Dear Diary,
Divorce isnt an uncommon affair in Britain, yet when I wed Laura I thought it would be forever. She seemed the very picture of grace and charm, and I loved her deeply. Our son, Oliver, arrived a year later, and I fell for him with a madness I never imagined feeling for anyone else. Before Oliver, I never believed I could love anyone more than my wife, yet life has its own ways.
Our happiness was brief. When Oliver turned three and started nursery, Laura went back to work. It was there she met the man who would upend my world. She fell, headoverheels, for Simon. She still cared for me, but not with the same intensity. She never cheated; one day she simply told me she was leaving.
Peter, dont think Ive been unfaithful. I truly hoped this would pass, but it hasnt. Simon loves me, and Im sorry, she said.
I could offer no retort. There was little point in begging her to stay once her mind was made up, and arguing would have achieved nothing. She left amicably, acknowledging our sons need for us both to maintain a civil relationship. We divorced, and I found myself alone. Laura kept insisting I would eventually meet someone who would appreciate all I have to offer, but I was already singed once and convinced I wouldnt risk a second burn.
Oliver grew under my watchful eye, and Laura and I managed to coparent without drama. She never pursued child support; she simply said, If you can, give what you can. Guilt, perhaps, hung over her. I was, of course, aware of the costs of raising a childnursery fees, extracurricular clubs, and todays skyhigh food pricesso I sent what I could each month.
Through Oliver I learned that Laura was pregnant again. The moment the news hit, I was bewildered. Was it bitterness, envy, pain, or a strange flicker of happiness that she was doing well? None of it felt appropriate to celebrate. When Laura gave birth to a baby girl, Simon dumped her without a second thought, fleeing to another woman. They were never married, a red flag Laura chose to ignore in her infatuation.
I stepped in where Simon refused. I helped with the childs expenses and, when I fetched Oliver, I could also watch over the little girl for an hour, drop her at the doctor, or stay overnight when Laura had urgent matters. We never planned a reunion; I knew things would never be as they once were, and Laura felt it would be unfair to me. Still, we kept a friendly rapport for Olivers sake.
When the girl turned two and Oliver started primary school, tragedy struck. A drunk driver ploughed into a bus stop, sending his car into a crowd waiting for the bus. Three people died, Laura among them, never even making it to the hospital. The news hit me like a hammer. I still felt a lingering affection for her, not love perhaps, but something close. Grief had no time to linger; I had to organise the funeral and comfort Oliver.
In the midst of the arrangements, I discovered that the father of Lauras daughter had no intention of taking her in. We met before the funeral and he brushed me off.
Ive got a new family; where does she fit? he asked.
Its his daughter, how can you just
Its a baby. Shell find a good home, he shrugged.
What about other relatives? I pressed.
Theres Lauras sister. She can have her if she wants. Its not my problem. I knew the sisterJeanwas an alcoholic living in a crumbling cottage in a small village, already caring for three children of her own. She was no ones saviour.
When I collected Olivers things, the little Molly stood at the doorway, watching. A neighbour took her in temporarily until things settled, but even she made no move to seek guardianship.
Im almost fifty, my own kids are grown. Where would I put a toddler? she said.
That night I lay awake. Molly wasnt my blood, but I had no father who cared, no decent relatives, and she would likely end up in a childrens home. The thought tore at me; I could not let another motherless child drift into neglect.
The next morning Oliver asked, Dad, will Uncle Simon take Molly?
No, son. He wont.
I never lied to Oliver; I believed the harsh truth was kinder. Then what will happen to her? he asked.
Theyll probably put her in a care home.
Will they read her bedtime stories? She doesnt like porridge, can they give her something else? And can we visit?
His earnest concern made my heart swell. Not many brothers show such pure love for a sister theyve never known. I wondered how cruel it would be to separate them.
What if we tried to keep Molly with us? I asked Oliver.
Really? But youre not her dad.
We could try, I replied.
After navigating the social services, I secured custody of Molly. When I finally brought her home from the neighbour, she ran to me and clung tightly, as if shed known me all her lifefar more than any biological father could. The moment she saw Oliver, she beamed. She was tiny, unaware that her mother was gone, but perhaps that would make the loss easier for her than for Oliver.
Months later, Molly began calling me Dad, and I never corrected her. I had taken on the duties of a father, so I was indeed hers. Her real fathers occasional, modest contributions meant little; I could manage alone. We found a place for her in a nursery that understood our situation.
Molly grew into a spittingimage of Laurahair, smile, the way she laughed. Oliver and I loved each other fiercely, and each day I felt Id made the right choice. I loved Molly as if she were my own. Strangers would never guess she wasnt my blood; sometimes she seemed to look like me.
When Molly turned six, love finally knocked on my door again. I had sworn never to marry, to keep my life closed off, yet fate had other plans. My new partner, Emma, accepted both Oliver and Molly as her own. Over time, Molly even began calling Emma Mum, a title she never knew before. Oliver, ever courteous, treated her with the utmost respect. I asked for nothing more from my son.
I never lied to Molly or Oliver. The girl knew I wasnt her biological father, yet she embraced me as such. It wasnt until she grew older that she truly grasped the depth of my decisionstaking in not only my son but a strangers child, raising her as my own.
One evening, after Molly had finished school and was preparing for university, she slipped into my study.
Thank you, Dad, she whispered.
For what? I smiled.
For never giving up on me. For giving me a happy childhood. For keeping me close to my brother. For being the father I needed and bringing Mum into my life.
Tears welled as I answered, Youre welcome, love. And thank you for coming into mine. I finally have a real, loving daughter.
The years may have taken many turns, but the love that steadied my heart remains unchanged.
