The Path to Happiness
Rodney walked home from work on foot. It was a fair distance, of course, but the evening was warm, still, and windless. On nights like this, he didn’t mind not having a car. He strolled, enjoying the warmth and the promise of summer just around the corner.
His whole life, Rodney had lived with his parents in the heart of London, accustomed to the bustle and noise. But not long ago, he’d moved to the outskirts, to a quiet residential area. He’d come home, collapse into bed, and rise early to return to the city’s vibrant center, where life pulsed with energy.
At night, a curious moon peered through his window, unobstructed by trees or other buildings—he hadn’t even bothered with thick curtains yet. His flat was on the twelfth floor of a new build, overlooking fields and the distant line of woodland. At first, he’d wake in the middle of the night, disoriented by the blue moonlight spilling over the room. Then he’d remember where he was, calm himself, and drift back to sleep.
***
Just two years earlier, he hadn’t even known that shared housing still existed—not like the old tenements where a dozen families shared a single kitchen, but still, having to live with a stranger, sharing a bathroom and kitchen, was hardly ideal.
Rodney had grown up in an ordinary family, in a two-bedroom flat in the heart of the city, with high ceilings, spacious rooms, and a long, narrow hallway leading to a tiny kitchen. His mother worked as a nursery school teacher, his father as a bus driver. They weren’t wealthy, but they could afford a holiday by the seaside now and then.
Everything crumbled in a single day. His father hadn’t broken any rules—he’d waited for the green light before pulling the bus forward. Then out of nowhere, a woman with a wheeled suitcase had darted into the road. His father slammed on the brakes, but a bus doesn’t stop instantly. The woman was flung like a ball from the impact and died on the way to the hospital.
She’d been running late for a train, it turned out. Her son-in-law had promised to drive her, but then his plans changed. They had argued, and in a fit of irritation, she’d rushed off, thinking she could beat the traffic. The train wouldn’t wait for her.
That same son-in-law later screamed in court that a drunk driver had killed his beloved mother-in-law and demanded the harshest penalty. Yes, the drivers had been celebrating a colleague’s retirement the night before—there had been drinks. But the morning medical check showed nothing abnormal. His father wasn’t even much of a drinker. Yet somehow, the records later showed his blood alcohol just over the limit.
Not wanting to drag his colleagues into it, his father admitted to having “a toast at his wife’s friend’s birthday.” He took the blame to protect the others and ended up in prison. His mother was devastated, drowning in tears. Money grew tight—a nursery teacher’s wages weren’t much. Rodney announced he wouldn’t go to university after school; he’d start working instead.
“Oh, so now you fancy the army? First your father, now you—do you want to destroy me completely?” his mother sobbed.
To calm her, Rodney promised to continue his studies. Just before graduation, his father died of a heart attack in prison. True to his word, Rodney enrolled at university. Two years later, his mother remarried and moved in with her new husband. Rodney stayed alone in the family flat. His mother covered the rent, gave him money—anything to keep him in school. She could afford it now. Her new husband wasn’t just a civil servant—he was high up, though Rodney never bothered to remember exactly where.
University friends soon caught wind that Rodney had an empty flat, and promptly turned it into a party hub. He was a generous host, even letting people crash overnight.
At first, he enjoyed it. But eventually, the endless crowds wore thin. Waking up to strangers—boys and girls he didn’t even recognise—became the norm.
The neighbours complained to his mother. She arrived unannounced one morning, just in time to see a naked girl stroll past her to the bathroom without a shred of embarrassment.
Of course, there was a scene. His mother kicked everyone out and threatened to cut him off if he didn’t stop the drinking and debauchery.
For two weeks, the flat remained silent. Then friends begged to come over for a birthday celebration. They behaved well enough, but the drinking got out of hand.
The next morning, Rodney woke up to find he wasn’t alone. A naked girl slept beside him, the blanket draped haphazardly over her waist. She lay on her stomach, face turned to the wall, fiery red hair strewn across the pillow—hair just like Marigold’s, the only redhead in their group.
Rodney slipped out carefully, trying not to wake her. He couldn’t remember a thing—but if something had happened, he doubted he’d have bothered putting his boxers back on.
He checked the flat. No one else was there. He showered, brewed coffee. The scent roused Marigold, who shuffled into the kitchen wearing his long T-shirt, murmuring nonsense and clinging to him. He pushed her away.
“What’s wrong? Last night, you said you loved me,” she pouted, reaching for his coffee cup.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, uneasy. “Nothing happened. I’m not suicidal—if Colin found out, he’d flatten me.”
“We broke up. Didn’t you know? Guess why I got so wasted? He’s shagging Laura from fifth year, the prick.”
He ushered her into the shower, tossed the empty bottles, washed up, and aired out the flat. His mother might inspect without warning.
They were late for lectures. Marigold tried to coax him into skipping for a cinema trip, but he refused and went to class. When friends asked where she was, he feigned ignorance—hadn’t she left with everyone else?
Marigold didn’t speak to him for two weeks. Then she cornered him and said she was late. He tensed, pretended not to understand.
“I’m pregnant. Stop playing dumb,” she snapped.
“How is that my problem?” His stomach turned to ice.
“So it *did* happen,” he thought, resigned like a rabbit before a snake. He suggested an abortion.
“I’ve got Rh-negative blood. If I do this, I might not have kids later,” she sniffled.
“Couldn’t it be Colin’s?” he asked desperately.
“We used protection. That night, I was too drunk to care. *You* could’ve been careful. What do we do now?” She wailed into his chest, drawing stares.
Rodney said he wouldn’t abandon her. He wasn’t ready to be a father but would marry her if it stopped the tears. She kissed his cheek. The next day, she moved in from student halls.
His mother shrieked that she’d seen this coming. Surprisingly, her husband backed Rodney—turned out he was decent after all. They married after summer exams, which Rodney nearly failed.
Marigold gave birth in early December—a fair-haired, blue-eyed girl. Rodney stared at the baby and felt nothing. His mother still worked; she couldn’t babysit. Marigold refused to go to her parents, so she took a gap year.
After lectures, Rodney rushed home. Exhausted, Marigold would thrust the baby into his arms the moment he stepped inside. He’d sit with textbooks in one hand, his daughter in the other. Sleep-deprived, he dragged himself to class with a throbbing head. They fought constantly—once nearly coming to blows—before Marigold stormed off to her friends’ dorms.
“Sometimes I think you don’t care about me *or* the baby. Did you only marry me for the flat?” he asked once. “Is she even mine? She was due near New Year’s.”
“Don’t believe me? Get a DNA test,” she said coolly, then erupted.
They didn’t speak for a week, living like strangers. Through gritted teeth, she’d order him to do laundry or mind the baby. Nothing more. He cracked first. Things settled, but the bitterness lingered.
One day, Rodney came home to multiple pairs of women’s shoes in the hall. “Marigold’s friends are over,” he thought—until he heard:
“Lucky you—flat in central London, a husband. What if Rodney finds out the truth?”
“He won’t, unless *you* tell him. And you won’t, will you?” Marigold pressed.
Rodney burst into the kitchen.
“So you *did* lie. You weren’t visiting friends—you were with Colin!”
Marigold flinched. Three pairs of eyes locked onto him. He stormed out, straight to the dorms. Colin was drinking beer with mates. Rodney swung the moment he saw him. Colin—stronger, an athlete—dodged and knocked him out cold.
“Maybe you and Marigold planned this?” Rodney slurred through a split lip.
“Maybe we did,” Colin smirkRodney left the flat that night, wandered the city in the rain, and by dawn, realized that sometimes happiness wasn’t found in grand gestures or second chances, but in the quiet acceptance that he was finally free.
