**Diary Entry**
It all came out by sheer chancea dreadful surprise I never saw coming. My little sister, Lucy, just four years old, had developed an umbilical hernia. The doctors were firm: no delays. The sooner the operation, the better. But Lucy flat-out refused to go to the hospital without Dad. We waited for him to return from his lorry route, and he walked her all the way to the operating room.
«Daddy, will you wait for me here?» she sobbed.
«Where else would I go, love? Of course I will. Why are you crying? Youre my brave girl.»
«Im not crying! Im just sighing!»
And off she went. A routine procedure, nothing complicated. Still, the hospital insisted Mum and Dad donate bloodnon-negotiable.
«Shouldnt you test first?» Dad asked. «Only one of us is likely a match. No point taking extra.»
«Theres no such thing as extra blood,» the doctor said firmly.
So they both donated. Mum went pale, swaying like she might faint any second. Afterward, she couldnt sit stillflitting between the waiting area and the nurses station. Eventually, Lucy was wheeled out. True to his word, Dad went straight to her. He stayed with her the whole weekend while Mum, finally calmer, took me home despite my protests.
«I could stay with her too,» I insisted stubbornly.
I was eleven by then. Lucymy little blonde angel of a sisterwas the person I loved most in the world. Maybe even more than Mum and Dad. How could anyone *not* adore her?
Imagine a small market town with its modest hospitalnew, well-equipped, even boasting a blood bank. But a town is still a town. Three days later, Lucy was home, and Dad was packing for another haul. He popped out for cigarettes before the trip and returned like a storm cloud.
«Daddy!» Lucy wailed from her room (she was still on bed rest). «Did you bring my marshmallows?»
Dad left the shopping bag in the hallway, ordered me to stay with Lucy, and steered Mum into the kitchen.
«John John, whats wrong?»
What followed was a conversation I wouldnt understand until years later. Lucy, too young to grasp it, sniffled for Dad and her sweets. I offered to read to herthankfully, she agreed.
In the kitchen, John, eyes wild, backed Mum against the wall.
«Is it true? Lucy isnt mine?»
«WhathowJohn, have you lost your mind? What are you saying?»
«Ill tell you what. Im type A positive. Youre O positive. And *hers*» he jerked his head toward the door»is B negative. If theres a mistake, we can re-test.»
Mum pushed past him, slumped at the table, and groaned into her hands.
«Bastards. I *begged* them. Why do they all have to meddle? Theyre jealous, John. Weve got everythingeven perfect little children.»
«You begged, did you? Right. Got it.»
He left her weeping. One slip, just onceout of boredom, with some engineer passing through. Dad was always on the road. In films, lorry drivers are rugged and romantic. In reality? Its lonely. And cold. Mum had convinced herself he wasnt faithful eitherhow could he be, away so much? She leapt up to chase after him, but he was already gone. Only the marshmallows remained.
After his next trip, Dad sat me down. He asked me to leave with him.
«But what about Lucy? Mum? Cant *you* stay?»
It felt like a boulder had settled on my shouldersuneven, shifting. Fear of losing him. Fear of choosing. Either way, Id lose someone. I did the maths: Lucy + Mum outweighed Dad alone. Though, if Im honest, Lucy alone mightve tipped the scales.
Dad saw me often after that. Lucy, though? He acted like she didnt exist. I didnt understand, but I trusted that if he *could* explain, he would. At first, Lucy cried for himheartbreaking to watch. Then, slowly, she stopped asking. She withdrew, playing silently with her toys. I never learned why she bore the brunt of this punishment, but I could guess. As for Mum
Mum lost it. She started dragging rubbish homefirst useful bits, then just *anything*. She stopped caring about us entirely, muttering over her hoarded treasures. How a beautiful woman could unravel so fast, Ill never know. Our neighbour, Mrs. Wilkins, kept us fed with Dads child support, but the stench in our flat? School was brutal.
«Mrs. Wilkins, can you teach me to iron?» I knocked on her door.
«Tom, love, you need to *wash* them first» She wrinkled her nose.
«Pointless. I tried. But Im seeing Dad tomorrow, and I cant look»
«So he doesnt know? About your mum?»
«I wont tell him. He left. Its not his problem.»
She let me in, then sighed. «Bring Lucy too. Ill sort you both out.»
And she did. No more smelling like a tramp at school. But Mrs. Wilkins didnt stop thereshe shamed Dad into stepping up. He met me after school.
«Why didnt you say anything?»
«Would you have come back?»
«No. But you couldve lived with me.»
«And Lucy?»
Silence. I shook my head and turned toward home.
«Wait! Lucy could stay with your nan.»
«Nans got a new bloke. Shes not interested.»
«Right. Takes after her, then» Dad cut himself off.
He tried Nan anyway.
«John, youre mad. Why would I want kids? Im living my best life!»
«But Lucys your *granddaughter*!»
«Pity.»
«*What*?»
«Pity motherhoods obvious, but fatherhood isnt. If I had a son, whos to say his kids are mine? But a granddaughter? Mine, sure. Still, Ive got my own life.»
«Christ. Shouldve looked closer at *you* before marrying Jane.»
One morning, Mum was gone. Her junk remained, but *she* didnt. The freezing air through the window barely masked the stench. I fed Lucy, nibbled something myself, then took her to Mrs. Wilkins.
«Mums missing. Ive got school.»
«Missing? In this cold? Whered she go?»
My reckless, broken mother died on a landfill outskirts. Why she froze instead of coming home, no one knows. Mrs. Wilkins warned us social services would step inand they did. A woman eyed our flat and turned to her.
«Could we sort the paperwork at yours?»
«Of course,» Mrs. Wilkins shrugged.
«Hold on.» Dads voice cut in as he climbed the stairs. «Sorryjust back from a job. These are *my* kids.»
«And the flats yours?» the social worker scoffed.
Dad didnt even glance inside. «Pack your things, Tom. Were leaving.»
«And Lucy?» I whispered, terrified.
«Obviously. Lucy, love, you too.»
My sister peeled herself from the wall and shuffled toward him.
«Daddy?»
«What, sweetheart?»
«Is it really you?»
He scooped her up, holding her tight. «Its me. Im here. Its alright.»
«Dont leave again, Daddy!» she wailed.
I froze. Shed give us away, and that stern woman would take us despite having a living father. But the social worker was already gossiping with Mrs. Wilkins. And Dad? He cradled Lucy, tears streaming. Hed tried so hard to resent her, to stay away. But love won. Love for ushis children.
«I wont. Im never leaving you again. We moved into a small house on the edge of town, near the woods where Lucy loved to pretend she was a fairy princess. Dad sold the lorry, took a local delivery runshorter hours, more time. He learned to cook, badly at first, burning toast and over-boiling potatoes, but Lucy giggled and ate it anyway. She started calling him Daddy again, slow at first, then freely, like a forgotten song remembered. I helped with homework, bathed her when she was too tired, held her hand during thunderstorms. The flat was cleared, the stench erased, but the memories lingeredquiet, heavy things we never spoke of. Years passed. Lucy grew fierce and bright, like sunlight after storm clouds. And one evening, as we sat on the porch watching the sky turn gold, she rested her head on Dads shoulder and whispered, You kept your promise. He didnt answer. Just held her tighter, his thumb brushing her hair, his eyes closedfinally at peace.
