SHOWERS

The revelation

The wind grew fierce, the darkness thickening with the unmistakable signs of a heavy rainfall. These alone were reasons enough to abandon his journey, yet they were the least of his worries. Visions of home plagued him hallucinations of his wife repeating the words she'd spat that morning: "Don't you dare come back empty-handed." He hadn't noticed the tears then, but now, in this moment, their sting was sharp and real. It had been a wretched day; the minibus he hired had yielded only a pittance.

Lost in these grim thoughts, he nearly struck a figure looming in the gloom. The screech of his tyres ripped through the wet air, jarringly loud. Relief washed over him, cold and sudden it had been frighteningly close. Too close.He couldn’t help but emerge to assist the distressed voice—only to freeze at the sight. A pregnant woman, her breathing shallow and words barely audible, pleaded for help. She was in labour.Panic tightened his chest. The nearest hospital lay kilometers behind him, and he’d already passed it. He needed to return the hired minibus promptly to secure future work. As he turned away, humanity overruled practicality. Gently, he lifted her into the vehicle and sped toward the hospital.

Night had deepened when they arrived. Medical staff rushed the woman inside, but as he tried to leave, a security guard blocked his path. "You must wait for your patient," the man insisted. John argued—explaining he was a stranger, a Samaritan—but the guard remained unmoved. Exhausted, he slumped into a chair and checked his phone. Two missed calls from his boss. Impossible, his boss never called twice. A text appeared:

"Seems you’ve been dodging my calls, John. Where are you?"

He replied with his location and an account of the emergency: Saving two lives. The response was instant and final:

You’re fired. I’ll send someone for the minibus.

Frantic follow-up messages vanished into silence. It was over.

He woke to sunlight and a voice repeating his name. His colleague stood over him, sent to retrieve the minibus. Wordlessly, John handed over the keys. The man offered an apologetic shrug 'just following orders' and left.

Before despair could fully settle, a doctor approached: middle-aged, tall, her smile warm. "You came with the laboring mother?"

"Yes, I found her—"

"Congratulations!" she interrupted. "Your wife just delivered twins."

Before she could say another word, a nurse rushed over, pulling the doctor aside. After a hushed exchange, both women hurried towards the wards. John stood frozen, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach.

The doctor returned moments later, her earlier warmth replaced by somber gravity. "The lady you brought here," she said, her voice low, "passed away after giving birth to the twins."

John reeled. "What?"

"It's life, sir," the doctor continued gently, though firmly. "You must find courage. Before she faded, she insisted you take care of her children."

"Me?" John's voice cracked. "I can barely feed my own wife and myself! How can I manage two infants?" They argued briefly, John adamant in his refusal.

"Alright," the doctor conceded, her tone resigned. "We'll arrange for the children to go to an orphanage." She turned to leave.

John walked away, the weight of the decision crushing him. But after a dozen paces, he stopped. He turned back, his steps heavy but deliberate.

"I'll take them," he said, meeting the doctor's astonished gaze.

"What made you change your mind?"

"Just... give me the children, please."

The doctor nodded and disappeared into the ward, returning cradling two tiny bundles swaddled in hospital blankets. "Here they are," she said softly. "Healthy, beautiful. Good luck, John."

"Thank you," John whispered, accepting the infants. "And... her body?"

"If no one claims her," the doctor assured him, "the authorities will handle the burial. Don't trouble yourself further."

***

The last coins in John's wallet bought a bus ticket home. He arrived burdened by exhaustion, grief, and the two sleeping newborns. Ann stood waiting in the doorway, her expression stormy.

"I knew it," she spat, her eyes fixed on the babies. "Out causing trouble with your whores."

"It's not what you think, Ann—" John began.

Ann cut him off, fury blazing. "I have eyes, John! There's nothing to explain!" She gestured violently at the infants.

John took a deep, steadying breath. In moments like this, he knew only patience and the full truth could reach her. Slowly, carefully, he explained the night's horrific events: the labouring stranger, the desperate drive, his firing, the woman's death, and her dying plea.

To his profound surprise – one of the rare times it had ever happened – the anger slowly drained from Ann's face. Understanding, then a fierce, protective resolve took its place. Wordlessly, she stepped forward, not towards him, but towards the babies. She reached out, gently touching one tiny cheek.

"We'll bring them up," she said, her voice thick with unexpected tears. "Together.Raising an infant is never easy. John’s first step was finding a job. He was lucky to land one, though not ideal: a gardener at a luxurious hotel. Yet, he worked tirelessly to ensure the children were comfortable. He loved them as if they were his own.

His wife, Ann, managed the growing household as the twins blossomed into healthy, handsome boys. For years, their life held a fragile peace. But then, the past resurfaced within Ann. The love she’d once held for the boys curdled. She began to see them as a chasm separating her from John.

One cool Sunday afternoon, the family relaxed in the compound, enjoying a gentle breeze. Ann chose that moment to shatter the peace. "John," she said, her voice tight, "you give them all your attention. I feel invisible. Invalid."

As usual, John responded with measured patience. "Ann, please. You understand these children need us more right now. Don’t start this."

She stared at him, wounded. "You see? You defend them instantly! They are more important to you."

A flicker of anger crossed John's face. "Of course I defend them. They're young. Vulnerable." He took a calming breath. "We were doing well. Please, let's not do this now."

"Not anymore, John," Ann stated, her voice cold and final. "You will have to choose. Me or them."

"What?" The word escaped him, hollow with disbelief.

He stood dumbfounded, silent, the weight of her ultimatum crushing him. Ann watched, waiting.

"I knew it." She turned and walked briskly towards the house. John rose to follow, but the boys' eager voices stopped him. "Dad! You promised to take us out!"

Swallowing his turmoil, John forced a smile. "Alright. Let's go." He took them out, their laughter a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him. His thoughts were entirely consumed by Ann.

They returned home later that evening. John's heart lurched at the sight awaiting him in the foyer: Ann's suitcase, packed and ready. He confronted her, desperation edging his voice. "Ann, you don't have to do this!"

"I'm leaving, John," she replied, her tone devoid of warmth. "Enjoy your life with your kids."

A car horn sounded sharply at the gate. Ann pushed past him, hefted her luggage, and walked out without a backward glance. She slid into the waiting taxi. And just like that, John became a bachelor.

Years later, John’s voice was a frail whisper on the hospital bed. "Give me some water, please." He had just finished explaining his story to Jason and Francis, the now-grown twins. The revelation struck them deeply – the man they had always believed was their father, suffering heart failure, haunted by the sacrifice he made for them. A profound sorrow filled the room as they realized the true cost of his love.John drained the water cup, his hand trembling as he set it down. "I meant to tell you when you were strong enough to bear this truth," he whispered, each word a labor. "Be brave. Live fully. And if this is goodbye... know I've always loved you."

Francis stiffened. "Don't speak like that. You are our father—that never changes." He gripped John's frail hand. "We're taking you home tomorrow. Everything will be fine." Jason nodded fiercely, his throat working.

"Good luck, my sons," John breathed.

The door clicked open. A nurse stood silhouetted against the fluorescent hallway. "Visiting hours are over," she announced gently but firmly. "He needs rest." The twins rose reluctantly, their farewells catching in their throats. John's eyes followed them until the door sealed shut.

Silence swallowed the car ride home. Only when their front door closed did the dam break. They slid down the wall, shoulders heaving—not just for the dying man in the hospital, but for the lifetime of sacrifice now laid bare. Between shuddering breaths, they made a vow: they'd honor his devotion.

They transformed the house through the night. Fresh flowers brightened every surface, his favorite armchair draped in the quilt he'd always claimed was "too fancy for napping." Wrapped gifts—a new gardening journal, expensive wool socks—crowded the coffee table. After midnight, they collapsed onto sofas, dawn's promise glimmering through the curtains.

The phone shattered their exhausted sleep. Jason fumbled for the receiver. The nurse's voice was a dagger: "Come immediately. He's gone."

They found him unchanged yet utterly different. The machines stood silent sentinel over his still form—a waxwork parody of the man who had carried them through thunderstorms and scraped knees. Francis pressed his forehead against the cold hospital rail as Jason's fist hammered the wall. A gurney's wheels echoed in the corridor as orderlies arrived, the sheet descending like a final curtain.

In the morgue's antiseptic chill, they watched the drawer swallow him whole. The flowers at home would wilt unseen. The gifts would gather dust. Their father's last journey ended not in sunlight, but stainless steel and eternal cold.