You’re Nothing to Him

I often think back to those years, long before the world seemed to settle into the quiet rhythm we now know. It began on a rainy afternoon in a modest flat on the outskirts of Manchester, where I, David, set my steaming mug of tea down and turned to Anne, her eyes widening at the sudden seriousness in my voice.

Perhaps its time I finally met your son? I asked.

She seemed caught offguard, her breath catching as if my words had startled her into stillness.

Why rush? she replied, her tone light yet her shoulders betraying the tension that lay beneath. Max is only just adjusting to the idea that his mum might have someone.

Weve been seeing each other for four months now, I reminded her gently. Im not asking you to move in or pretend were already a happy family. I just want to know the little boy who means so much to you.

Anne glanced toward the window, her gaze drifting over the grey sky.

Hes only seven. I dont want to hurt him, she said.

Hurt? I pressed. Anne, understand me. If you intend to keep me at arms length, what kind of relationship could ever exist?

A flicker of fear crossed her face, but it vanished as quickly as a candles flame in a draft.

Fine. In a couple of weeks, then? Give me time to prepare him.

I nodded. Those two weeks stretched into three months. Each time a new excuse emerged: Max fell ill, had a test, felt moody. At last, Anne called herself, suggesting I come over on a Saturday.

The boy I met was wiry, darkeyed, and far too solemn for his age. He sat on the sofa clutching his toy car, eyes darting warily.

Hello, I sat down nearby, keeping a respectful distance. Whats that youve got? A nifty little motor?

Max remained silent, studying me.

Max, dont be shy. Say hello, Anne urged from the doorway, arms crossed.

Good day, the boy whispered.

I didnt push further. I slipped my phone out and showed him a picture of my own hatchback.

This is the one I drive. Fancy a spin sometime?

His eyes lit up, though he glanced quickly at his mother.

Is that allowed?

Well see, Anne answered evasively.

Time, as it does, chipped away the ice. Anne grew more relaxed, permitting me to take Max on outings. I escorted him to parks, the zoo, the cinema, bought the toys he begged for, explained how engines worked, and even taught him how to drive a nail and hold a screwdriver.

Turn it clockwise, I guided his small hand. Feel the threads?

Got it, Max said, sticking out his tongue in concentration. What if I turn the wrong way?

Then youll just have to undo it, I chuckled. Nothing fatal about starting over.

We spent hours tinkering with the car. Max handed me tools, bombarded me with questions, smeared oil on his elbows, and beamed with delight. In the evenings we played board games while Anne cooked dinner.

Fishing became our shared ritual. Every other Sunday we drove to the River Severn, set our lines, and waited as bobbers bobbed. Max learned to thread a worm, to be patient, to strike at the right moment.

Dad, Ive got a bite! he shrieked one day as his float disappeared beneath the surface.

Steady now, dont yank, I advised, drawing closer. Pull smooth, just like that.

The carp we landed was modest, but the pride on Maxs face was worth any trophy.

At home we watched action films that Anne wouldnt allow without me. Max would settle beside me, leaning over the back of the sofa, commenting on every scene.

Thats absurd, isnt it? Nothing like that happens in real life, he would say when the hero dispatched a dozen foes.

A bit of exaggeration for the spectacle, Id agree. But the point isnt the fighting; its the hero protecting those he loves.

He nodded, thoughtful.

When school maths began to trouble him, I stepped in. My background in engineering and economics proved handy for breaking down problems in plain language.

I dont get these stupid fractions, Max complained, staring at the page.

Imagine you have a pizza, I said, pulling out a sheet of paper. You eat halfthats onehalf, right?

Right.

And if you split it into four pieces and eat one?

One quarter?

Exactly. Now try the problem thinking of pizza.

Within five minutes his notebook bore the correct answer.

It worked! he exclaimed.

See? Youre doing fine, I patted his head.

His grades rose, and the teacher praised his progress at the parentteacher meeting. Anne glowed with pride.

Its all thanks to David, she told a friend. He spends so much time with Max.

My attachment to the boy grew deeper. I awoke each morning wondering how to make his day brighter, planning weekends, picking out presents, fretting over each bad mark more than he did himself. Love crept in unnoticed, then settled firmly in my heart.

When Max turned ten, I finally broached the subject with Anne.

Shall we marry? I said one evening.

She looked up from her magazine, eyes wide.

What?

Were practically a family already, I continued. I love you and Max. Why wait?

Annes face hardened.

No.

Why? I asked, bracing for an answer.

Because Ive been married before. Ive had enough.

Im not your exhusband, I replied.

I know, she softened a little. But I dont want to bind myself again. Im content as things are. Isnt that enough for you?

I sighed. I wasnt unhappy, yet I yearned for more.

Fine. Let it be.

The years slipped by. We lived together in Annes flat, spending summers by the sea and winters in the Yorkshire Dales. I covered most of the expenses, never asking for anything in return. Occasionally I raised the idea of marriage, but Anne steadfastly refused.

Perhaps we could have another child? I asked when Max was thirteen.

She stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

My health is fragile. Doctors say its risky.

We could see a specialist, get tests done.

No, David. I dont want another child. Max is enough.

I accepted her decision, though a quiet sting lingered.

By the eighth year of our cohabitation, Anne began nitpicking the smallest thingshow I washed the dishes, the volume of my voice, the way I left the toothpaste tube uncapped.

You always do it wrong, she snapped one night as I came home from work.

What exactly? I asked.

Everything!

I tried to smooth over the conflicts, helping more around the house, watching my every move, but Anne seemed determined to find fault.

Maybe you need a break? I suggested. Lets get away together, just the two of us.

No, she snapped. I dont want that.

Max sensed the tension, kept to himself, and tried not to draw attention. It hurt me to see the boy caught between us.

The truth emerged by accident. I returned home early one evening and spotted an unfamiliar jacket hanging in the hallwaya mans coat. My heart sank.

Anne? I called.

She bolted from the bedroom, slamming the door behind her, but I caught a glimpse of a man lying in our bed.

David, its not what you think, she whispered.

Is it true? I asked hoarsely. How long?

She remained silent, eyes downcast.

Answer me! I demanded.

Three months, she finally admitted.

Three months of constant criticism, provocation.

So thats why, I said slowly. You were pushing me away, hoping Id leave on my own, feeling guilty.

I never meant to hurt you, she murmured. I found someone else and turned our life into a nightmare.

I packed my things in twenty minutes. Max stood nearby, eyes wide.

David, youre leaving? he asked.

I knelt, placed my hands on his shoulders.

Max, Ill always be here. Call me, and Ill come. Well see each other as we always have.

Promise?

I promise.

Annes final blow came a week later.

Dont ever contact my son again, she snarled. If you try, Ill take you to court. Youre nobody to him. You have no rights.

Her voice was cold, detached, as if I were a phantom.

I raised him for eight years! I shouted.

And what? Youre not his father. Legally hes yours not at all.

She hung up.

I tried to call Max, but his number was disconnected. A short message arrived after three days: Mum says I cant speak to you. Sorry.

I missed the boy who had become my son. Time moved on.

One day an unfamiliar number rang while I was cooking.

David? a voice asked.

Max! By God, its you! I exclaimed.

Im an adult now. Mum cant stop me any longer.

We met at a café. Max had grown tall, shoulders broader, but his dark, serious eyes remained unchanged.

How are you? I asked.

Surviving, he said with a grin. Mums been a nightmare. She blames me for ruining her life, says Im a bad son because I dont accept her lovers.

I? he laughed sadly.

Aye. Im fed up. I left home. Can I stay with you tonight?

Of course.

Anne raged, calling, shouting, pleading for him to return. He let the calls go to voicemail. Our contact dwindled to occasional holiday greetings and polite exchanges.

By twentytwo, Max had changed. He called me Dad, rented a modest flat nearby, and one day said, Dad, I want to buy a car. Can you help me choose?

Certainly, I replied.

We spent a Saturday touring dealerships, debating pros and cons, just as we had in the old days.

Then I met Eleanor, a diligent accountant who loved cooking and reading.

I have an adult son, I warned her at the start. Not biological, but he means the world to me.

She smiled. I adore children. May I meet him?

Max was wary at first, but Eleanor never tried to replace his mother or wedge herself between us. She simply was there, preparing hearty meals, sharing jokes.

Shes good, Max said. Better than my mother, honestly.

We married quietly, no grand ceremony. Six months later Eleanor announced she was pregnant.

Youll be a father again, she said, holding up a test.

I was fortyfive, staring at the two lines, hardly believing.

Is it real? I asked.

Its real. She beamed.

Maxs excitement was palpable.

Dad, Ill have a brother or sister! Thats brilliant!

Are you okay with that? I asked.

He furrowed his brow, then grinned. Why should I be against it? Im happy for you. You deserve it.

He helped assemble the crib, paint the walls, and soon we were truly a family.

Anne never ceased her barrage of messages, each more abusive than the last. I blocked her numbers, but she kept acquiring new ones, sending fresh insults.

I dont understand what she wants, I confessed to Eleanor one night. I did nothing wrong. I just love Max.

Shes angry because she lost control, Eleanor replied. Max chose you. She cant forgive that.

But Im not at fault! I protested.

Youre a real father, David. Thats all that matters.

Life settled into a rhythm of new beginnings: sleepless nights, first steps, first words. Max, now a grown man, still called me father and prepared to be the best older brother a child could have.

Anne could say anything she liked. I knew the truth. I never stole her son; I simply loved the boy and cared for him. That love endures even now, as Max stands beside me as a man. If any crime were imagined in my actions, I would gladly face the consequences.