Emily and her son, Oliver, lived together in a small flat in Manchester. Oliver’s father was, of course, a reality—just not one that mattered. He’d never asked about him. At five, schoolyard chatter about whose dad had the flashiest car hadn’t begun yet. For now, the pressing concerns were Lego towers and the injustice of broccoli.
Emma (as she now called herself, having shed “Nadezhda” like an old coat) had once been hopelessly in love with Oliver’s father. But when she told him she was pregnant, he’d shrugged and admitted he was married. His wife’s father was his boss, he explained. Losing that connection would leave him penniless. “Get rid of it,” he’d suggested. “You won’t get a penny from me.” The unspoken threat lingered. So she vanished.
Oliver turned out sweet-natured, and that was enough.
Emma taught Year 3 at the local primary, while Oliver spent his time in nursery. They needed no one else.
Then, after Christmas, the school hired a new PE instructor—Daniel Carter. Tall, fit, perpetually grinning. The single women in the staffroom (most of them) buzzed around him like wasps at a picnic. Emma ignored him. Perhaps that’s why he noticed her.
One afternoon, as she stepped through the school gates, a Range Rover pulled up. Daniel leaned over, popped the passenger door open.
“Hop in, love.”
“It’s only a short walk,” she said, flustered.
“Faster by car, even if it’s just round the corner, yeah?”
She hesitated, then slid in. He asked for her address.
“I don’t—I mean, I know Oliver’s nursery. That’s where I’m headed.”
“You’ve a kid?” He’d already switched to the familiar “you.”
“Oliver. He’s five.” Her hand hovered over the door handle. “I should walk.”
“Wait.” The engine growled to life. “We’ll fetch him.”
She let the door click shut. Best to end this now. What man would choose a woman with a child when there were so many unencumbered options?
“If you’re sure you’ve time…”
“Plenty. No missus, no kids waiting.”
“Why not? Awful temper? Or just scared of commitment?”
Daniel laughed. “Feisty, aren’t you? Didn’t expect that. Nah, just never stuck. Same goes for you, by the looks of it.”
“Turn left here.”
The car stopped outside the nursery.
“I’ll wait,” he said as she stepped out.
She turned back, uneasy. “Don’t. We live close. I don’t want Oliver asking questions. You understand?”
Emma walked away, but Daniel sat for a long moment before driving off. When she emerged with Oliver ten minutes later, she sighed—relieved, but oddly hollow. Of course. Men never wanted baggage. Fine by her. “We don’t need him,” she whispered to herself.
Yet the next day, there he was again.
“Thought I’d run off, eh? Nursery again?”
She nodded, smiling despite herself. When Oliver eyed Daniel with the same scepticism she’d shown the day before, she forced a chirpy, “This is Mr. Carter! He works at Mummy’s school. Hop in, sweetheart.”
Oliver clambered into the back without enthusiasm.
“Where to?” Daniel asked, twisting around.
“Somewhere close. No child seat—we’ll get fined,” Emma cut in.
“How about the arcade? Too cold for the park. Oliver, yeah?”
Oliver stared out the window as if the passing bins held untold wonders.
At school, the whispers began. Daniel took it slow, patient. Twice, he left after dinner. The third time, he stayed. Emma barely slept, checking the clock, terrified Oliver would stumble in and see.
“Kid’s clever. He’ll adjust,” Daniel murmured at dawn, pulling her closer.
She slipped free. Oliver, normally impossible to rouse, chose that morning to wake early. When he padded into the kitchen, Emma was flipping pancakes. Daniel sat at the table.
“You’ve washed up? Breakfast’s ready.”
She served Daniel first—a misstep Oliver didn’t miss.
“Fancy a race? See who finishes first?” Daniel grinned, shovelling in a forkful.
Oliver chewed slowly. “Why?”
“Just for fun. Boys like challenges, yeah?”
Oliver ignored him.
“Mum said your birthday’s coming,” Daniel tried again. “What d’you want? Action figures? RC car?”
“A puppy.”
“One of those robotic ones? Bit babyish—”
“A real one.” Oliver’s glare could’ve melted steel.
“We’ve talked about this,” Emma interrupted. “Puppies need walks, training. We’re out all day.”
“Then I don’t want anything.”
The weather turned spiteful in March, snow stinging their faces as they left the shopping centre. Oliver lagged behind, distracted.
A filthy blur shot between Daniel’s legs.
“Bloody hell!” He kicked—a reflex. The puppy yelped, skidding under the car.
Oliver lunged, scooping it up. “You idiot!”
“Oliver! Apologise!”
The boy clutched the shivering creature. “He’s cold. I’ll clean up after him.”
“It’s feral, probably diseased,” Daniel snapped. “Next weekend, we’ll get a proper one from the breeder.”
Oliver bolted—straight into a reversing Audi.
The driver swore. “Not my fault! Blind spot!”
Daniel waved him off. “No harm done.”
Emma helped Oliver up. He was crying but wouldn’t let go of the pup.
“Should’ve walloped him,” Daniel muttered. “Kid’s playing you.”
“Enough,” Emma snapped.
At home, the pup transformed after a bath—fluffy, bright-eyed. The vet gave it a clean bill of health.
“You saved him,” the vet told Oliver, shaking his hand. “Dogs never forget that.”
That evening, Daniel arrived with roses.
“Em, I’m sorry—”
“No. It’s over.”
His smile twisted. “Who else’ll take you on with that brat?”
She shoved him out.
In the living room, Oliver giggled as the pup licked his fingers.
“Was that him?” Oliver asked.
“Yes. He won’t be back.”
“Good. We’ve got Smile now.”
“Smile?”
“Short for Smiley. Look—he’s grinning!”
Emma watched her son, so full of joy it hurt. Perhaps her own happiness didn’t matter, so long as he had this. Daniel would’ve never loved another man’s child. But Oliver—Oliver had his puppy. That was enough.
