Andrew and Margaret spent five years hoping for a child, and when little Stephen arrived it felt as if fate itself had given their marriage its seal. They poured everything into him love, time, the ambitions they never realised, and, above all, a set of rules carved in stone.
Above all, be honest, lad, Andrew would say, reading him bedtime tales of heroes.
Integrity is what makes a person, Margaret would echo, checking his diary.
Stephen was serious beyond his years, principled, proper and hardworking. He soaked up their truths like a sponge, determined to live up to their ideals. He wanted to be the very picture of his parents’ hopes: top of his class, a goldmedal at school, a coveted degree in economics, a firstclass honours. Teachers praised his upbringing, neighbours sighed with envy.
Dont worry, Mum, Stephen would reassure Margaret when she fretted about university temptations. Ive got no time for that. I need to learn.
And indeed he excelled, graduating with firstclass honours, landing a job straight away and spending most of his days in the office. He would return home late, eyes weary but burning with a righteous fire.
Ive been noticed, he told us one evening, pride swelling. Theyve given me a serious project.
Then came the moment they had both awaited and feared. Stephen showed up on a Sunday morning, unannounced, bearing news that made Margarets heart tighten with joy.
Mum, Dad, Ive met someone. Her names Emily. Were planning to rent a flat together.
His voice trembled, a hint of that vulnerable, almost childlike uncertainty they hadnt heard in years.
Emily turned up at our house the following Sunday modest, with calm, intelligent eyes. She spoke politely, never fawning. It was clear she cared for Stephen; she smiled warmly whenever he talked.
Shes from a good family, Margaret whispered to me later in the kitchen as Stephen saw Emily off to a taxi. Her fathers an engineer, her mother a teacher. And the way she looks at him its a good look.
I, usually reserved, muttered, Hes blooming with her, like a lad whos found his spring. I havent seen him so alive in ages.
Emily soon became part of our lives. She brought in cakes, helped Margaret in the kitchen, could discuss politics with me. We watched Stephen flourish beside her. The once stern, singleminded boy began to joke, laugh, plan trips together. Most of all, his eyes now held something no career or accolade could give simple, human happiness.
Six months after they met, Stephen and Emily arrived hand in hand, excitement evident.
Weve decided to get married, Stephen announced, and Emily nodded, beaming.
He then added, glancing toward the sideboard, Were looking at flats on a mortgage, of course. The deposit Id be grateful if you could help.
Silence hung for a breath. Theyd been saving for a dream home for ten years three million roubles, roughly £35,000. Margaret broke the quiet, looking at Emilys hopeful face, then at her son, and her heart fluttered.
Weve been putting away for a country house, she said. But for you well think about it.
Their well think didnt last long. That evening, lying in bed, Margaret murmured, Andrew, theyre genuine. Can you see? She loves him.
Andrew sighed. Hed seen the same. Hed watched Emily regard our son not as a successful project but as a person. Hed seen Stephen reach for her as if she were his home.
Theyre our continuation, he whispered. Let them have their own house, their own foundation.
The tenyear, £35,000 nest egg, their dream of a garden and quiet, dissolved in that impulse. For the sake of our child, they told each other, and those words carried both sacrifice and an investment in an ideal future.
For the next few weeks the four of us became a team: scanning listings, attending viewings, arguing over floor plans. Finally we found a bright twobedroom flat in a newly built estate.
That night, standing in the doorway of the new place, I handed Stephen the keys with pride.
This is your wedding gift. Straight from the registry office to your own home.
Stephen hugged us, gratitude clear in his eyes.
Well need furniture, get everything set up. Then well register.
Everything felt perfect.
***
Six months later the weddings glow faded like smoke. Stephen came home alone, pale, dark circles under his eyes.
Emily Emily left. Said she couldnt cope. Said Im not the man I pretended to be.
Margaret gasped, clutching her chest. I wrapped my arms around Stephens shoulders.
Hold on, son. These things happen Youll come back, settle down, pull yourself together.
Yes, Dad, Stephen whispered. I want to go home.
He returned, a single backpack his only possession.
Margaret noted, with a pang, that he hadnt even taken his books from the new flat. A week later anxiety gnawed at us. I dialled Emilys number. After a long ring she answered, weary.
Andrew, Emilys voice sighed. Im sorry. Ive been trying to get him to seek help for a year. He kept losing I couldnt take any more.
An hour later I was at the door of the flat. A stranger opened.
The flats sold, he said politely. Weve already moved in.
I sat on the stairwell for two hours, mind empty, a hollow feeling. I didnt remember the ride home. In the living room Margaret was knitting a scarf for Stephen while a drama series played.
The flats gone, I exhaled. He sold it. Lost everything.
Stephen stood in the doorway, his expression new frightened and hardened at once.
Dad, Mum I need to explain.
There had been no love left. Well, there had been, but Emily had left when she saw what hed become. His career had vanished too; hed been dismissed months earlier.
Hed started gambling to relieve stress, placing tiny bets, then chasing adrenaline, then debts first small, then astronomical. He took loans, pawned everything he could. In the end the only thing left was the flat the gift from us. He sold the shared dream, the foundation wed built for him and Emily.
I thought I could win it back! One big win and Id buy it back! But
He fell silent, eyes on the floor.
Ive hit rock bottom. Lost everything. I want to start over.
I remained quiet, watching the son who embodied all our hopes, now a stranger. I saw a liar who had performed a yearlong play, looking Emily in the eye while steering us toward a cliff.
Margaret was the first to break the silence. Her voice trembled.
You you let us believe in this happiness. You used her, used us. You watched us pick a flat, knowing what it would become. Who are you now?
Stephen lifted his gaze, a childs old resentment flashing.
Im the boy you raised. A perfect robot. And robots, Dad, Mum, cant ask for help. They break.
He spread his arms theatrically and walked away.
I moved to the window. Night had fallen, streetlights flickering. The horizon of our life, once clear and predictable, lay shattered. The worst part wasnt the loss of money. The deepest wound was realising that the picture of perfect happiness wed sacrificed everything for had been drawn on sand from the start.
