A Chilling Discovery by Pure Chance: My Four-Year-Old Sister Lucy Developed an Umbilical Hernia. Doctors Warned Us Not to Delay—The Sooner the Surgery, the Better. Lucy Flatly Refused to Go to the Hospital Without Dad. We Waited for Him to Return from His Trip, and He Walked Her All the Way to the Operating Room.

**Diary Entry 21st November**

It all came out by sheer chance. My little sister, Daisy, only four years old, had developed an umbilical hernia. The doctors said not to delaythe sooner the operation, the better. Daisy flat-out refused to go to the hospital without Dad. We waited for him to return from his lorry route, and he walked her right up to the operating theatre.

“Daddy, will you wait here for me?” she sobbed.

“Where else would I go, love? Of course Ill wait. Why are you crying? Youre my brave girl!”

“But Im not crying! Im just breathing funny!”

And off she went. A routine procedure, really. But the hospital insisted Mum and Dad donate blood beforehandno exceptions.

“Only one of us is a match, surely,” Dad said. “Couldnt you test first? Save us donating unnecessarily.”

“Theres no such thing as unnecessary blood,” the doctor said firmly.

So they both gave blood. Mum went pale, swaying like she might faint any second. Afterward, she couldnt sit still, pacing between the waiting room and the nurses station. Eventually, Daisy was wheeled out, and Dad went to meet her, just as hed promised. He stayed by her side all weekend. Mum finally relaxed a bit, checked on Daisy, then dragged me home though I protested.

“I could stay with her too,” I insisted.

I was eleven by then. Daisy, my little blonde sister, was my whole world. Maybe even more than Mum and Dad. How could anyone not love her? A proper little angel.

Picture a small market town with its modest hospitaldecently equipped, even had a blood bank, but still just a sleepy little place. Three days later, Daisy was home, and Dad was packing for another route. He popped out for cigarettes but came back looking like thunder.

“Daddy!” Daisy wailed from her room (still on bed rest). “Did you get my marshmallows?”

Dad left the shopping bag in the hall. Told me sharply to go to Daisys room. Took Mum by the elbow and steered her into the kitchen.

“John John, whats wrong?”

What followed was a conversation I only understood years laterback then, Daisy was too little, and I obeyed Dad without question. She whined for him and her sweets, so I offered to read to her. Thank God she agreed.

In the kitchen, John, eyes wild, backed MumLindaagainst the wall. Nowhere left to retreat.

“Is it true? Daisys not mine?”

“WhatJohn, have you lost your mind? How can you say that?”

“Ill tell you what Im saying. My bloods A-positive. Yours is O-positive. Hers” he jerked his head toward the door”is B-negative. If theres been a mistake, we can re-test.”

Linda shoved him aside, slumped at the table, and groaned into her hands.

“Bastards. I *told* them not to! Whats wrong with them? Jealous, John, thats what. Weve got everything. Even our kids are perfect.”

“You *told* them right. Got it.”

He walked out, leaving Linda weeping. One slipjust once, out of loneliness, with some engineer passing through. Dads always on the road. In films, lorry drivers are romantic. In reality? Its bloody miserable. Linda thought, *Well, hes probably no saint either out there.* But when she ran after him, he was already gone. Only a box of marshmallows remained on the table.

After his next route, Dad sat me down. Asked if Id live with him.

“Dad, what about Daisy? Mum? Cant you stay?”

It felt like a boulder had dropped on me. Id watched documentariesrocks are layers, compressed over time. This weight was the same. Fear of losing Dad. Fear of choosing. Either way, Id lose someone. I did the maths: Daisy + Mum outnumbered Dad. Though honestly, Daisy alone mightve tipped the scales.

Dad met me often after that. Daisy? Like shed vanished from his mind. I didnt get it, but figured if he couldve explained, he wouldve. At first, Daisy moped and criedgut-wrenching to watch. Then she stopped asking about him. Just played alone with her toys. I didnt know *why* this had landed on her, but I could guess. As for Mum

Mum lost it. Started dragging rubbish homefirst useful bits, then just *anything*. Stopped caring about us entirely. Shed mutter over her hoard like some mad witch. How a pretty, lively woman turned into *that* in eighteen months? No idea. But I never told Dad. Our neighbour, Mrs. Wilkins, helped sometimes. Dads child support covered basics, but the stench in our flat? School was hell.

“Mrs. Wilkins, can you teach me to iron?” I asked.

“Oliver, love, you need to *wash* things first” she wrinkled her nose.

“Waste of time. But Im seeing Dad tomorrow. Need to look decent.”

“Waithe doesnt *know*?”

“Not telling him. He left. His problem now.”

She let me in, then sighed. “Bring Daisy too. Ill sort you both. And for heavens sake, bring your clothes here to change.”

So we did. At least I didnt reek like a tramp anymore. But Mrs. Wilkins wasnt done. She tracked Dad down and shamed him. He met me after school.

“Why didnt you *say*?”

“Would you have come back?”

“No. But you couldve lived with me.”

“And Daisy.”

Silence. I shook my head and turned toward home.

“Wait! Daisy could stay with your nan.”

“Nans got a new bloke. Doesnt want us.”

“Right. Takes after” Dad cut himself off.

He tried Nan anyway.

“John, are you *mad*? Im not babysitting. Got my own life.”

“But Daisys your granddaughter!”

“Pity.”

“*What?*”

“Pity motherhoods obvious, but fatherhood isnt. If I had a son, who knows if his kids were really mine? But Daisy? Mine alright. Still not my problem.”

“Yeah. Shouldve looked closer at *you* before marrying Linda.”

One morning, Mum was gone. Her hoard remainedour room was the only clean spacebut shed vanished. I opened the window, let the frosty air cut the stench. Fed Daisy, nibbled something myself, then took her to Mrs. Wilkins.

“Mums gone. Ive got school.”

“*Gone?* Its freezing! Whered she go?”

My useless, broken mother ended up dead on some distant scrap heap. Why she froze instead of coming home? No one knows. Mrs. Wilkins said social services would decide our fate.

When the social worker saw our flat, she turned to Mrs. Wilkins. “Could we handle the paperwork at yours?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Wilkins sighed.

“Hold on.” Dads voice echoed up the stairs. “Sorryjust back from a route. Theyre *my* kids.”

“The flat yours too?” the woman scoffed.

Dad didnt even glance inside. “Pack your things, Oliver. Were leaving. Well sort this later.”

“And Daisy?” I whispered, terrified.

“Obviously. Daisy, love, you too.”

Daisy peeled herself off the wall and shuffled over.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Is it really you?”

He scooped her up, hugged her tight, and exhaled like the weight of the world was on him.

“Its me. Im here. Its alright.”

“Dont leave again, Daddy!” she wailed.

I froze. *Now shell ruin it.* But the social worker had already lost interest, gossiping with Mrs. Wilkins. And Dad? He held Daisy, tears streaming down his face. All that anger, all that distancegone. Love won. Love for us. His kids.

“I wont. Im never leaving you again.”

**Lesson learnt:** Blood tests lie. Love doesnt.