tagNon-EroticA Father Must Do His Best

A Father Must Do His Best


(This story is NOT an incest story, and it will not become one - it is about parental love between a father and daughter after she turns 18, and the romantic relationship of the father with another female character to be introduced. I will not turn this into a seedy, vulgar story about the father and daughter. This introduction is to set the situation, and the parental love the pair have for one another, which adds focus for the romantic relationship he later has with a woman. All characters are 18 years old, or older.)

I remember that night, I would remember it for the rest of my life. It was passed midnight, almost 3am in the morning and I was on my way home from my night shift as a Police Officer in London. I was passing the local rail-line that ran through the area, when I heard crying - a baby's cries. It was faint, coming from the tracks. Why the bleeding hell would a baby's cries be coming from the rail tracks!? By the time I contacted my colleagues by phone, the worst could happen. How long would it take them to get to the scene? Plus how long until they got a hold of a local transport worker to open the access gate to the side of the tracks. By that fucking time the kid would be long gone, by the next train passing through.

I threw down my duffel bag I carried my dirty uniform inside, and looked for the nearest access point over the fencing. There wasn't much in terms of access, except one part of the wall that had a car parked alongside it. Fuck the guy's bodywork, I would explain my reasons afterwards. I leaped onto the bonnet of the car, and climbed onto the roof of the blue Volvo estate, and seeing sharp, barbed wire put there to hinder those wishing to cause criminal damage to trains - I could hear a train in the distance. Fuck the cuts and scrapes, they would heal.

I used my jacket, to cover the barbed wire and using my leverage lifted myself up over the fencing beneath my jacket. The material of my jacket was useless, as the fencing bit into my palms. I fell forwards, over the wall and fencing landing on my side below. Jesus the fucking pain shot through my side and ribs, as I landed on hard concrete slabs.

"Bastard!" I bit down on my lips with my teeth, and tasted blood.

I got up as quick as I could, forgetting about my bag or jacket on the fencing. I moved down service stairs onto the tracks, and moved along the side of the tracks towards the crying. There the baby was, wrapped in a blanket and laying dead-center in the tracks - where the bottom of the train would definitely strike. I moved over to the baby, wincing as I did. I picked her up as quickly as could, and ran for the service steps. In the distance were the lights; the lights of the coming train.

I took two of the staircase steps at a time, and as I reached the wall that separated me from the road, and my duffel bag - the train sped past, the wind catching the baby's face. I covered it as best as I could, using the blanket.

"It's alright sweetheart." I said noticing the baby, was a little girl. She looked barely a year old.

I got on my phone and called 999, the contact number for the emergency services. I explained I was an off-duty Police Officer, who came across the baby's cries and that she was on a rail track. Immediately this alerted alarm bells, the whole borough or area of the city went haywire in terms of Police activity. I was told all available units were en route, with detectives in tow and social services. This was a big, important incident - a child at risk such as this, the Police wanted to find her parents. I waited, nursing the little girl as best as I could. I was waiting for my colleagues to bring along with them a transport worker, who could open the service gate to let me out. It took about thirty minutes, before they could get a worker down to the scene - by that time I had been holding the little girl as five trains sped past us, just a few yards away from us. Each time the little girl cried, probably the wind and sound scared her.

They finally opened the door, with the help of the transport worker. There were dozens of Police Officers in the area, and members of the public who had come across the spectacle to watch everything. I held her as close as I could, to ward off the cold wind. I brought her out, as members of the public took photos on their phones and cheered us all on. The girl hadn't cried since the last train in my arms, but the moment a Social Worker attempted to take her from me she cried so loud, she made it clear she didn't like the old bag trying to take her from me.

It was agreed, I would take her to the hospital for her checks and such - before letting Social Care Workers take over. Opening the blanket to see her little face I noticed - she was mixed race, beautiful. Her hair hadn't grown in fully, but she was smiling - a sign of good health. We took her with a Police escort to the local hospital, the baby girl had fallen asleep. As we arrived at the hospital, I was told to hand her over to Social Services, and that my part was done - but I told them I would stay to watch over her. They chose not to argue with me.

I stayed a few hours, and my colleagues kept me up to date with the investigation of the incident - and found a hole had been cut on the other side of the tracks, in the fencing that separated a house made up of several apartments from the rail tracks. It appeared that the little girl's blood-related parents had taken her through the gap in the fencing they most likely cut through; and left her there to die on the tracks. The moment my colleague, and friend Caroline Dempi told me this I wanted to punch a hole in the fucking wall nearby - I saw no reason whatsoever to put anyone; especially a child in harm's way. I had seen in the news, and investigated murders like this by parents who didn't give a shit about their children, putting them through torture and pain because they enjoyed it; or had far fetched beliefs that they were possessed by evil.

"They wanted to kill that poor little girl, James." She told me.

This just made me clench my fists even more. She told me that they had passed our fliers, knocked on doors and were preparing a public announcement for the parents to come forward to collect her, or for them to stand trial for what they did at least. I made my excuses, but swore I would keep checking up on the little girl; the unnamed angel.

The next few days soon became a month, and the parents hadn't come forward and investigations never found out who the baby's parents were either. Doctors said that tests proved that the little girl was mixed race - Hispanic, and Ebony from the Caribbean perhaps. This didn't help us pin down her parents, and when I heard she was now going to enter the legal adoption system fully, I had to see the little girl one more time. As I stood looking into the room where all the babies of a certain age were kept in cribs , I saw her - her hair was now light brown, and she smiled seeing me. I had been coming to the hospital, and eventually the social services center to see her, and spend time with her. She recognized me, I could see that.

A young blonde woman came up to me, and remembered me as the officer who found her. They had affectionately named the little girl - The Found Angel, as she was lucky to have been found. The blonde woman spoke to me, with a clipboard in her hands.

"Well sadly, with no parents or family coming forward to claim her as their own - we have to enter her fully into the adoption system.

I sighed, I knew how the social services operated.

"She'll disappear, and either end up staying here or going from one home to another." I said, still watching The Lost Angel.

"She's still young, some families will see that as a positive. She will never remember what happened on those tracks, that's fortunate for the little mite." She said to me, rubbing the side of her pen in her hand.

"She's already publicly known as the child who's blood parents tried to murder her on the fucking rail tracks, how long until the kids in school taunt her about that?" I asked her.

She didn't have an answer.

"How long until the family who adopts her, chooses to give her back to your lot when they can't bring themselves to deal with that problem when it arises. She'll be back and forth like a bloody yo-yo." I said clenching my hands.

"Sadly they're isn't much we can do, Constable Andrews. This is the way the system works, after a month and if the child hasn't been claimed by any family, or the blood-related parents then we must by law put them up for adoption." She said herself with a sigh.

"She'll go to either a shit-hole of a family, or be sent back by people who can't deal with her when she begins asking questions about her past." I said getting irritated with this situation.

"What would you have us do?" The blonde pen-pusher asked me, turning to face me.

I took a few moments, and for some reason I said it - well I did propose it.

"What if I adopted her?" I asked her.

She sighed, for her this wasn't a laughing moment.

"That isn't how it goes, we can't just give her to you." She replied.

"Then what do I need to do, to adopt her? Tell me and I'll do it." I said, my eyes set dead on her own eyes.

"You'll need to apply for her adoption, go through assessments and we will see if you are a adequate person to adopt her." She told me.

I nodded, and put her my hands into my pockets.

"Fine, start the process for me to apply for her adoption. Give me the paperwork and such, and I'll fill it out." I said, turning to look at her through the glass separating us both.

"Mr Andrews, it's not common practice for a white male to adopt a child like her without a wife or a partner, plus not a child of her... ethnicity."

The blonde bitch said to me.

I sighed, she was irritating me.

"I am currently living on my own yes, but my mother regularly visits and she will help me bring her up as my daughter, as will my older sister." I said to her.

"And you're talking about her ethnicity - me being white, and her mixed-race. Why is race such a deciding factor in all of this?" I asked her.

"It's just frowned upon, we would rather she was adopted by a family of the same background or ethnicity." She said, choosing her words carefully.

"I don't care, I will care for that little girl as much as any person or family of her same ethnicity. Believe me love, if I have to take this to the bloody courts I will, and even to the European Courts even. I know if a British court decides against me, a European one won't." I said to her, my tone told her to not underestimate my love for this little girl, and to make sure she had a proper life and home to call her own.

She gave me a scornful stare, I hoped this pen-pushing bitch wasn't on the board or had a say in deciding who The Found Angel was adopted by.

"I'll bring you the forms, Mr Andrews." She said with such scorn, she must have really disliked me at that moment.

"Thank you." I said simply to her as she turned to leave me, my tone told her I didn't care about her opinion about any of this.

A few weeks later, I began going through the adoption process - I began to assessments, my mother and older sister Amy were at home present with me as the Social Services assessment team came to see my apartment. With my mother, and Amy present the Social Services found no problems. Next came suitability assessments to see if I could provide for her, that was clear when I found I was a serving Police officer with several years experience. I had a set, and regular wage coming in - and I wasn't the type of person to see her go without anything, even spending more than what I would usually spend on myself.

I heard from friends and colleagues, that there were several families interested in adopting the little girl - two were found to just wanting to adopt her, so they could run a charity named after her, and for money to be sent to them for her care. The others were found to be scoring low in the assessments, and I was the one with the highest score. One morning I was called by the Social Services, to come to the center where she was being cared for. I was told that I was the one to pass the assessments, and chosen as the suitable person to adopt her.

I went to collect her with my mother Wendy, and my sister Amy. All of my family with me as I collected my daughter, the blonde pen-pusher who was quick to dash my hopes of adopting the girl, was present and gave me the same scornful stare she had when I questioned her. I was told to take her to the local hospital who were notified that I was bringing her to them, for them to record a new name for her, and with the adoption papers and hospital certificates, she would be given a real name. The moment she saw me coming towards her crib, she smiled and giggled. Her hair had grown slightly, and was darker. I gave the snotty, blonde pen-pushing worker a stare and took her with my mother and sister to the hospital. I had already decided her name would be Aisha, and she would take my surname of Andrews.

That was the day I adopted The Found Angel, and she became my daughter - Aisha Andrews. I would make sure she grew up in a loving home, and family. I would swear by that for the rest of my life, to provide for my little girl.

Seventeen Years Later - London, UK

"Dad where is my bloody battery, for my phone?" Aisha called out to me, from her bedroom.

"Where you bloody left it, you always leave stuff at your arse." I said throwing a quick, but warm retort back. Aisha always left things in places, she would not think to look in when she wanted the thing back.

"That doesn't help, dad!" She shouted back at me.

I smiled, sitting on the couch watching a re-run of Breaking Bad with a can of Pepsi in my hand.

I heard footsteps, and Aisha ran down the stairs with a flabbergasted look on her face.

"Dad I need it for class, today." She said in an annoyed tone.

"Where did you have it last, when did you last use your phone?" I asked her.

She sighed standing in her black leggings, hooded t-shirt and her long, curly brown hair framing her caramel face. She always dressed like this for College, and it annoyed me. I didn't want guys, or even full-grown men looking at her in that way, with the way she dressed.

"On my bed, I was talking to Sara last night." She answered.

"Right well check under your pillows, blanket and under the bed. It's probably came loose when you fell asleep, you probably slept on it even." I said with a smile.

She growled in annoyance, and ran back up the stairs to her room.

"I'm going to be late for class!" She shouted down at me.

"Well it serves you right, It'll teach you to put your phone aside someplace safe, when you fall asleep instead of leaving it on your bed." I said, trying my best to teach her a valuable life lesson.

She wasn't listening, as she didn't reply - but I did hear her begin to pull her bed apart looking for her phone battery. I was getting into a scene of the Breaking Bad episode I was watching, when she came back downstairs.

"Where was it?" I asked her, looking over my shoulder at her.

She didn't reply at first, her face was upset and she answered me eventually.

"Under the bed." She said simply.

I laughed gently, but then let out a deep sigh.

"I told you, stop leaving it on your bloody bed when you finally fall asleep. Put it on your dresser, or table." I said turning back to the TV.

She forced a smile, and sat in the chair opposite me on the couch.

"Did you call Rachel back?" She asked me out of the blue.

I sighed, I knew this was coming and I put down my can of Pepsi on the coffee table in front of me.

"No, I haven't got around to it." I said simply.

Now it was Aisha's turn to take the high ground with me.

"It's been a fortnight since you two went out, you should have called her back by now." She said to me, turning her head as she spoke.

"She's not my type." I said simply.

Aisha grunted, and hit the cushion of the chair behind her head with her fist in anger.

"Jesus dad, then who is your type?" She asked me.

"Not Rachel, that's it." I said without an explanation.

Aisha sighed, and rubbed her forehead.

"Dad, you need to find someone. You've been alone long enough, I can't be the reason you keep putting off dating someone." Aisha corrected me.

"I'm fine being single, you remember Ella. She didn't want to stay with me for long did she, not with the job or you." I said in defense.

Ella was my last girlfriend, almost two years ago - she didn't like me being a Cop, and when she met Aisha she didn't want to be with a man who was bringing up a mixed-race child as his daughter, so I showed her the door kindly.

"Dad, Ella was a bitch; pure and simple. I'm not gonna pretend that she wasn't, she expected you to give up the Police, and I'm guessing she wanted you to cut all ties to me when I turned eighteen." Aisha said, documenting my relationship with Ella very well.

"Yeah, so I showed her the door." I said simply.

Aisha stood, looking down at me.

"Dad, she isn't the only woman out there for you - they're are tons of women out there, and many who would accept your job and me. You just won't try, Rachel was one of them." She told me.

I said nothing, I had nothing to say really.

Aisha sighed, and leaned down to kiss me on the top of my head affectionately as a loving daughter would.

"I'll be back later dad, I'll pick up Chinese for us. The usual order." She said smiling.

I nodded with a smile, and she was soon gone with the sound of the front door closing shut. I settled down to watch Breaking Bad for the rest of the afternoon, as it was only 10am. I wasn't working a shift today, so it was my day off to relax and enjoy some television. The rest of the afternoon went by, and at about 6pm I heard the front door open with keys. I looked over the couch, and Aisha was home with one of her girlfriends.

"Ah you're home, did you get the Chinese?" I asked her.

"Yeah I got it dad, Sara came over is that ok? We were gonna go upstairs, and just listen to some music." She said putting the white bag of the Chinese take-out on the kitchen table.

"Yeah that's fine sweetheart." I said standing up, and went into the kitchen and saw Sara talking to Aisha.

She was a black girl, with long dreadlocks, and a beautiful face and physique. Her and my Aisha had been friends since primary school, so I saw them both grow up together. I had only met her mother Tina once, and it was quite a few years ago at a school function. I couldn't remember much of Tina, and as I came into the kitchen Sara smiled at me.

"Hi Mr Andrews." she said with a big smile.

"Hey, Sara. How were your classes today?" I asked her, to strike a conversation up between us. Sara was the same age as Aisha.

"Aw boring really, me and Aisha could barely focus on our History lesson." Sara answered me.

I smiled, and moved over to the counter where the bag of Chinese take-out was.

I noticed Sara was wearing a pair of blue leggings, and a black hooded top, and black trainers on her feet. Her study bag was on the chair at the counter, as was Aisha's blue sports bag she used for her studies.

"History is simple enough, most of what your teacher tried to teach you today - you can read about in more detail at home, there are loads of History books in the library." I said, most likely sounding like a teacher or something.

The pair of them laughed gently, as Aisha poured her and Sara a glass of Pepsi each.

"Dad it's not that simple, the teacher is teaching us in how to write an essay for the topics - for the moment it's not about the subject itself." Aisha said with a laugh.

I smiled, and leaned on the counter as I emptied the take-out onto the counter, containers and such for my dinner.

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