Victor Harper was fiftytwo, a man still in the bloom of his strength. Hed climbed the ladder at a respectable engineering firm in Manchester, a decent salary in pounds, a circle of mates that stretched back to schoolyard scrapes. He never settled down; the idea of a family never took root.
In his youth he flitted from one woman to another, enjoying the certainty that his looks and charm attracted attention. By the time he brushed off his forties, a quietness settled over him as the vigor of his twenties slipped away. He met a remarkable woman, and for two years they walked handinhand, even sketching plans for a wedding. Then, as if a sudden gust, she vanished with another.
Victor whispered to himself that karma was paying him back for the countless hearts hed left behind. After that, serious love never returned. Occasionally a lady would drift into his lifebrief encounters, fleeting romancesbut none stayed long enough to build anything solid.
At fifty, he resigned himself to a solitary future, childless and forever unwed. If old age ever brought a lone woman who might share quiet evenings, hed welcome it; if not, hed simply be alone. His relatives were few. His parents had passed, no siblings, only a distant cousin and her son, a nephew he saw only on the odd holiday. Friends were all married, with grandchildren buzzing around their homes, and they rarely gathered as a male crew. They still invited Victor, yet he felt a thin thread of loneliness tug at him, a feeling that grew as his reflection in the bathroom mirror grew older.
He didnt want to become that grumpy old man who mutters at the television, strolls the park with a tired terrier, and complains about the younger generation. Still, the vision kept resurfacing, as inevitable as the ticking clock.
He kept meeting women, hoping one might be the one. He still turned up for drinks with his mates, exchanging polite smiles with their spouses and grandchildren. He visited his cousin now and then, and the occasional chat with his nephew reminded him that life, however ordinary, still moved forward.
One weekend, as he was packing a bag for a day out in the Lake District with some friends, his phone rang. Expecting a mates voice, he snatched the handset without looking at the screen.
Yes, he said, trying to shove a sandwich into his bag, the phone wedged between his shoulder and ear.
A clipped voice answered, Good afternoon, Victor?
He assumed it was another sales call, brushed it off, and went back to his preparations, telling himself he was always late because his friends wives kept pulling him into their chaos. He hung up, but the line rang again.
He glanced at the screen, frowning at a number he didnt recognise.
Im not interested in your loans or whatever youre peddling! he snapped.
A gentle female voice replied, Victor, Im not calling about a pitch.
He slumped onto the sofa, bewilderedwas this a new scam?
Who are you? he asked.
My names Ivy Harper. Im twentytwo, and I think Im your daughter.
The thought of a scam flickered, but something in the absurdity made it feel oddly plausible.
He checked his watch; a few minutes still lingered. He played along.
Seriously? What makes you say that?
Ivys tone wavered, caught off guard.
My mothers name is Emma Harper.
A smile tugged at Victors lips, and his mind flashed to a carefree youth, a laughfilled office, a sudden work trip to a nearby town where evenings were free. After a long day of deadlines, hed drifted into a modest bar. Two young women, giggling over gossip, occupied a corner. He joined them, feeling youthful despite his age. One left for a boyfriend; the other, Emma, lingered. They walked the neonlit streets, talked as if theyd known each other forever, and somehow he found himself at Emmas tiny flat, sharing a night that felt both foreign and familiar.
Three days later, when the work assignment ended, Emma escorted him to the train. He tried to hand over his number; she shook her head.
You and I have no future, she said.
He nodded, giving her his surname in case she ever needed it. A month later, a different romance occupied his thoughts; the wind had already moved him on.
The phone rang again, a voice pulling him back to harsh reality.
Yes, Im here. Why did you say you were my daughter?
My mother told me. She died a month ago.
God Im sorry. What happened?
Cancer. She found out too late. Before she passed, she told me who my father wasyour name and surname. She showed me a photo youd taken years ago, the one she kept printed. Shed found you on a social network, then tracked down your number.
Victor fell silent. The world seemed to tilt.
Why didnt she tell me about you? he whispered.
She said you werent ready for a family, didnt want to tether you, Ivy replied. Now I have no one. I know you probably have a life, a family Im not imposing. I just
Ivy, Victor cut in, lets meet. I want to see you.
Yes, she breathed.
He cancelled the nature outing. The news was too heavy to ignore, and his heart, though bewildered, longed to meet this daughter of his.
When they finally sat in a quiet café, Ivy trembled, sliding a photo of her with Emma onto the table, alongside her birth certificate.
I dont want you to think Im a con artist, she whispered.
Victor chuckled, Im no millionaire, so scammers arent after me, he said, smiling. I believe you. I remember your mother.
They talked for hours. Ivy spoke of a childhood shadowed by a mother whod married, only for the marriage to crumble. Her stepfather was absent, and Emma had no other children, leaving Ivy alone and desperate to find her father.
Im sorry I never knew you, Victor said, shaking his head. Id have liked to watch you grow. My own marriage never happened, no kids and nowturns out I have a daughter I never saw.
They lingered over tea for three hours, promising another meeting.
That night Victor lay awake, grief and anger tangled together. He mourned Emmas struggle raising a child alone, yet felt a sting that hed never been asked about a daughter. The thought of missing years gnawed at him, but also sparked a fierce resolve to be present now.
At their next encounter Ivy described her life. Shed inherited a flat from Emma, but it was in a pricey cityLondonso shed sublet it and rent a modest flat near Victors town. He offered her a room in his house, suggesting she could save money, sell the London flat, and buy something steadier.
He began to shower Ivy with small gifts, arranging tiny celebrations, introducing her to his mates, mentioning a distant cousin as a brotherjust for the sake of a family story.
Six months later, Ivy called him Dad for the first time. He slipped onto his balcony, pretending to make a phone call, and wept quietly, the night air heavy with relief.
Two years later Ivy married, and a child arrived. Victor, who had once imagined a lonely old man muttering at the telly, now found himself chasing after grandchildren, his heart expanding with each laugh.
He also met a woman, Eleanor, with whom he began to plan a quiet old age. Yet the greatest comfort was the family he suddenly possessed: a daughter, a soninlaw, and a grandson. Only then did Victor grasp how close hed come to missing a whole world called family.
