Dennis trudged up the dimly lit stairwell, his body heavy with exhaustion after another gruelling overtime shift. His old Ford Focus had sputtered and stalled twice on the drive homeas if sensing its days were numbered now that he’d almost saved enough for the sleek BMW he’d coveted for nearly a decade. A tired smile flickered across his face as he imagined gripping that polished steering wheel, windows down, cruising through Manchester on his day off. This dream had kept him going through years of skipped holidays and relentless shifts. Management exploited his work ethic, tossing him crumbs of praise while rarely approving bonuseswhy bother rewarding a man whod bleed himself dry for a paycheck?
His inherited flat on the outskirts of Liverpool was all he hadhis parents lived up in Newcastle, their rare visits always laced with nagging about “settling down.” As if a wife and kids were milestones to check off, not choices.
On the fifth-floor landing (the lift, as usual, was broken), Dennis nearly tripped over a hunched figure slumped by his door. Phone flashlight flaring, he recoilednot some drunk, but a girl, maybe twelve, jolting awake at the sudden light. Her frightened eyes locked onto his as a photograph fluttered from her grasp. His stomach dropped. That was himyounger, grinning with mates after a raucous uni party. A night he remembered too well. She snatched the photo back, pressing against the wall like a cornered animal.
“Hello, IIm here for you,” she stammered.
Keys jingling, Dennis feigned deafness. A setup? Police lurking behind neighbours’ doors? But the floor was desertedmost flats abandoned since the elderly tenants passed, their kids unwilling to deal with this crumbling, transit-starved corner of the city.
“Youve got the wrong bloke. Piss off before I call the police,” he growled, shoving his door open.
“Wait!” The girls voice cracked. “Ive nowhere else to go! Youre Dennis Whitmore, arent you?”
He froze. “Yeah. So?”
“Then its true.” Her chin trembled. “Youre my father.”
Laughter burst from him, harsh and disbelieving. Father? Hed never wanted kids, never even considered it. Yet his gaze snagged on the birthmark beneath her eara tiny crimson star. Identical to his own.
The kitchen light hummed overhead as Dennis shoved a stale biscuit toward her. “Tea?”
The girlEmilynodded, clutching her mug like a lifeline. Between sips, her story spilled out: her mother, Sophie, a dancer hed met at a student gala thirteen years ago. One reckless night. A pregnancy hidden. Now Sophie needed heart surgery£50,000 they didnt have. “Ill pay you back,” Emily pleaded, knuckles white. “Ill scrub floors, deliver papers”
“Enough.” Dennis scrubbed his face. He remembered Sophievividly. The way shed laughed, the dawn light on her skin as hed kicked her out, terrified of commitment. Now this girl, this impossible proof, sat trembling at his table.
Later, staring at his hidden savingsthe BMW fundDennis grappled with the absurdity of it all. The cars new-leather fantasy had kept him going for years. But why? To impress women he no longer cared to chase? To prove something to his dead-end coworkers?
At dawn, he shoved an envelope into Emilys backpack as she slept.
Three months later, the stairwell light was out again. Dennis clenched his keys like a weapononly to freeze at the sight of Sophie, alive and radiant, Emily beaming beside her.
“You came back,” he whispered.
Sophies smile was soft. “She found the money. The surgery it worked.”
Over tea, truths surfaced: Sophies fear, his younger selfs cruelty, Emilys reckless courage. Dennis excused himself, dialled his boss, and demanded a day offhis first in years.
That afternoon, they rode rollercoasters at Alton Towers, sticky with candyfloss and laughter. When Dennis walked them to the train, Emily clung to him. “Youll visit?”
He nodded, throat tight.
The BMW arrived eventuallyafter a better job, after Sophie and Emily moved in, after his parents wept meeting their granddaughter. But the leather seats smelled less thrilling than hed imagined.
Not compared to Emilys glee on her first drive, or Sophies hand brushing his as they parked by the Mersey at sunset.
