Two Brothers, or How Life Set Everything Right
When Andrew was little, he never thought much about not having a father. His mother’s love was enough. But by secondary school, the lads started boasting—whose dad had the flashiest car, whose mobile was the most expensive. Andrew stayed quiet. What could he brag about? He and his mum didn’t own a car, and his phone was just ordinary. His mother worked as a doctor at the local clinic, and her friends weren’t wealthy—just elderly folks stopping by for check-ups.
One day after school, Andrew finally asked his mum about his father.
“You don’t remember him? When you were three, he met another woman. I couldn’t forgive the betrayal. We divorced, and he left. At first, he visited, brought you little gifts—nothing fancy. Then he had a child with her…” His mother sighed.
Her eyes turned sad, and Andrew decided not to press further. Why bother? If his father didn’t want him, then he didn’t need a father like that. He had the best mum—young, kind, everyone in their town knew and respected her. She was his pride.
Then, a man entered her life. She started going out in the evenings and weekends—birthday parties with friends, or so she claimed. But Andrew wasn’t a child anymore. Doctors didn’t wear nice dresses and perfume for patients. She’d return home with flowers, smiling, eyes bright with happiness.
One evening, as she got ready for a date, humming in front of the mirror, Andrew confronted her.
“Mum, is this a date? Do you have a boyfriend?”
Caught off guard, she froze, then turned to him, cheeks flushing. Guilt flickered in her gaze.
“I… You’ll always be the most important to me. But—”
“Don’t explain. I get it. Is this serious? Will you marry him?”
“I’m not sure yet. Do you mind?” she asked directly.
“No… But I’m used to it being just us. If you marry him, I won’t call him Dad.”
“He’s a good man. I’ve wanted you to meet him for ages—I just didn’t know how.”
“Invite him over,” Andrew relented.
His mum hugged him tight, whispering how proud she was of him. They agreed on Sunday.
Andrew buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in her familiar scent. He wanted to say he didn’t want to share her, that they didn’t need anyone else—but she kept thanking him, so he stayed silent.
On Sunday, his mum styled her hair, wore a pretty dress, and set the table with care, glowing. The flat smelled of good food and her perfume. Andrew hated that she’d done all this for a stranger, not for him.
He’d imagined someone tall and handsome, but the man who arrived was balding, heavy-set, older than his mum—shorter than her in heels. He shook Andrew’s hand firmly. “John Bennett.”
Over dinner, John praised his mum’s cooking, listened to Andrew’s stories about video games and films, never interrupting. He knew how to listen.
Two weeks later, John moved in. His mum explained he’d only had a small flat after his divorce. Andrew hadn’t known places like that still existed.
Finding a stranger’s toothbrush and razor in the bathroom, Andrew realised this was permanent. At night, he buried himself under blankets to block out whispers and laughter from his mum’s room.
In Year 9, his mum—blushing like a schoolgirl—told him she was pregnant. Andrew wasn’t happy. He’d be the older brother, less important. He muttered he’d prefer a brother, but secretly blamed John—his arrival had shattered their quiet life.
John tried explaining: “She wanted this. She’s still young, and you’re grown now…”
Why should Andrew understand? Nobody had asked him. Soon his mum was walking around with a bump, and he dreaded his friends’ reactions—but nobody cared.
The birth was difficult. John came to Andrew’s room the next day, grim-faced. “You have a brother. But… he’s not well. The doctors suspect cerebral palsy.”
Andrew recoiled. “Is he… disabled?”
“His spine is affected. We don’t know how bad it’ll be. But your mum won’t accept it. She needs you.”
“Why not leave him at the hospital?” Andrew couldn’t believe it.
John sighed. “She’d never abandon him.”
Baby Bobby was restless, only sleeping in their mum’s arms. Andrew, exhausted at school, resented her—why ruin their lives? He resented John even more. Their two-bedroom flat felt cramped.
After school, Andrew announced he’d study abroad. His mum barely reacted—Bobby was her only concern. John promised financial help. At the train station, he hugged Andrew like a father—but Andrew couldn’t say it back.
He left without looking back.
Calls came rarely—mostly from John, relaying Bobby’s progress. Andrew barely listened, cutting conversations short.
Then, just before New Year’s, his mum called in tears. John was dead—a heart attack.
The holiday passed in a blur of funerals instead of feasts. His mum had aged, hair streaked with grey, sobbing about how she’d manage alone.
Andrew pitied her—and didn’t. This was her fault. Bobby meant nothing to him, though the boy smiled, showed him drawings, toddled on walking aids. Andrew left early, claiming exams.
Without John’s support, money was tight. Andrew skipped meals, furious at his mum. He worked summers, never visiting.
At university, he married, didn’t invite her. Lied to his in-laws—said she was grieving. Never mentioned Bobby.
Years passed, calls dwindled to holidays. His mum mentioned Bobby was working, earning well.
Then one day, Bobby called. Their mum was dead—cancer.
Andrew drove straight there, ashamed. The door opened to a handsome seventeen-year-old—until you saw his twisted gait.
Their old flat was renovated, furnished. “I earn well,” Bobby said, showing off a top-tier PC. “Thanks for sending it.”
Andrew said nothing. Their mum’s doing—where’d she get the money?
After the funeral, driving home in heavy rain, Andrew swerved—woke up in hospital, legs numb. Spine injury. No guarantees he’d walk again.
His wife left. Suicide crossed his mind—until a nurse found him on the floor.
Discharge day, he was wheeled out—Bobby waited with his fiancée, a healthy, kind girl.
They took him in. Bobby had researched German clinics, arranged everything. “You’ll walk again.”
Andrew scoffed. “How’d you afford this?”
“I told you, I earn well. You just have to believe.”
“And what about you?” Andrew asked.
“My condition can’t be fixed. But you have a real chance.”
Months later, after surgery and rehab, Andrew stood on crutches, weeping.
“Forgive me. I was ashamed of you. Hated Mum for having you. And you… saved me.”
Bobby grinned. “We’re brothers. No debts between us.”
Shame burned Andrew. He could’ve helped them. Instead, he’d cut them off. Yet life had set everything right—reversing their roles.
Now, relearning to walk, he’d also learn to forgive himself—and love those he’d once rejected.
*Life’s like a spring—the harder you push others away, the fiercer it snaps back.*
