Barry never wanted children.
The thought of fatherhood had never crossed his mind. All his life, hed dreamed of having a doga big, fluffy onebut first his mother refused, then his wife was against it. Now, though, Barry cradled a pink bundle in his arms, from which peeked a tiny face, enormous blue eyes, and lashes so long, dark, and feathery they couldve belonged to a doll. Russell-Silver syndrome meant nothing to him. All he saw were those sapphire eyes framed by those impossible lashes. His daughters delicate, elfin ears made his chest ache with fierce protectiveness.
*She wont grow taller than 47shes a dwarf,* the midwife tried to explain anxiously. *You can still sign the papers if you want.* Barry only held the pink bundle tighter, staring blankly. His wife wept, tugging his sleeve, saying things he couldnt hear. Nothing else existedjust his daughter. They named her Eleanor.
Life settled into the rhythm of a household with a baby. His wife had no milkthe birth had been too hard, the diagnosis too crushing. Then one day, she packed her bags. *Every time I look at her, I just want to cry. Its unbearable. Theres no one like this in my familyit must be from your side.* When she started talking like that, Barry tuned out. He didnt hear his wife, his mother-in-law, or even his own father, who only once peered disdainfully into the crib. Only his own mother looked at him with pity and shook her head.
His wife left. Barry was alone with Eleanor. He took a year of paternity leavethey needed money for therapists, swimming lessons, daily massages. Then he returned to work. At first, his mother watched Eleanor during the day, but soon she said she was tired and needed a break. A nanny was hiredan elderly, kind woman who sometimes stayed overnight when Barry drove a taxi for extra cash.
By two, Eleanor spoke beautifully in her tiny, musical voice. She was slender, small, could count all her fingers, swam like a fish, and laughed loudly at cartoons. They carried on like this until she turned seventime for school. Barry worried. He enrolled her in self-defense classes, even tried knife-fighting lessons, but they wouldnt take her until she was eighteen.
On her first day, Barry walked Eleanor to class, scanned the other children sternly, lifted her high in his arms, kissed her cheek loudly, and announced, *If anyone hurts Eleanor, Ill tear their ears off.* Then he left, heart heavy. But Eleanor thrivedshe became the star of the school play, cast as Thumbelina.
Years later, Barry finally got his doga Hungarian Komondor, bought for just £10 from his boss, who was relocating to London and couldnt keep Albert. His boss clapped him on the shoulder and sighed, *Youve got an interesting life, Barry. And now this dogcant brush him, just separate the cords every day.*
Life changed. Every evening, Barry and Eleanor walked Albert in his special coat, then braided his cords like ropes. Eleanor rode him like a tiny jockey while Albert stepped carefully, afraid to unseat her. The trio became a spectacleBarry in his old sheepskin jacket, giant snow-white Albert in green dogwear, and Eleanor, a pink-coated speck on his back.
Eventually, they moved away. But the neighbours still talk about Barry, Eleanor, and Albert. Someone found Eleanor on social media years latershed moved to America, married, had healthy children. Barry, now grey-haired, married a kind, heavyset Jamaican woman.
Because thats just how life goessometimes the most unexpected paths lead to the happiest endings.
