The Road to Happiness
Simon walked home from work. It was a fair distance, but the evening was warm, quiet, and still. On nights like this, he never regretted not owning a car. He strolled, savoring the warmth and the promise of summer.
For years, Simon had lived with his parents in the city center, accustomed to the noise and bustle. But recently, he’d moved to the outskirts, to a quiet suburban estate. He’d come home exhausted, collapsing into bed just to wake early and return to the chaos of the city.
Through his window at night, the curious moon peered in unobstructed—no trees, no other buildings, no thick curtains to block its glow. His flat was on the twelfth floor of a new-build, overlooking fields and the distant line of a forest. At first, he’d wake in the middle of the night, disoriented, staring at the blue-tinted room before remembering where he was. Then he’d calm himself and drift back to sleep.
***
Two years ago, he hadn’t even known shared flats existed—not like the old Soviet-style ones with ten families sharing a kitchen, but still unpleasant, living with strangers, dividing common spaces.
Simon had grown up in an ordinary family, in a two-bedroom flat with high ceilings and a long, narrow hallway leading to a cramped kitchen. His mother worked as a nursery teacher, his father as a bus driver. They weren’t wealthy, but they could afford a holiday by the sea.
Everything had fallen apart in a single day. His father hadn’t broken any rules—he’d waited for the green light, accelerated carefully—but then a woman bolted from the pavement, dragging a wheeled suitcase. He slammed the brakes, but a bus doesn’t stop on a dime. The woman was flung like a ball from a kick and died on the way to the hospital.
She’d been rushing, it turned out—late for a train. Her son-in-law had promised to drive her to her countryside cottage but backed out last minute. They’d argued, and she’d stormed off, certain she could beat the crossing. Trains don’t wait.
At the trial, that same son-in-law had screamed about a drunk driver murdering his beloved mother-in-law, demanding the harshest sentence. True, the depot had thrown a retirement party the night before—there’d been drinks. But the morning medical check showed no signs his father had been impaired. He hardly drank. Yet somehow, the report listed his alcohol level over the limit.
To protect his coworkers, his father claimed he’d had a drink at his wife’s friend’s birthday. He took the fall, and the others walked free. His mother wept. Money tightened. A nursery teacher’s wages weren’t much. Simon announced he wouldn’t go to university—he’d get a job.
“To do what? Join the army? First your father, now you—you think I can take any more?” his mother had sobbed.
To calm her, he promised to keep studying. Then, just before graduation, his father died of a heart attack in prison. Simon, true to his word, enrolled at university. Two years later, his mother remarried and moved in with her new husband—some high-ranking civil servant, though Simon barely registered the details.
Left alone in the flat, he let his student friends turn it into a party hub. At first, he loved the chaos. But soon, the endless noise wore thin. He’d wake to strangers passed out on the couch.
The neighbors complained to his mother. She arrived early one morning to find a naked girl strolling to the bathroom without a shred of shame. Predictably, she erupted—kicked everyone out and warned Simon the money would stop if the debauchery continued.
For two weeks, the flat was silent. Then his mates begged to use it for a birthday bash. They kept the noise down but drank heavily.
The next morning, Simon woke to a naked girl in his bed—face to the wall, fiery red hair strewn across the pillow. The only redhead in their group was Emily Carter.
He slipped out carefully, not waking her. He remembered nothing, but if anything had happened, he doubted he’d have bothered putting his boxers back on.
A quick check confirmed they were alone. He showered, made coffee. The smell roused Emily, who shuffled into the kitchen in his oversized T-shirt, murmuring nonsense. Simon sidestepped her.
“What’s your problem? Last night you said you loved me.” She pouted and reached for his mug.
“Don’t talk rubbish,” he muttered. “Nothing happened. I’m not suicidal—if Jack finds out, he’ll flatten me.”
“We split up. Didn’t you know?” Her voice turned brittle. “Why d’you think I got so wasted? He’s hooking up with Lucy from fifth year now, the bastard.”
After shooing a sniffling Emily into the shower, he cleared the bottles, washed up, and aired out the flat. His mother could drop by unannounced.
They missed their lectures. Emily begged him to skip and go to the cinema, but he refused. When their mates asked where she was, he feigned ignorance—hadn’t she left with the others last night?
Emily ignored him for two weeks, then cornered him. “I’m late,” she hissed.
Simon’s stomach lurched. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Stop playing dumb. I’m pregnant.”
His blood turned to ice. “Maybe it’s Jack’s?” he tried weakly.
“We used protection—but I was smashed. You could’ve been careful!” She burst into tears.
Simon, half-numb, offered marriage if she’d just stop crying. She kissed his cheek. By the next day, she’d moved in from student housing.
His mother screamed she’d seen this coming. Surprisingly, her husband backed Simon. Decent bloke, it turned out. They married after summer exams—which Simon nearly failed.
In early December, Emily gave birth to a delicate girl with fine blonde hair and blue eyes. Simon stared at her, feeling nothing. His mother still worked; she couldn’t babysit. Emily refused to go to her parents, so she took a year off uni.
Simon raced home after classes each day. Exhausted, Emily would thrust the baby into his arms the second he stepped in. He’d sit with textbooks in one hand, his daughter in the other. Sleepless nights left him groggy in lectures. They fought viciously—once nearly coming to blows—before Emily fled to her mates’ dorm.
“You don’t want me or this baby. Maybe you just married me for the flat,” he accused one night. “Maybe she’s not even mine. Should’ve been born by New Year’s, right?”
Emily stayed eerily calm. “Get a paternity test if you don’t believe me.” Then she exploded.
For a week, they coexisted in silence. She’d snap orders—*Wash this. Watch her*—through clenched teeth. He cracked first. Things smoothed over, but the bitterness lingered.
One day, Simon came home to unfamiliar shoes in the hallway. Emily’s friends, he assumed—until he heard:
“Lucky you—flat in the city center, a husband. What if Simon finds out?”
“He won’t, unless you tell him. You won’t, will you?” Emily’s voice was sharp.
Simon barged in. “So you *did* lie. You weren’t at the dorm—you were with Jack!”
Three pairs of eyes locked onto him. He stormed out, straight to the dorm. Jack was drinking with mates. Simon swung at him on sight. Jack—stronger, quicker—dodged and knocked him flat.
“Maybe you and Emily planned this?” Simon spat blood.
“Maybe.” Jack smirked.
Simon lunged again, but friends restrained him. At home, he threw Emily out.
“I’m not leaving. I’m your wife. Polly’s legally yours. The law’s on my side. Here’s the deal: we sell the flat, split it, and I won’t sue for child support.”
Simon thought of his father’s fate—and agreed.
That’s how he ended up in a shared flat. His roommate was a burly warehouse worker whose girlfriend—a well-stocked shop assistant—often brought food. Simon got leftovers.
Six months later, the roommate made an offer: “You’re smart, mate. Why cramp each other? Swap my aunt’s one-bed out in the suburbs for your room here. It’s quieter—fresh air, trees nearby.”
Far? Yes. But his own space… Simon took it.
After graduation, his stepdad helped him land a job. Life stabilized. His mother offered to buy furniture, but Simon refused. He wouldn’t leech off them again. He saved for a car instead.
***
The sun dipped, the air cooling. May wasn’t summer yet. Simon’s legs ached. On a playground bench, he spotted a hunched figure. Nearly home, but the sight nagged at him. He climbed the low fence.
Not a teenager—a girl, barely more than a child, face streaked with tears.
“Something wrong?”
“None of your business.”
He satSimon walked away with her, knowing this was the path he was meant to take all along, and as the girl’s small hand slipped trustingly into his, he finally understood what true happiness felt like.
