Divorce was, even then, a fairly common affair. When Peter Harper took Eleanor Thompson to the altar, he believed it would be forever. To him she seemed the very picture of grace and charm. Their happiness was soon crowned with a son, Rupert, whom Peter adored beyond reason. Before the child arrived he could not have imagined loving anyone more than his wife, yet love has a way of surprising us.
The bliss, however, was shortlived. When Rupert turned three and started at the local nursery, Eleanor went back to work. It was there that she met the man who would turn her world upside down. She fell deeply for Stephen Clarke, a colleague who adored her. Eleanor still cared for Peter, but not with the same fire.
She never cheated; one afternoon she simply told him she was leaving.
Peter, I have been faithful to you, and I hoped this feeling would pass. It hasnt. Stephen loves me, and I am sorry
Peter could say little. There was no point in pleading she had made her choice. He accepted it, for the sake of their son, and they agreed to part on good terms. Their divorce left Peter alone, while Eleanor tried to comfort him, insisting he would find a woman who would truly value him. Peter, scarred by his first marriage, swore he would not be fooled again.
Rupert grew under Peters watchful eye, and the two fathers kept a friendly rapport. Eleanor never pressed for alimony; she simply asked, If you can, send what you can afford. She must have felt some guilt over how things turned out. Peter, ever responsible, knew how much a small child cost school fees, clubs, the everrising price of food and he sent what he could each month.
One visit from Rupert brought the shocking news that Eleanor was pregnant. Peter could not instantly name the feeling that rose bitterness, envy, pain, perhaps even a flicker of relief that she seemed content. Yet joy was out of place. When Eleanors daughter, Poppy, was born to Stephen, he abandoned them both, slipping away to another woman and leaving Eleanor and the child to fend for themselves. Though they were never married, that should have warned Eleanor, but love had blinded her.
Peter stepped in. He gave what little money he could to Stephen, and he helped wherever he could. When he collected Rupert, he would also look after Poppy for an hour, driving her to appointments, escorting her to the hospital, even staying with her and Rupert when Eleanor had to dash away for a sudden errand. They never intended a romance; Peter knew life could never revert to what it once was, and Eleanor felt it would be unfair to her former husband. Yet they maintained a friendship for Ruperts sake.
Tragedy struck when Poppy turned two and Rupert started school. A drunken driver ploughed into a bus stop, sending the vehicle into a crowd. Three people perished, Poppy among them, never even reaching the hospital. The news hit Peter like a blow. Though his love for Eleanor had faded, she remained a dear person in his heart, and now she was gone.
Grief had no time to linger; Peter had to arrange the funeral and soothe Rupert. In doing so, he discovered that Stephen had no intention of taking Poppys child. They met before the burial, and Stephen bluntly said he did not want the girl.
I have another family now, what use is a little one to me? he shrugged. Shell find a good home.
He suggested perhaps Eleanors sister might adopt her. Peter knew her sister, Mabel, lived in a crumbling cottage in a hamlet, herself an alcoholic with three children of her own hardly a safe haven for a toddler. He even asked the neighbour, Mrs. Clarke, who was watching Poppy temporarily, but she too declined, saying at nearly fifty she had no room for another child.
That night Peter lay awake, tormented. Poppy was not his daughter, yet she was the child of his former wife. He felt no kinship toward Stephen, and the relatives he could call upon were of no help. Sending the little girl to a childrens home felt cruel; to leave her with strangers, perhaps worse, was unbearable.
The next morning Rupert asked, Dad, will Uncle Stephen look after Poppy?
No, son, he cant, Peter answered, always honest with his boy, preferring the bitter truth to a comforting lie.
Then what will happen to her? Will they put her in a home? Will anyone read her bedtime stories? Can we visit her? Ruperts questions were earnest, his love for his sister clear.
Peter smiled at his sons caring heart. He saw a chance: why not let Poppy live with them? He pursued the matter through the proper channels, eventually securing guardianship. When he fetched her from Mrs. Clarkes house, Poppy ran to him and clung tightly, knowing him better than any father she had ever had.
Seeing her brother, Ruperts face lit up; Poppy, too young to grasp that her mother was gone, found comfort in her brothers presence. Within months she began calling Peter Dad, and he never corrected her. He had taken on the duties of a parent, and in his eyes he truly was her father.
Stephens occasional contributions of money were scant, but Peter needed none of it. He found a place for Poppy in a nursery, fitting their modest means. She grew, taking after her mothers looks, and the bond between the siblings deepened. Peter felt he had made the right choice; he loved the girl as his own, and no outsider could guess she was not his flesh and blood. At times he even thought she resembled him.
When Poppy turned six, Peter finally found love again. He had sworn never to marry, to keep his heart guarded, yet destiny had other plans. His new partner welcomed both Rupert and Poppy, and in time Poppy began to call her Mum, for her own mothers memory was a blur. Rupert treated his fathers wife with respectful courtesy. Peter asked for nothing more from his son.
Peter never lied to Poppy, nor to Rupert. The girl knew he was not her biological father, yet she accepted him wholly. As she grew, she understood the enormity of Peters decision: after tragedy, he had taken not only his own son but also a strangers child and raised her as his own.
One evening, after Poppy had finished school and prepared for university, she approached her father.
Thank you, Dad, she said.
For what, love? Peter replied, his smile soft.
For not abandoning me, for giving me a happy childhood, for keeping me with my brother, for being a real father and bringing Mum into my life.
Peters eyes glistened with tears.
Youre welcome, Poppy. And thank you for coming into my life. I have found a truly loving daughter.
