He furrowed his eyebrows. ‘What? My brother said the flat is empty and ready for me to move in for a while.’
I couldn’t hold back the words tearing out. ‘It’s not empty. It’s my home. My kids and I are cramped in a hostel on the other side of town. My youngest can’t sleep because she doesn’t have her bunny.’
His face darkened, and for a second I thought he was angry with me. But instead he muttered: ‘That bitch…’ He stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice softer. ‘I had no idea. Come on in and we’ll find the rabbit.’
He stepped aside, and I hesitated before entering. The familiar smell of home wafted over me, and tears glistened in my eyes that I didn’t want to let out. Jack – he introduced himself as Jack – helped me search Sophie’s room, which looked untouched.
‘Here he is,’ Jack said, pulling out Mr Floppy from under the bed.
I cradled the rabbit against me, imagining Sophie’s joy. ‘Thank you,’ I said, and my voice shook.
‘Tell me everything,’ Jack said, sitting down on the edge of Sophie’s bed. ‘What exactly did my brother tell you?’
I hesitated, but told him everything: the phone call, the threats, the hostel. He listened in silence, his jaw clenched with each word.
When I finished, he stood up and pulled out his phone. ‘This isn’t right,’ he said.
‘Wait, what are you doing?’
‘Fixing it,’ he said and dialled a number.
The ensuing conversation was heated, though I could only hear his side of it.
‘You kicked a single mum with kids out of the house? For me?’ Jack’s voice was harsh. ‘No, you can’t get away with that. Fix it now, or I will.’
He hung up the phone and turned to me. ‘Pack your things at the hostel. You’ll be back tonight.’
I blinked, not sure I’d understood him correctly. ‘And you?’
‘I’ll find somewhere to stay,’ he said firmly. ‘I can’t stay here after what my brother did. And he’ll pay your rent for the next six months.’
In the evening Jack helped us back to the house. Sophie glowed when she saw Mr Floppy, her little hands clutching the rabbit like a treasure.
‘Thank you,’ I said to Jack as we unpacked. ‘You didn’t have to do all that.’
‘I couldn’t let you stay there another night,’ he replied simply.
Over the next few weeks, Jack continued to show up. He fixed a leaky tap in the kitchen. One evening he brought groceries.
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ I said, feeling overwhelmed.
‘That’s okay,’ he replied, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I like helping.’
The girls adored him. Lily asked him for advice on her science project. Emma dragged him into board games. Even Sophie warmed to him, offering Mr Floppy a ‘hug’ for Jack joining their tea party.
Behind the kind gestures, I began to understand the man more. He was cheerful, patient and genuinely cared for my children. Eventually our dinners together grew into a romance.
One evening a few months later, as we sat on the porch after the girls had gone to bed, Jack spoke quietly.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, looking out into the yard.
‘About what?’
‘I don’t want you and the girls to ever feel that way again. No one should be afraid of losing their home overnight.’
His words hung in the air.
‘I want to help you find something permanent,’ he continued. ‘Will you marry me?’
I was stunned. ‘Jack…I don’t know what to say. Yes!’
A month later we moved into the beautiful little house Jack had found for us. Lily had her own room. Emma had painted it pink. Sophie ran to hers, holding Mr Floppy like a shield.
When I was tucking Sophie in for the night, she whispered: ‘Mummy, I love our new house.’
‘Me too, baby,’ I said, kissing her forehead.
That night Jack stayed for dinner and helped me set the table. As the girls chatted, I looked at him and realised: he wasn’t just our hero. He was family.