**Diary Entry**

There was a bloke in our office. Well, not just any bloke—a grown man, 36 years old. But he wasn’t ordinary.

To put it plainly, he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Not even close. Still, I hired him six years ago and never regretted it. The strangest part? He *knew* he wasn’t clever and never pretended otherwise. In fact, the first thing he said when he walked in for the interview was,

*”Hello. I’m not smart, and I won’t lie about it. But I need a job—my mum’s ill and can’t work anymore. I need to buy her medicine.”*

That threw me, I won’t lie. But I could tell right away there was something different about him. Not so different that he couldn’t handle simple tasks, though. He reminded me of Dustin Hoffman’s character in *Rain Man*, one of my favourite films. I understood exactly what I was dealing with, and the last thing I wanted was to make him feel small.

*”You’re brighter than half the people who walk in here pretending they’re geniuses. Be here tomorrow.”*

From then on, he was like the office mascot. Six years he worked with us, side by side. Different? Yes. But honest, reliable, never a minute late—honestly, one of the best employees I’ve ever had. He nursed his mum back to health after her stroke. We pitched in a bit with meds and physio, but he did the bulk of it without a single complaint. The whole office adored him—wound up fattening him from 75kg to a solid 100kg, too. We even started to look alike!

But I digress. Day before yesterday, I walked in after a long absence, and my assistant hit me with:

*”Oliver’s quitting! Can you talk him out of it? How will we manage without him?”*

I was gobsmacked. *Quitting?* Where? Why? I asked her to send him in. Ten minutes later, he shuffled into my office, chin practically on his chest. Wouldn’t look me in the eye.

*”Oliver, what’s wrong? Did someone upset you? Point them out, and I’ll sack half the office if I have to.”*
*”No, no—nothing like that. I love everyone here. It’s just… well…”*
*”Spit it out, mate. Is it your mum?”*
*”No, Mum’s fine. It’s… I want to get married.”*

I froze like a glitching mobile. The first thought that popped into my head was *How?* But who was I to question it? He’s just as human as I am. Still, it threw me.

*”Right. Good for you. I assume the lady in question is on board with this?”*
*”Oh yes! She’s been asking me to move to Sweden with her—with Mum, too! She loves us both!”*

That’s when my stomach dropped. Sweden? With his condition? And his mum? Bloody hell.

*”She must be special if you’re taking your mum along. Let’s see a photo, then.”*

Out came an iPhone 7—blimey, since when? For years, he’d clung to that ancient flip phone, despite us trying to *accidentally* replace it. We’d even given him a proper smartphone last birthday, but he wouldn’t switch. Until now.

*”Charlotte gave me this. Loaded it with her photos so I wouldn’t miss her.”*

By then, my head was spinning with worst-case scenarios. I half-expected some surgically enhanced blonde from an old lads’ mag. What I saw instead knocked me sideways.

A red-haired girl, unmistakable features—what some call *sunshine people*. They’ve got an extra chromosome, but in every other way, they’re just like us. Better, even. They don’t call *us* idiots for having one less, though by their logic, they could. But they don’t. They’re kind, gentle, always smiling—none of those fake grins people paste on while cursing you behind your back.

*”She’s lovely, mate. You’re a lucky man. If this is what you want, I’ll sign you off with my blessing—reluctantly as your boss, but gladly as your friend. Mind if I ring your mum to sort the details? I’ll book your flights.”*

Oliver was always cheerful, but the joy on his face then? Unmatched. For that look alone, I’d have sent him to Timbuktu. He clapped like a kid, dialled his mum, handed me the phone, and *left*. Knew I’d need to speak freely. What normal person would’ve done that? None. They’d hover, eavesdrop.

People like him? Tactful. Clever. *Happier* than most of us, too—no lies, no screaming matches, just love. So tell me, who’s really the clever one here?

Spoke to his mum. Turns out she’s met Charlotte—no red flags. Tomorrow—well, today now—I’m driving them to Heathrow for their 11:25 flight to Stockholm. They’ll be happy. I’ll be happy *for* them. And if all goes well, I’ll fly out in March to see him married.

Funny, isn’t it? You’d move heaven and earth for people like them. Meanwhile, there are those who mistake kindness for weakness—waste your time, your patience. But I don’t see them anymore. Good folk outnumber the bad. Only reason this rotten planet keeps spinning.

Better brew a vat of coffee. Wouldn’t do to miss their flight.