An Orphan with a Living Father

Philip had always been a womanizer. Honestly, who would be surprised by that. Even at the age of ten, he already knew how to walk up to a girl with hastily picked flowers, smile in a way that made hearts melt, and earn a kiss on the cheek. As he grew older, this skill didn’t fade. On the contrary, it sharpened like a fine blade. Confidence, charm, the ability to say exactly what people wanted to hear. Women came and went, leaving no real trace behind.

He lived lightly in many ways because he was certain of one thing. He couldn’t have children. That thought followed him through most of his life and served as a justification for everything. No obligations, no attachments, no fear of consequences. That was why he allowed himself to live exactly as he pleased.

Now he was nearing thirty. A grown, well-off man, an experienced leader, used to making decisions and keeping everything under control. And it was on one perfectly ordinary workday that his mother called him.

The conversation began routinely. She asked whether he had eaten, whether he was tired, how work was going. Trivial questions, yet her familiar concern could be heard in her voice. Philip answered automatically, lost in his own thoughts, until his mother’s tone changed. It grew quieter, more cautious.

In the end, she said it plainly. His first love, the very girl with whom he had once seriously planned a family before leaving, had died.

The news hit him sharply and unpleasantly, like a splash of icy water. Something tightened in his chest, leaving behind a hollow, sickening emptiness. But his mother didn’t give him time to process it.

She added, almost without a pause, as if she were afraid she might change her mind. She had a child by you. Come at least take her. She’ll be an orphan, with a living father.

And then she hung up.

That was his mother in a nutshell. Say what mattered and disappear, without explanations, without room for questions. Philip stared at the dark screen of his phone for a long time. He had to go. What if the girl really was his daughter. Or what if she wasn’t. What if the woman had a child by someone else, and now he was expected to take responsibility. His thoughts tangled together, anger mixing with anxiety, each new idea worse than the last.

A few days later, he was already standing in front of his parents’ house. Large, well-kept, far from poor. He had come only for his vacation. He didn’t have much time, but the issue still had to be resolved.

His mother came out first, wearing a gentle smile, as if nothing had happened. His father, as usual, was on duty. Graves hadn’t expected to see him anyway.

Then, following his mother, a little girl stepped out of the house.

Small, thin, about ten or eleven years old. Exactly the same number of years that had passed since he left. She stopped at the doorstep and looked straight at him. In that moment, Philip seemed to turn to stone. She looked just like him, as if they were two drops of water. The same eyes, the same shape, even the same expression. His hands wouldn’t rise to hug his mother, nor could he take a step forward. He simply stared at the child, unable to look away.

The girl, meanwhile, looked at him warily, almost with hostility. And that was understandable. Some strange man, suddenly called her father, someone she was seeing for the first time in her life.

Philip shifted his gaze to his mother. His stern, confident voice unexpectedly cracked.

Why is she living with you?

His mother nodded calmly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She lives here. Has for a long time. She’s a good girl, helps me around the house. Who’s going to help an old woman if not her? And my son is a wanderer, can’t even bring a daughter-in-law home.

Philip rolled his eyes, saying nothing. He took a few steps forward and slowly approached the girl, carefully extending his hand. She immediately turned around and ran back into the house, slamming the door behind her.

He let out a breath through clenched teeth.