Summer was closing in, and Claire hated the season. It wasnt the heat that bothered her; it was that Jack was almost never home when the days grew long.
Claire and Jack had been married for seven years. Their life was quiet, their arguments rare. She was grateful to Jack for taking her in, a tiny infant in his arms, when she was still pregnant with their son, Oliver. Oliver was barely a year old. His father, Arthur, vanished the moment he heard about the pregnancy he stopped answering calls, wouldnt open the door, and disappeared from the factory floor. One afternoon Claire marched to his workplace, just to look him in the eye. When he saw her, he trembled so hard she couldn’t help but laugh. Dont worry, Arthur, Im not after your child, she said.
Arthurs face flushed with relief. I knew it! he shouted, turning triumphantly to his coworkers who watched with thinly veiled interest. You cant claim my child as yours!
This isnt your child, its mine, Claire replied calmly. People like you never have a real family; every child looks foreign to you.
Arthur could only gasp for breath, unable to answer. His colleagues turned away, disgusted, and left. Claire walked out, determined never to see the man she had once loved.
When Oliver turned six months old, Claire asked her mother, who was retired on a disability pension, to look after the baby while she returned to work. Before her maternity leave she had been a sales assistant in a furniture shop, and they welcomed her back happily reliable, pleasant employees were a rarity. There she met Jack Volkov, a delivery driver who brought new stock from the factory.
Claire told Jack about Oliver straight away; he didnt flinch, only leaned in seriously and said, Lets get married. Youll have another boy, then a girl. I love kids.
Claire was stunned by his swift proposal. She hadnt even thought about marriage, but Jack was goodlooking, steady, and earned well driving his own lorry. With a sick mother who could only look after Oliver for so long, Claire decided to say yes. Three months later she became Mrs. Volkov.
Surprisingly, marriage suited her. Jack was diligent, never quarrelsome, and, most importantly, not jealous. Claire gave him no cause to be. When she once asked if he was faithful, he chuckled, If you ever turn into a flabby old woman draped in a torn dressing gown, Ill think about it. She smiled, knowing shed never be that.
Seven years slipped by. Jack bought a newer lorry and began hauls across the country, bringing in a solid income but spending little time at home. Claire opened her own furniture shop and kept herself busy. Oliver, now eight, was a kind, athletic boy with a handful of medals, proud of his stepfather even though he knew Jack wasnt his biological father. He tried his best to make Jack proud.
Claire and Jack never had a second child. Five years earlier doctors had told them the cause was simple incompatibility. Claire took the news with resigned calm she already had Oliver but she felt a deep guilt toward Jack. She promised him a baby. He clung to hope, then fell into a slump when the news sunk in, only to rebound a couple of years later, more caring than ever, asking about the shop and Olivers progress. Claire cherished his renewed attention.
Jacks parents lived in a tiny village a hundred miles from their town. He often spent nights there, which irritated Claire; she felt he was at his parents more than at home. Yet their elders, Margaret and George, were in their sixties and lived in a creaky old cottage that often needed Olivers help. Claire never argued, fearing shed upset Jack again after his earlier despondency. After years together she loved him truly, wholeheartedly, and could not imagine parting.
One May evening, a nervous flutter rose in Claire. Summer meant Jacks absences grew longer, and the loneliness pressed harder. She dialed his mobile. Jack, where are you? At your parents? Why does your voice sound so strange? Did something happen? Im sorry if Im troubling you. She stared at the dim screen, tears prickling her eyes. Jack had never spoken to her so sharply.
Restless, she drove Oliver to his grandmothers house, then set off for the village where Jacks parents lived. She arrived late; the lorry was gone. Disappointed, she knocked. Margaret welcomed her hesitantly, then set a kettle on and invited Claire in for tea. George was asleep, so they kept their voices low.
Just as Claire began to explain her unease, a sleepy threeyearold girl stumbled out of a bedroom, rubbing her eyes and calling for Mum. Margaret swooped up the little one, humming a simple lullaby.
Where did this child come from? Claire asked, bewildered.
This is our relatives daughter, Lily, Margaret replied hastily. Her mother, Laura, died a few days ago. She had no one else, so we took Lily in.
Will you keep her? Claire asked, concern softening her tone. Shes still so tiny. And wheres her father?
Before Margaret could answer, George emerged, looking halfawake. He stared at Claire, then at Lily, and gave a muted nod. Margaret rushed to explain, Laura was our niece. She passed away, and were looking after Lily.
Claire, sensing the weight of grief in Georges eyes, asked, May I stay the night? I could watch Lily. He hesitated, then agreed. The night passed without sleep; Claire stroked the childs golden curls, feeling a resolve grow.
At dawn, she awoke to Jack standing by the bed, his gaze fixed on Lily and then on her, tension etched across his face. Jack, she whispered, pleading, lets take her in. I can raise her.
He turned away, stepping out onto the garden path. Claire chased him, finding him on an old bench beneath a birch, tears glistening. Im sorry, he said, voice cracked. I never meant to hurt you.
Why wont you take her? she asked. I understand you wanted a child of your own, but fate gave us this little one. She looks so much like you; she could be ours.
Jack clenched his teeth. She looks like me because shes my daughter, he whispered. Laura lived next door with an elderly aunt. I went to her birthday, didnt know she was pregnant. She told me shed have the baby and wanted me to help. I promised to support her, but I never married her. She died, and two days ago she brought Lily here, with papers signing me over as guardian. Shes marrying a foreigner and wont take the child. I was terrified my parents would disapprove, they love you. I didnt know what to do.
Claire stood frozen, heart pounding. She slipped into Lilys room, sat beside the sleeping infant, and felt a rush of conflicting emotions. She wanted to despise the child, to see Jacks features as a betrayal, yet the tiny face mirrored his. Tears welled, spilling over her cheeks, then she felt Lilys small hand brush hers. Dont be upset, the girl whispered in her own way, Ill let you braid my hair.
Claires sobs softened. She imagined Lily in a grim childrens home, crying unnoticed, and vowed to protect her. Ill braid your hair, she whispered back, even if I never learned how yet.
The court soon granted them custody. Oliver, thrilled, declared he would be the big brother. Jack gave up the long hauls; he and Claire ran the two shops together, expanding their business.
Claire never fully erased the sting of Jacks earlier infidelity, but she forgave him, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes.
At the end of December, Claire returned home with Lily after a school Christmas concert. Lily clutched a gigantic box of sweets given by Father Christmas. She ran to Jack, wrapped him in a hug, and whispered, Dad, can I have a brother or a sister for Christmas?
Jack looked startled. Little one, thats not something I can promise, he replied.
Claire smiled mischievously. Why not? Can we say no to a sweettoothed girl?
Jack froze, eyes widening as Claire laughed. Later, Oliver came home from training, finding Jack spinning Claire around the living room, Lily smeared with chocolate, giggling on the sofa. Oliver handed Lily a candy and said, Weve got the best parents, dont we, sis?
