“Father listed on certificate? Collect the twins!” Three years post-divorce, I’m suddenly a father to newborn twin boys. My fault – should’ve – should’ve finalised it! But… it became a blessing.
Olivia and I were married ten years. We had two daughters close in age, Eleanor and Philippa. Life seemed normal: work by day, family evenings. Yet Mum started staying out – a friend’s place, endless queues, overtime… Finally, ‘well-wishers’ informed me Olivia had a lover.
Naturally, I confronted her. Olivia defended fiercely; best defence is attack, they say. She claimed my attention lacked, she felt unfeminine, chores consumed her, and the girls… loved only me! She yelled she was leaving for her lover. And she did – genuinely left, abandoning Eleanor and Philippa with me.
The girls were bewildered at first, but adapted. My job then offered a transfer to manage a new branch in another city. I took it. We moved swiftly; amidst the rush, filing divorce papers slipped my mind.
At my new workplace, I met Anastasia. My age, she also raised two daughters alone. Before long, we moved in together, one big family. Our girls were near-aged; evenings were constant noise – joyful play one moment, squabbles the next, an absolute crèche, good lord! Anastasia and I delighted in them, but secretly hoped for a son we couldn’t seem to conceive.
So when that baffling call came, we’d lived together two years, resigned to raising our girls. Now, the call…
My mobile showed my hometown’s landline number:
“Is that Nicholas Peterson?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“Bad news, I’m afraid… Your wife, Olivia Parker, never regained consciousness. She passed today. Please collect the children tomorrow; they’re being discharged. We’ll explain arrangements for Ms. Parker tomorrow.”
“This a joke? I haven’t seen Olivia Parker in three years! My children are right here with me now.”
“Father listed? Collect the twins!”
Click. Stunned, I checked the number online: definitely my hometown’s maternity hospital.
Anastasia’s wide eyes mirrored my confusion; she’d heard everything. We rushed our girls to their grandparents and set off to investigate.
At the hospital, we met Olivia’s friend, Maureen. Maureen explained tearfully that the lover left Olivia immediately when she revealed her pregnancy. Carrying twins was tough; things worsened near the end… The babies were saved, but their mother fell into a coma and died days later. Registering the twins required current parental information. Unable to provide it, the registrar used the only official record – my marriage certificate – automatically naming me their legal father.
Maureen, promising future help, left us. Anastasia stayed close, squeezing my hand tightly.
“Annie? What?”
“Nick… we’re taking them, yes?” Her voice trembled, barely hiding her elation, fighting a smile.
“Who? The twins?”
“Yes! Please? What if we never have ours? And here are two… ready-made…”
“Annie, they’re not playthings! I don’t know…”
“Nick, I’m serious! Our girls will be overjoyed! And yours – they’re their half-brothers! Please, Nick…”
Well, she wore me down. We collected the twins. We gave Olivia Parker a proper farewell.
Our daughters screamed with delight over their new baby brothers, utterly baffled about how they missed Mummy Annie’s ‘bump’!
