George, can you hear yourself? So Im supposed to wait until Im forty to fix the mistakes of your youth? And why should I foot the bill for the fact that you found your garage more interesting than your own son? Margaret asked, genuine bewilderment in her voice.
Come off it, Annie! George pressed. I was foolish. I didnt value, I didnt understand what I was losing. And now its all gone; Stephen doesnt even see me as his father.
And why not? Margaret smiled bitterly. He spent the first seventeen years not with his dad but with the neighbour downstairs. Did you really think you could switch a child on and off like a telly when you felt like playing dad for a bit?
Georges face darkened, his brow furrowed. The familiar irritation flared in his eyesthe same one Margaret saw every time the subject of his paternal duties came up.
Annie, enough! Thats all history. Give me one more chance, he insisted stubbornly.
So I can have a good time and dump everything on me, while another kid grows up without a father? Margaret crossed her arms. Thanks, Ive had enough. No, George, thats not even up for discussion.
A mask of wounded pride twisted his features. He found no retort, so he huffed, slammed his phone down, and walked away.
The spat was overfor now. The problem, however, lingered. Their argument left a heavy aftertaste for Margaret, and it wasnt just Georges absurd demands. She felt angry on behalf of her son, Stephen.
Margaret was twentythree when Stephen was born. She could still picture herself outside the maternity ward, exhausted yet elated, cradling a tiny bundle swathed in a white blanket. George hovered like a buzzard, never moving a step away. He beamed with joy, occasionally readjusting the blanket, planting kisses on Margarets forehead, sometimes reverently scooping the baby up.
Look at that chin! Same little dimple as yours, he gushed, eyes sparkling. Im a dad now, Annie. Im just beginning to understand. Ill do everything with him! Walks, diaper changes, teaching him to kick a football Ill be the best dad ever, just you wait!
Margaret returned his sparkle with equal enthusiasm, believing every word. She imagined a perfect family, brimming with love, care, and shared joys.
But, as is often the case, reality proved far less poetic and far more harsh.
Late at night, Margaret stalked the bedroom, dark circles under her eyes, rocking a wailing infant for the third time that evening. George, meanwhile, turned over in the bed, pulling the duvet over his head.
Can you just put him down! he muttered. Ive got work tomorrow, need to get up early!
In those moments Margaret slipped into the hallway, tears of helplessness welling up. The baby screamed louder, desperate to stay in the room, but Margaret had no choice. She shut the door and rocked Stephen for hours, just to give George a few precious minutes of sleep.
On the weekend, drained after a week of sleeplessness, she mustered the courage to ask:
George, could you take him for a couple of hours? Im about to collapse, I need sleep
Later, Annie. Im busy, the lads promised to drop off a car for a fix, well be working on it.
But I cant
Youre strong, youll manage. Ill be back and help.
The door closed, leaving Margaret alone with her strength and the exhausting duties of motherhood. Later never arrived.
Time marched on. Stephen grew. Margaret tried to forge any bond between father and son. She approached George, lounging in an armchair, eyes glued to the football on the telly, and handed him the rosycheeked toddler tugging at his sleeves.
Take him, spend a bit of time with him, she pleaded, not for a break but to knit the family together.
George took the boy grudgingly, as if a suspicious parcel had been thrust into his hands. He held Stephen outstretched, not pulling him close, and stared through the child at the screen. A minute or two later he set the boy down carelessly and returned to the match.
Now Stephen was five, building a tower of blocks on the livingroom carpet. George passed the sofa, barely glancing at him. Stephen, accustomed to his dads absence, didnt look up either.
George wasnt a total useless husband. He brought home a steady wage, helped Margaret with cooking and cleaning. But he missed his sons childhood entirely. No wonder Stephen, now a teenager, never saw him as a father.
Stephen, hows school going? George asked one afternoon.
Uh fine, the boy replied, uneasy.
Grades all good? George persisted. Let me know if you need help. I dont want my son ending up as a sweeper.
No, Dad, thanks. All good, Stephen muttered, hurrying to his room.
We could go fishing this weekend if you like! George called after him.
Stephen gave no answer. Margaret knew that tonight he had a school disco, that a girl from his class he fancied had turned him down, and that fishing held zero appeal for him.
It was clear the train had left the station. Stephen was no longer the little boy yearning for his fathers attention. The childhood George tried to make up for was gone forever. When he finally realised this, he began dreaming of a clean slate a second child. Margaret, remembering every sleepless night, was adamantly against it.
Soon the familys drama spilled into the wider clan.
Sweetheart, Ive heard the whole story, George told me everything. Listen to your mother, have another baby. Hes changed, grown up! Give him a second chance. Itll be a joy to raise another little one!
His motherinlaw added her two cents.
Annie, if you dont have another, you might lose him. A man wants to be a father. If you wont, someone else will. Think about the future. Your first son will soon fly the nest, and a second will cement your marriage, give you support in old age.
Hearing this from other women made Margaret feel doubly insulted, as if her body and life were up for sale at a mad bazaar. Everyone saw her as mother and wife, not as a weary woman who had walked that road before and remembered how it ended.
In desperation she hatched a planhalf absurd, half demonstrative. In the attic she unearthed an old box of Stephens baby things and, among the dust, a stillworking virtual pet.
When George returned from work, Margaret handed him a plastic egg with a tiny grey screen.
Whats this? he asked, eyeing the gift.
Your probation period. Care for it like a baby, but just push a few buttons. Feed it on schedule, keep it happy. If after a year its still alive, Ill believe youre ready for a child.
George stared at her, then burst out laughing, taking it as a joke. His grin faded when he saw her stonecold expression.
Youre serious? Comparing a real child to a toy?
Start here. If you cant manage this thing, how could you handle a human?
He scoffed, slipped the gadget into his pocket. The first three nights he dutifully fed the virtual pet. By day five he was losing his mind but didnt quit. After a week he complained of sleeplessness affecting his job.
On the eighth day, back home, he flung the pet onto the table. A red X blinked on the screen: failure.
Forgot to feed it. Work was a nightmare, George muttered, avoiding Margarets gaze.
Arguments persisted, but they cooled. The misunderstanding lingered, yet George no longer pressed his case with such zeal.
Three years later everything fell into place. Stephen, now a university student, brought his girlfriend home and soon announced they were expecting.
George revived with boundless enthusiasm. This time he talked about a second chance as a grandfather. He bought a pram with savedaway cash, stocked up on oversized overalls and tiny building sets, swearing hed be the worlds best granddad.
Margaret watched all this with healthy scepticism.
When the grandchild arrived, the story repeated as expected. The first weeks George was a whirlwind of diaper changes, stroller walks, and endless photos. But once the initial high faded, his fervour dimmed. He urged the young couple to move into a rented flat, and his help dwindled to occasional, meticulously planned weekend visits when the baby was fed, clean, and in a good mood. The moment the infant whined, George would find an urgent work call, a meeting, or a trip to his mothers cottage.
Margaret stepped in, observing the whole tableauher son, his exhausted partner, the tiny newcomerand realised shed made the right call. Stephen grew into a caring, responsible man who never left his wife alone. George he remained the man who loved the idea of fatherhood, not its reality.
