Having lost everything, Dylan learns a shocking secret: he has a three-year-old daughter who was abandoned at a shelter by his ex-girlfriend. Determined to give his girl the life she deserves, Dylan embarks on an emotional journey of redemption, trying to prove that he can be the father little Lyla needs.
Dylan sat hunched over on a wooden bench outside the Shoe Shop, clutching a sign that read, ‘I’ll clean your shoes for $1.’
The spring chill penetrated his tattered coat, but he hardly noticed. It had been two years since his life had fallen apart. Two years since he had lost everything.
His job, his home, and Tina, the woman he thought he would spend the rest of his life with.
Tina’s departure had been swift and cruel.
‘You’re stuck, Dylan,’ she had said, placing her suitcase by the door. ‘And now… Gavin is offering me a life you could never give me.’
That was the last time he had seen her. By the time she left, he had already started drinking. After that, his drinking spiralled out of control, and with it, his career.
Shortly after he lost his job, he lost his flat, which only made his situation worse.
The click of designer heels on the pavement brought Dylan back to the present. He looked up, ready to ask if they wanted him to clean their shoes. But when he saw who it was, he froze.
The woman in the cream blazer and gold bracelets was rummaging through her huge bag. Vanessa.
Tina’s best friend.
Dylan shifted awkwardly, hoping she wouldn’t notice him. But Vanessa’s sharp gaze fixed on him like a hawk on its prey. Her expression changed from surprise to disgust.
‘Dylan?’ Her voice was filled with cheerfulness. ‘Is it really you?’
He couldn’t ignore her, so he nodded hesitantly.
‘Yes. Hi, Vanessa,’ he said.
She laughed briefly. ‘Life has been tough, hasn’t it? How the mighty have fallen.’
She looked him up and down, gesturing at his dishevelled appearance.
Her words stung, but Dylan wasn’t offended. He’d heard worse.
Vanessa tilted her head, her lips curving into a smirk.
‘Did you ever realise it?’ she murmured.
‘Realise what?’ Dylan asked, frowning.
What on earth could she be talking about?
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘The baby. Tina had a baby. Your baby. Didn’t she ever tell you?’
Dylan’s heart stopped. The noise of the street faded away, replaced by the pounding of blood in his ears.
‘What did you just say?’
‘Oh, God, Dylan. Wake up. Get on with the programme!’
‘Please, Vanessa, I don’t understand what you’re talking about.’
Vanessa looked at him for a minute, her eyes almost softening. She sighed.
‘Tina had a baby after she left you,’ said Vanessa, checking her manicure. “Gavin didn’t really want to play the role of stepfather to the child. And she was about a year old when Tina dumped the poor thing in some shelter. How long has it been, two years? No, wait. Yes… I think she’s about three now.”
Dylan staggered to his feet.
‘You’re lying, Vanessa.’
Vanessa snorted loudly.
‘Why would I make all this up? I saw Tina at a party last month. She was practically bragging about how she had “turned her life around”. She said Gavin was going to propose to her any day now. She lives in luxury.’
Vanessa leaned closer, her tone tinged with condescension.
‘Maybe it’s time you fixed yours?’
Before Dylan could respond, she strode away, her heels clicking on the pavement.
The next day, Dylan stood on the porch of a huge mansion in one of the wealthiest neighbourhoods in the city. He knew where Tina lived because he had spent several nights parked outside her house after she moved in with Gavin.
At least, that was until her car was taken away.
He clenched his fists, staring at the ornate door in front of him. He knocked twice.
When the door swung open, Tina stood in yoga pants and a silk top, holding a glass of white wine. Her eyes widened in shock.
‘Dylan?’ she gasped. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I need answers,’ he said, stepping forward. ‘Vanessa told me about the baby. Our baby.’
Tina’s face turned pale. She left, closing the door behind her.
“Who the hell does she think she is, opening her mouth like that? Just because I didn’t invite her to my massage party last month. She’s so bitter.”
‘Tina,’ Dylan said firmly. ‘Is it true? Do I have a daughter?’
Her shoulders slumped, and she set her wine glass on the table in the hallway.
‘Yes, Dylan,’ she said. ‘It’s true. Her name is Lila. I named her that because I liked a character with that name on a TV show. She’s three years old now.’
Dylan’s heart sank, and anger boiled up inside him.
How could Tina casually mention such things?
‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you…,’ he stopped himself, swallowing hard. ‘Where is she?’
Tina tensed, defending herself.
“Do you have any idea how hard it was? I tried to raise her on my own, but Gavin didn’t want a child. And the mere thought of going back to you gave me migraines. All the time. So Gavin gave me an ultimatum. I did what I had to do.”
‘You abandoned her!’ Dylan spat. ‘Your own child!’
Tina clenched her jaw.
‘Don’t act like you’re a saint, Dylan,’ she said. ‘When I left you, you were in deep shit, barely holding on to your job as a manager at a grocery store. I mean, really. Do you think you could have taken care of a child back then?’
‘Where is she?’ he demanded.
Tina hesitated.
‘She’s at the Sunnyside Care Centre. It’s in the city centre. But listen, maybe she’s not there. Maybe some family took her in, adopted her, and she’s living her life. I asked them not to contact me at all.’
Dylan’s hands trembled. How could someone be so cold?
‘I need proof, Tina. I need something to show that I’m her father.’
Tina snorted derisively.
‘What for? But okay, wait here. I asked them to print out her birth certificate.’
She disappeared into one of the corridors and returned with a folded piece of paper.
‘Here’s her birth certificate. Now leave me alone, Dylan. You’re wasting your time. If she’s there, they’ll never give her to someone like you.’
Dylan’s heart was pounding as he entered the care centre, clutching the birth certificate in his trembling hands. The director, a good-natured woman named Sheila, met him at the reception desk.
‘I’d like to see my daughter,’ he said, handing her the document. ‘I’d like to know if she’s here.’
Sheila studied the document and nodded.
‘Lila! Lila is a wonderful girl. She’s an artist, sir. Her hands are always covered in paint of some kind.’
‘So you’re saying my child is here?’ he asked, breathing a sigh of relief.
‘Yes, she’s here,’ Sheila smiled. ‘Follow me.’
She led him into a brightly lit playroom. There, sitting at a small table with the boy, was a girl with chestnut curls and wide-set brown eyes. She was beautiful.
Dylan caught his breath.
‘Is this her?’ he whispered.
Sheila nodded.
‘This is our girl, Lila,’ she said, smiling kindly. ‘We’ve been fighting to find her a home. People come and love her, but in the end, it seems they don’t have time for her.’
‘That’s because she’s not their…’ he said.
Dylan moved closer, his legs feeling like lead. Lila looked up from her colouring book and met his eyes. She didn’t smile, but there was curiosity in her gaze.
‘She’s beautiful,’ he murmured aloud.
Sheila cleared her throat and gestured for Dylan to follow her out of the playroom into a small area with sofas.
‘I need you to tell me everything,’ she said. ‘I need to understand the situation. All I know is that Lila’s mother gave her up.’
Dylan sat down in an armchair and told Sheila everything he had learned recently.
“I have to be honest with you, Dylan. Getting custody won’t be easy. You’ll need stable housing, a steady income, and court approval. You’ll also need to build a relationship with Lila while she’s still here. The judge will need to see how you interact with her. We’ll have to assign a social worker to handle your case. They’ll document everything and give you the best possible scenario.”
Dylan nodded and smiled.
‘I’m glad the process is so thorough,’ he said. ‘But I want you to know: I’ll do whatever it takes, ma’am. This child deserves more. She deserves the world.’
‘I’m glad you feel that way,’ Sheila said. ‘I agree. Lila is special, just like all our children. But you have to fight for it if you want it, Dylan. You have to go through with it.’
The next few weeks were filled with rejection and disappointment.
Dylan applied for jobs at every shop he could find, explaining that he used to be a manager. But most managers and recruiters barely glanced at him before laughing or shaking their heads.
In desperation, he began sweeping the streets near the shops at night, hoping that someone would notice his efforts. He didn’t care what kind of job it was, as long as he had one.
One evening, the owner of a wine cellar came out onto the street and watched him work.
‘You’re here every night,’ the man said. ‘Why?’
Dylan put down his broom.
‘I used to run a shop. I lost everything when my girlfriend left me. Now I’m trying to get my daughter out of the orphanage.’
The old man studied him for a long time.
” Come into the house,‘ he said. ’I’ll have to pay up soon, but I have a few sandwiches left from the deli. Let’s eat and talk.”
Dylan worked as a cleaner for several months, washing floors and unloading boxes. Gradually, the owner, Mr Diego, began to entrust him with more and more responsibilities.
One day, while reorganising the back room, Dylan noticed that the shop’s system was inefficient. Feeling nervous, he shared his ideas with Mr Diego. To his surprise, Mr Diego listened and put them into practice.
‘You have a good head on your shoulders,’ Mr Diego said. ‘Let’s see how far you can go.’
The next day, Dylan found a wallet on the floor. It was thick and stuffed with money. He immediately took it to Mr Diego, wondering how much was in it.
‘I left it there,’ smiled the old man. ‘And you passed the test, Dylan. How would you like to manage this place?’
Six months later, Dylan stood in the modest two-room flat he had rented with his savings. It wasn’t fancy, but it was clean, warm, and ready to welcome Lila.
He converted a small corner into a bedroom for Lila, promising himself that he would soon move them into a larger flat.
When he returned to the Care Centre, Sheila greeted him with a smile.
‘You did everything we asked, Dylan,’ she said. ‘Lila’s case worker approved the transfer of custody.’
A moment later, Lila entered the room, clutching a stuffed rabbit in her hands. She hesitated, her little face wary.
‘Hi, Daddy,’ she said. ‘What are we going to do today?’
‘Baby, we’re going home,’ he said, taking her little hand.
Two years later, Dylan stood behind the counter of his own shop. Having retired, Mr Diego sold it to him on credit, trusting him to keep the business going.
Lila, now five years old, sat on the floor behind the counter, colouring pictures of rainbows and suns. Dylan looked at her, and his heart ached with gratitude.
Life wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs.
And for the first time in many years, Dylan felt whole again.
