Andrew Clarke and his wife Margaret had spent five years dreaming of a child, and when little Samuel was born it felt as if fate itself had blessed their union. They poured everything into himlove, time, unfulfilled ambitions, and, most of all, a set of rules carved in stone.
Above all, be honest, lad, I would say, reading him bedtime stories of heroes.
Integrity is what sets a person apart, Margaret would add, checking his diary.
Samuel grew up unusually serious for his age. He was principled, diligent, and eager to embody his parents ideals. He soaked up our lessons like a sponge, determined to be the perfect reflection of us. He earned a gold medal at school, secured a place at a prestigious economics faculty, and graduated with top honours. Teachers praised our parenting; neighbours sighed with envy.
Dont worry, Mum, Samuel would reassure Margaret when she fretted about university temptations. I have no time for that. I must focus on my studies.
He truly was the top student in his cohort, graduated with distinction, and landed a job straight away, spending most of his days in the office. He would come home late, eyes burning with a weary yet righteous fire.
One of the senior partners noticed me, he told us proudly one evening. Theyve given me a serious project.
Then came the moment we had both anticipated and feared. Samuel turned up on a Sunday morning, unexpected and off schedule, bearing news that made Margarets heart flutter with joy.
Mum, Dad, Ive met someone. Her names Poppy. Were going to rent a flat together.
His voice quivered, a tender, almost childlike uncertainty that we hadnt heard in years.
Poppy arrived at our house the following Sundayunassuming, with calm, intelligent eyes. She spoke respectfully, without any hint of pretence, and it was clear she cared for Samuel; she smiled warmly whenever he spoke.
She comes from a good family, Margaret whispered to me later in the kitchen as Samuel saw Poppy off to the taxi. Her fathers an engineer, her mother a teacher. And the way she looks at him its a good look.
I, usually reserved, grunted, Our lads turned into a schoolboy again. I havent seen him that alive in ages.
Poppy quickly became part of our lives. She brought over pies, helped Margaret in the kitchen, could discuss politics with me. We watched Samuel blossom beside her. The oncestern, singleminded son began to joke, laugh, and plan trips together. Most importantly, his eyes now held something no career or accolade could give him: simple, human happiness.
Six months after they met, Samuel and Poppy arrived handinhand, clearly excited.
Weve decided to get married, Samuel announced, and Poppy nodded, beaming.
He then added, glancing toward the sideboard, Were looking at flats with a mortgage, of course. The deposit Id be grateful if you could help.
Silence hung for a heartbeat. Theyd been saving for ten years to buy a country house£30,000. Margaret broke the quiet, looking at Poppys hopeful face and then at her son, her heart trembling.
Weve been putting away for a home out in the country, she said softly. But for you well think about it.
Their well think didnt last long. That evening, lying in bed, Margaret whispered, Andrew, theyre genuine. Cant you see? She loves him.
I sighed. Id seen the same thinghow Poppy looked at our son not as a project but as a man, how Samuel reached for her like for a home.
Theyre our future, I said quietly. Let them have a house of their own, a foundation they can build on.
Our tenyear, £30,000 nest egg, the dream of a quiet garden, dissolved in that moment. For our son, we said to each other, and within those words lay both sacrifice and an investment in an ideal future.
For the next few weeks the four of us worked as a team: scanning listings, attending viewings, arguing over floor plans. At last we found a bright twobedroom flat in a new development.
That evening, standing on the threshold of the new flat, I handed Samuel the keys with pride.
This is your wedding gift, I said. So you can drive straight from the registry office to your own home.
Samuel embraced us, gratitude shining in his eyes.
Well need to buy furniture, set everything up, then register the marriage, he replied.
Everything felt perfect.
Six months later the wedding had faded like smoke. Samuel showed up alone, pale, dark circles under his eyes.
Poppy she left. Said she couldnt take it anymore. That I wasnt who I pretended to be, he whispered.
Margaret gasped, clutching her chest. I wrapped an arm around my sons shoulders.
Hang on, lad. These things happen Youll come back, settle down, pull yourself together.
Yes, Dad, Samuel murmured. I want to come home.
He returned with nothing but a rucksack.
Margaret, sorrowful, noticed he hadnt even taken his books from the new flat. A week later anxiety gnawed at us. I dialed Poppys number. After endless rings, a weary voice answered.
Andrew its Poppy, she said, exhausted. Im sorry. I tried to get him to seek help for a year. He kept losing I couldnt go on.
An hour later I was at the door of the flat, only to be greeted by a stranger.
The flats sold, the man said politely. Weve moved in.
I sat on the stairwell for two hours, empty thoughts swirling, a void where certainty once lived. I couldnt remember how Id gotten home. In the living room Margaret knitted a scarf while a TV drama droned on.
The flats gone, I exhaled. He sold it. He lost.
Samuel stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of fear and hardened resolve.
Dad, Mum I need to explain.
There was no love leftwell, there had been, but Poppy walked away when she saw what Id become. My career had vanished too; Id been made redundant months earlier.
Id turned to gambling to ease the stress, placing tiny bets, then chasing the rush. Debt followedfirst small, then astronomical. I borrowed, mortgaged everything I could. In the end only the flat remainedthe parents gift. Id sold the very foundation theyd built for me and Poppy.
I thought I could win it all back! One big score and Id buy it back! But
I fell silent, eyes on the floor.
Ive hit rock bottom. Ive lost everything. I want to start over.
I stared at the man before memy son, the embodiment of all our hopesand saw nothing familiar. I saw a liar whod staged a performance for over a year, looking Poppy in the eye while steering us toward a cliff.
Margaret was the first to break the silence. Her voice trembled.
You made us believe in this happiness. You used her, used us. You watched us pick a flat and knew knew what it would become. Who are you now?
Samuel lifted his gaze, a flicker of childhood hurt flashing in his eyes.
I am what you raiseda perfect robot. And robots, Mum, Dad, dont know how to ask for help. They break.
He spread his arms dramatically and walked away.
I moved to the window. Night had fallen, streetlights flickering on. The horizon of our life, once clear and predictable, lay shattered. The worst part wasnt the loss of money. The real terror was realising that the perfect picture of happiness wed sacrificed everything for had been drawn on sand from the start.
