Daniel trudged home late again, exhausted after another gruelling shift. His old Ford Focus had sputtered and stalled several times on the way, as if sensing its days were numbered now that he was finally close to buying the brand-new Audi he’d dreamed of for nearly a decade. He smiled tiredly as he climbed the dimly lit stairwell, imagining the smooth leather seats and purr of the engine. This dream had kept him going through years of overtime and skipped holidays his boss valued his dedication but rarely gave bonuses, knowing his reliable worker wouldn’t complain.
His inherited flat on London’s outskirts suited him fine, though his parents in Manchester kept nagging about him settling down. Relationships had never been a priority until tonight.
Rounding the final flight, Daniel nearly tripped over a figure slumped by his door. Phone light revealed not a drunk but a girl of about twelve, clutching a backpack. She startled awake, dropping a photo Daniel recognised instantly himself at a university ball thirteen years ago.
«Hello? I-I’m here to see you,» she stammered.
Keys in hand, Daniel hesitated. This smelled like a scam everyone knew stories of kids used in sting operations. The deserted council estate offered no witnesses. «I didn’t invite guests,» he said curtly, unlocking the door.
«Wait! I’ve nowhere else to go!» The girl’s voice cracked. «You’re Daniel Whitmore, right? You’re my father!»
Daniel barked a laugh. «That’s bollocks. I’ve no kids.» Yet as he moved to shut the door, her words struck him: «Mum’s dying! She needs heart surgery we can’t afford in Leeds! I found your photo in her diary from after the student ball…»
The name hit him like a train: Emily. That one passionate night with the visiting drama student. He’d panicked next morning, convinced she wanted commitment, and sent her packing. Could this girl…?
Inside, Daniel ignored his instant noodles, mind racing. A quick search revealed a stalled GoFundMe for Emily Carter’s medical bills. At 3am, he opened his secret savings cupboard £28,000 in crisp £50 notes, smelling faintly of new car brochures.
Why did he want that Audi, really? To impress women? He was forty-two now. That £28,000 could save a life maybe two, considering what would happen to this «Molly» if Emily died.
The clincher came when he noticed it the tiny star-shaped birthmark behind Molly’s ear. Identical to his own.
Next morning, he secretly stuffed the money into Molly’s bag before putting her on the Leeds train, enduring her tearful insults. Three months later, Emily stood at his door, healthy and holding Molly’s hand.
«You saved us,» Emily whispered. Over tea, she explained keeping the pregnancy secret, fearing he’d think she trapped him. Daniel surprised himself by inviting them to stay the weekend. At the funfair, watching Molly win a giant teddy, something shifted.
Two months later, Daniel introduced his new family to his relieved parents in Manchester. The Audi would wait he’d found something better. That £28,000 taught him an unexpected truth: sometimes the detours we resist lead exactly where we’re meant to be.
