why he connected so quickly with Zlata—he was bullied, too, at school. Poor lad! I was at the teachers’ office so much! He did all sorts of daft things on a dare, just to prove himself, once nearly got himself killed…” What a character—petite, wiry, purple hair, Chanel suit and a Candace Bushnell novel. Olesya couldn’t help liking her. “Don’t worry, he’s not up to anything—just has a kind heart,” she winked. “And he’s taken quite a shine to you.” Olesya flushed. Just what she needed! She knew she shouldn’t encourage this, but felt so sorry for Zlata… After the film, she tried to pay Arthur for the tickets but he shook his head. “When I invite girls, it’s my treat!” Olesya didn’t like that either—she was used to always paying her own way and being independent. Falling for him—nonsense, that’s not how life works. When Arthur drove them home, Zlata piped up: “Daddy, where will we go next time?” “Zlata!” Olesya scolded. She giggled and covered her mouth. “Maybe the natural history museum?” Arthur suggested, ignoring her slip. “What do you think?” “Great! Mum, can we go?” “You go without me,” Olesya said briskly. “Take Catherine with you—she did say she loves butterflies.” She jumped out first, desperate to put an end to, well, whatever this was. She just about heard Arthur whisper to Zlata: “When mum’s not listening, you can call me daddy.” And that’s how Zlata found herself with a Sunday Dad. Sometimes Olesya went, sometimes she let Zlata go with them if Catherine joined in—she still saw Arthur as a stranger and was suspicious, though every time Zlata told her, wide-eyed, how funny and wonderful Arthur was, Olesya found herself catching the excitement, even as she tried to stamp it down. Life doesn’t work like that—no knights in shining armour swoop in out of nowhere. And Arthur’s mum praised him so much Olesya started wondering what was wrong with him. After all, why would a mother be matchmaking her son with a girl like her? But gradually, Olesya’s heart melted. Arthur handled things so gently—leaving a chocolate bar on the shelf as he left, always asking before taking Zlata anywhere, watching for Olesya’s opinion. She especially liked Catherine—if Arthur hadn’t been her son, she’d have loved her as a friend. One day, Arthur rang to talk about films, Zlata appeared immediately—whispered: “Is it Arthur?” And flopped on the sofa happily. “Of course, she’d love to come,” Olesya replied by habit. “Wait… I meant both of you. I mean, just us. On our own.” Catherine piped up in the background. “At last!” “Mum, stop eavesdropping! Sorry, Olesya… She’s hopeless.” Zlata whispered: “He invited you to the movies?” Olesya laughed. “I’ve got spy ears too! Listen, Arthur, I…” “Please don’t say no! One chance, I promise to be a perfect gentleman!” “Mum, tell her about her eyes—what you said to me, that they’re just like her mum’s…” Suddenly, Olesya felt ice water on her face. What did her mum have to do with any of this? Arthur yelled at his mother, then said: “Olesya, I’ll come over and explain, alright?” She’d appreciate some explanations… Olesya paced until he arrived, Zlata quietly drawing, as if she knew. “I should’ve said straight off,” Arthur started. “I meant to, but I liked you too much… I was afraid you’d think I only cared because of your mum—and I was frightened you’d hate me. Because… she died saving me.” He stumbled, jumping from one thing to another, eyes pleading. Olesya shook, just like when she’d thought Zlata lost. “Will you forgive me?” Olesya didn’t say a word the whole time, finally forcing out: “I need to think.” “Mum, forgive daddy!” Arthur widened his eyes at Zlata, reminding her of the deal. Olesya repeated: “I need time. Please understand?” She wanted to ask a million questions, but couldn’t. When Catherine rang, though, everything changed. She told Olesya the facts. “He never knew she died—I was trying to protect him as a child. Later I slipped, and Arthur decided to find you. That evening he hoped to meet you and offer help—but then all the mix-up with Zlata… He loved you at first sight! He was worried you’d misunderstand. Don’t blame him—it was a dare, he wanted to prove he was a man even with no dad. All the kids were afraid of the ice, but he went…” Catherine didn’t push, just defended her son gently. But Zlata did push, hard! “Mum, he’s lovely! And he loves you, he told me! He could be my real daddy, don’t you see?” Olesya did see. But still… wasn’t it wrong? Nearly a month passed, and Olesya couldn’t talk to Arthur. She ignored his calls, his messages. The longer it went on, the more she wanted to pick up the phone—and the harder it became to do so. Zlata woke her in the night, crying, clutching her stomach. She’d complained earlier, and Olesya thought it was just bad yoghurt. Now she was burning with fever. With shaking hands, Olesya called the ambulance. And—for no reason she could fathom—Arthur. He arrived with the paramedics, in pyjamas, ruffled and bleary, and came along to hospital, calming her and promising it would be alright, his own voice shaky. “Appendicitis isn’t that scary,” he said. “She’ll be fine, I know it.” Olesya held his hand—whether to calm herself or him, she didn’t know. The waiting room was cold, neither wore warm clothes, so they sat huddled together, sharing warmth. Arthur leapt up to ask the surgeon about the operation. Olesya sat still, terrified to move. If anything happened to Zlata, she’d never recover. But Zlata pulled through. The doctors did a brilliant job; Zlata fought hard, though the doctor said it was a near thing. “It’s like a guardian angel is looking after her,” the doctor said, and Olesya whispered: thank you, mum! Arthur kept thanking him, but the doctor told them both to go home—they couldn’t see Zlata yet anyway, she was in intensive care, and her parents needed rest. He dropped her at her door, and Olesya expected him to invite himself in, but he stayed silent. So she said: “It’s almost morning. Would you like to come in for coffee?” And realised she really wanted him to come in. And maybe, to stay. For good. Zlata recovered quickly—to the amazement of every doctor and nurse. “That’s because I’ve got a mum and a dad,” she said. And no one but Olesya and Arthur understood why that made her so happy…

Sunday Dad. A Diary Entry.

Where is my daughter? I kept repeating the question, my teeth chatteringwhether from fear or cold, I couldn’t tell.

Id left my little Laura at a birthday party, in a childrens playroom at the shopping centre. I only knew the birthday girls parents in passing, but I trusted themit wasnt the first time Laura joined such an event, and this was simply routine. Only today I was latethe bus just wouldnt come. The shopping centre is stuck in the most awkward corner, everyone drives, but I dont have a car, so I took Laura on the bus, hurried home for teaching appointments I couldnt cancel, and returned for her later, just fifteen minutes behind, sprinting across the icy car park until I was breathless.

Now, the birthday girls mum, a petite woman with round, blue eyes, stared at me in astonishment and repeated:

“Her father picked her up.”

But Laura didnt have a father. Well, perhaps technically she did, but hed never met his own daughter.

Id met Andrew by accidentmy friend twisted her ankle while we walked along the Thames, a group of lads offered to help, and in our youthful foolishness, they lied about studying at Oxford and claimed their dads were a general and a professor. Who knows whysilly, naïve bravado. When I fell pregnant, and Andrew discovered I was attending teacher training college, my father a bus driver, he offered cash for an abortion and vanished.

I never considered it for long, nor did I regret keeping Laurashes always been my sensible point of calm, wiser than her years, my little companion. We found joy in the simplest things: while I taught private lessons, Laura played quietly, then wed cook milk soup or soft-boiled eggs, drink tea with buttered biscuits in the tiny kitchen. Money was tight, with most going to rent, but neither of us ever whined.

How could you give my daughter to a stranger? My voice trembled, eyes stinging with tears.

But hes not a stranger, the blue-eyed woman huffed. Hes her dad!

I could have told her theres no dad to speak of, but what would be the point? I needed securitys helpCCTV footage, something

When did this happen?

Ten minutes ago

I turned and ran. How many times had I lectured Lauranever leave with someone you dont know! My legs barely worked, vision swimming, crashing into passersby without so much as an apology as panic propelled me forward. Half-instinctively, I shouted,

Laura! Laura!

The food court was rabidly busy; few even noticed my cries, but a few heads turned. Gasping for breath, I debated where to look firstmaybe she was still here, maybe

Mum!

For a moment, my mind refused to believe it. There she was, jacket flapping, face smeared with ice cream, throwing herself into my arms. I clung to her as though letting go would send me crashing to the floorperhaps it would. I glared past her at the man with hera presentable sort, short hair, ridiculous jumper emblazoned with a snowman, clutching an ice cream. He must have read the accusation on my face, for he started babbling:

Im sorry, honestly, it was my fault! I shouldve waited with her, but you see, those other kids were teasing her! Saying she didnt have a dad and hed never come because she was ugly! I just I wanted to show them, to stand up for her. So I walked over, said, Sweetheart, Mums not here yet, lets go have an ice cream. I didnt mean to scare you

I could barely stop shaking. Trust this stranger? Impossible. But had Laura truly been bullied? I searched her gaze, and she understood instantly, sniffed and lifted her chin.

It doesnt matter. Ive got a dad now too!

The man raised his hands awkwardly. I couldnt answerwords stuck in my throat.

Lets go, I finally breathed. Its late, well miss the bus.

Hang on! He stepped forward, waving uncertainly. Could I give you a lift? After all this I promise, Im not a psycho! My names Arthur. Im harmless! Theres my mum, see? Shell vouch for me!

He pointed at a woman with lavender curls, absorbed in her book at a nearby table.

If you want, lets ask her for character references!

No doubt, I muttered, still irrationally compelled to thwack the stranger over the head. Thank you, but well manage.

Mum Laura tugged the hem of my coat. Let them see Dads taking us home!

The birthday girl, her mum, and another child still loitered by the playroom. Lauras pleading eyes wore me down, and truth be told, I could barely stand on the icy path in my state.

All right, I relented.

Brilliant! Just a sec, Ill let Mum know!

‘Mummys boy, I thought uncharitably. The woman waved cheerily and I looked away at once. What a farce!

During the drive, I avoided Arthurs gaze, yet couldnt help but notice his gentle way with Laura. She sang like a skylark, unstoppableId never seen her so radiant. Then, outside our block, she suddenly wilted.

Will we see you again? she whispered to Arthur, glancing at me.

I sensed him watching meseeking my permission. I wanted to say, No, Laura, thats rude, but her crestfallen face stopped me, and I caught Arthurs hopeful look, nodded.

If your mum agrees, I could take you to see a film at the weekend. Ever been to the pictures?

Really? No, I never have! Mum, can I go to the cinema with Dad?

Now I was the one babbling, embarrassed for both of us.

Laura, Ill allow it, but with two conditions. First, its not polite to call a stranger Dadsay Uncle Arthur, all right? Second, Ill come along, too; what have I told you? Never go anywhere with people you dont know, no matter how nice they seem!

I told her that as well, Arthur added.

So I can go?

I said yes, didnt I?

Hooray!!!

Reason told me to nip this nonsense in the bud, but I couldnt. All I had in this world was Laura. If only I had someone to talk tolike my own mum. My memories of her are a blur; she died when I was five, Lauras age now. A boy fell into a frozen pond. No one dared save himexcept her. She managed to rescue him, but caught pneumoniashe had diabetes alreadyand died within a week. Now Laura has diabetes, tooa fact that torments me, knowing Ive passed it on.

The week crawled to the weekend, my mind spinning, but as it happened, my worries were for nothingArthur brought his mother to the cinema.

So you wont think Im dodgy, let Mum sing my praises, he grinned.

You are dodgy, his mother replied with an adoring smile; her son was clearly her treasure.

True to promise, while Arthur chased Laura for popcorn, his mother gave me her life story.

You know may I call you by your first name? He grew up without a dad, just as well. I was married four timesthe last was a dream, real Prince Charming! Arthur takes after him. Tragically, he died before he could even hold his sonheart attack. I was pregnant, lost him early, somehow got through. My first husbands helped, but she shrugged, Were all on good termsfirst one still loves me, second turned out to be more interested in men, third loved all women, couldnt stick to just me. They tried to be father figures to Arthur, but nothing matched the real thing. Thats why he took such a shine to Laurahe knows exactly what its like to be teased at school for being fatherless. Poor boy, all the stunts he did to prove he was tough nearly died once.

What a character! Petite, wiry, purple hair, dressed in Chanel, clutching an Agatha Christie. I liked her a lot.

Dont worry, Arthurs as good as they comehe just has a kind heart, she winked, then added, And I think hes rather keen on you.

I flushed. Just what I needed. I knew I shouldnt encourage things, but Laura well, she needed this.

After the film, I tried to pay for our tickets. Arthur refused.

When I invite a lady to the cinema, I pay! he declared.

That didnt sit well with meI always paid my own way, didnt depend on anyone. As for his supposed interest? Ridiculousreal life doesnt work that way.

When Arthur dropped us off, Laura piped up,

Dad, where are we going next time?

Laura! I scolded.

She covered her mouth and giggled.

I think we should visit the Natural History Museum, Arthur went on, ignoring the slip. How does that sound?

Great! Mum, lets go!

You two go, Ive got work, I replied flatly. Take Mrs Katherine along, shes mad about butterflies.

I hopped out first, desperate to end the whole charade. As I shut the door, I overhead Arthur whisper to Laura,

When Mums not listening, you can call me Dad.

And so Laura gained her Sunday Dad. Sometimes I went with them, sometimes let Laura go alone if his mother, Mrs Katherine, joined in. To me, Arthur remained a stranger, a suspect, no matter how much Laura raved about his humour and kindness. Her feelings were contagious, yet I kept them tightly in checksuch fairy tales dont happen, after all. And as for his mother, every time she gushed about him, I couldnt help but wonderwhats the catch? Why would such a woman want a nobody like me for her son?

But gradually my heart began to thaw. Arthur was so consideratehe’d leave chocolate on my shelf, consult me before inviting Laura out, sought my eye in the car. Mrs Katherine was especially wonderfulfull of fascinating stories. If Arthur wasnt her son, Id confide in her.

One day he phoned about another film. Laura, ever alert, crept in,

Is that Arthur?

She parked herself beside me, grinning.

Yes, Laura will be thrilled, I replied on autopilot.

WaitIm inviting you, too. Just us, together.

Mrs Katherines voice floated in from the background.

Finally!

Mum, stop eavesdropping! Sorry, Alice I mean, Miss My mothers always listening in.

Laura, whispering, Did he ask you out?

I laughed, Yes, Lauraears everywhere.

Dont say no! I promiseone chance, Ill be a true gentleman!

Mum, Arthur, tell her about her eyes, what you told me. Her mothers eyes

Ice water shockI couldnt understand. What did my mum have to do with this?

Arthur snapped at his mum, then said, Alice, I should have told you immediately. I meant to, but I liked you so much, didnt want you thinking it was all about your mum. But I was scared youd hate me. She died because of me

He rambled, flitting from one thing to another, his eyes begging forgiveness. I shivered, just as I had that day Laura was missing.

Will you forgive me?

I barely managed a word.

I need to think.

Mum, dont be cross with Dad

Arthur raised big eyes at Laura, a reminder of their pact. Then he looked at me.

I need time. Understand?

I wanted to ask a thousand things, but nothing came out. When Mrs Katherine rang, everything changedshe told me the truth.

He never knew about your mums deathI kept it from him, protecting his childhood. Then I slipped up, and Arthur vowed to find you. He wanted to meet and help you that night, but everything with Laura happened and then you Hes been besotted since first sight! He worried what youd think. It was all those boys, you knowhe walked onto the ice, trying to prove he was brave, even without a dad. Everyone else was afraid, but he went

She didnt press, but defended her son, while Laura begged unashamedly.

Mum, hes lovely! He told me he loves you! And he can be my real dad, cant he?

I understood. But it felt odd?

Another month slipped by, and still I couldnt face himignored any calls, left messages unread. The longer it went, the more I wanted to reach out, but it grew harder each day.

One night Laura woke, crying in pain. Shed complained earlier, but Id blamed iffy yoghurt. Now she was burningno thermometer needed.

Hands trembling, I called an ambulance, thenwithout thinkingArthur.

He rushed over and arrived with the paramedics, groggy, in pyjama bottoms, hair unkempt. He rode to the hospital with us, soothing, promising all would be wellthough his own voice was shaking.

Peritonitis isnt so baditll be fine! Im sure!

I held his handperhaps to calm him, perhaps myself. In the chilly waiting area, neither of us had warm clothes, so we huddled close, sharing warmth.

He dashed to the doctor, peppering questions about the surgery. I sat frozen, dreading anything to go wrong with LauraI simply couldnt survive it.

But she pulled through. The doctors worked miracles, and Laura fought bravelythe situation, according to the surgeon, was touch and go.

Like a guardian angel was watching over her, he said. I whispered, Thank you, Mum.

Arthur thanked the medics profusely, and they urged us homeLaura was in intensive care, and parents needed rest.

Back at my doorstep, I half expected Arthur to ask in, but he was silent. So I said,

Its nearly morning. Would you like to come up for coffee?

And trulyI did want him to come inside. To stay. Always.

Laura recovered with surprising speednurses and doctors all remarked on it.

Thats because I have a mum and dad, shed say.

No one else but Arthur and I knew why those words made her so happyArthur brought a bouquet of wildflowers to Lauras bedside, and she arranged them on her tray as if they were a feast. The morning sunlight spilled through the window, illuminating their faceshis awkward, hopeful smile, her dimpled cheeks, my uncertain gaze hovering between old grief and new beginnings.

Im going to be fine, Laura insisted, crunching her toast, her voice braver than mine. You dont have to worry, Mum.

Arthur squeezed my hand before he realized he shouldnt, then let go, flustered. Your daughters a hero, he said, softer than before.

After the nurses shooed us out for rounds, we stood by the vending machines, fingertips barely touching, as though something fragile was blooming there.

I know I cant ever fix the past, Arthur said, voice trembling. But I want to be therethe way someone should have been. For Laura. For you.

I thought of all those frozen momentsbus stops, lonely lessons, dinners for twoand how lonely they used to feel. Now I pictured them filled with Arthurs awkward jokes, Mrs Katherines stories, Lauras next adventure. Could a stranger become family, stitch the frayed edges together?

Ive spent my life trying not to need anyone, I admitted, voice shy. But maybe I do.

He looked at me not with pity or apology, but pure hope. We can try. Thats all I ask.

Outside, winter shivered into spring. Laura came home in a flurry of hugs and get-well cards, and Arthur was there every Sundaysometimes bringing wildflowers, sometimes a stack of childrens books, sometimes three tickets for the museum. Mrs Katherine joined us with her purple curls bobbing, scandalous tales and homemade scones.

On Lauras birthday, Arthur baked a lopsided cake shaped like a butterflyhis mothers favorite, Lauras request. After singing and laughter and candles, Laura pulled me close.

Mum, can we keep him? she whispered, hope shining through her eyes.

I glanced across the room at Arthurwaiting, uncertain, a little scaredbut smiling as Laura pressed her cheek to his sleeve. For the first time in years, I felt a warmth deeper than tea and biscuits.

I nodded, voice thick. Yes, Laura. We can.

Arthur kissed Lauras forehead, squeezed my trembling hand.

Through all the mess, the missed buses, the old losses and new fears, love had somehow found usunexpected, clumsy, persistent, real. And from that Sunday on, even the loneliest winter afternoons felt bright, and every diary entry ended with three words Laura liked best:

Dad came too.