The divorce crushed Marina like a steamroller. She had worshipped her husband and never expected betrayal from him, least of all with her best friend. In a single day, she lost two people she had entrusted with her heart. Her faith in men shattered. She’d heard the phrase, “All men cheat,” but had always waved it off—”My Artem isn’t like that.” Now, the pain of betrayal scorched her from within, and she vowed never to open her soul to anyone again.
Marina was raising her daughter, Emily. Her ex-husband paid child support dutifully and saw the girl occasionally, but he had little interest in being a father. Marina resigned herself to a lifetime of solitude. There was even a bitter comfort in it—life without a man felt simpler. But fate loves to upend plans.
At a colleague’s birthday party in a cosy café in York, Marina met Andrew—the birthday girl’s brother. He, too, had survived a divorce, and to her surprise, his son Oliver lived with him, not his mother. Andrew explained: the boy had chosen his father, and his ex-wife, wrapped up in a new love affair, hadn’t objected. A teenager was just baggage to her.
That evening rekindled a warmth in Marina she’d long forgotten. Like a schoolgirl, she felt butterflies—something she hadn’t known for years. Andrew wasn’t indifferent either. Both scarred by divorce, they feared new emotions, yet the spark between them was undeniable.
Andrew got Marina’s number from his sister and, mustering his courage, called her. Avoiding the word “date”—it felt ridiculous at their age—he suggested meeting just to talk. They went to a quaint restaurant, talking until closing time without noticing the hours pass. Then came another meeting, and another…
One weekend, Emily stayed with her father, and Marina invited Andrew over. After that night, neither wanted to part ways. Their love, tender and mature, felt like redemption. But there was one obstacle—the children.
Both had teenagers. Oliver, Andrew’s son, was a year older than Emily. Different personalities, interests, friends. At first, Marina and Andrew met discreetly, occasionally bringing the kids along, only to notice with dismay: Emily and Oliver weren’t just indifferent—they barely hid their dislike.
A year and a half later, Andrew couldn’t take it anymore. He proposed. He loved Marina so fiercely it made him feel like a boy again, but he wanted a real family this time—not the hollow shell of his first marriage. Secret meetings and phone calls weren’t enough. Stunned, Marina said yes. She, too, longed to fall asleep beside him, make breakfast together, watch films in the evening.
They discussed everything. Living in their cramped two-bedroom flats wouldn’t work—teenage boys and girls needed separate rooms. Selling their flats and dipping into Andrew’s savings, they bought a spacious house in a York suburb. The hardest part remained: telling the kids.
They decided to break the news separately. “I don’t want to live with Andrew and his son!” Emily protested. “Why can’t you just keep dating? Why marry and buy this house?” Marina’s heart ached for her daughter, but she knew—in a few years, Emily would leave the nest. What then? A hollow life? She’d seen too many mothers sacrifice everything, only to suffocate their children with guilt later. Marina refused that fate. Firm but gentle, she said, “It’s decided. But I’ll always listen, and you’re still my priority.”
Emily sulked but didn’t argue. Her father, recently remarried, called less often, and she felt abandoned. After a long talk, she reluctantly agreed, trusting her mother wouldn’t betray her.
Andrew’s conversation with Oliver wasn’t smoother. “Why should I live with some girl and her mum?” the boy grumbled. “Because I love Marina,” Andrew replied calmly. “Then I’ll move in with Mum!” Oliver shot back. “Go ahead,” Andrew said evenly. “But it’ll hurt if you bail when things get tough. Also, Mum’s in a one-bed flat now—we’re getting a house. I wanted to set up football goals in the garden for us.” Oliver grumbled but gave in. “Don’t expect me to act like Emily’s my sister,” he muttered. “Just respect her,” Andrew replied.
Emily, too, declared she wanted nothing to do with Oliver. The wedding was small, just family. At the restaurant, the kids sat with sour faces, making their disdain obvious.
A week later, they moved into the new house. The children’s rooms reflected their polar tastes—Emily, an early riser, wandered the house at dawn while Oliver gamed till midnight, sleeping in on weekends. She hated fish; he could eat it daily. She loved J-pop and manga; he blasted punk rock and binged action films. They had nothing in common—every conversation ended in bickering.
Then, unexpectedly, Emily warmed to Andrew. With her father fading from her life, she craved male attention. Andrew, though strict, treated her like his own, sometimes spoiling her more than Oliver. “She’s a girl,” he’d say. Oliver, in turn, bonded with Marina. His mother barely acknowledged him, too wrapped up in her new man. Marina listened without judgment, and soon Oliver was confiding in her.
Marina and Andrew hoped the kids would become friends, but six months passed with no change. They came and went separately, mingled with different crowds at school, and holed up in their rooms. The parents accepted it—so long as they weren’t at war.
Everything changed one afternoon. Emily had a persistent admirer—a boy from another class. She disliked him, and his behaviour was unsettling: notes, constant messages, unwanted invites. She told him to back off—he didn’t listen.
After drama club one day, Emily lingered at school. Stepping outside, she found the boy blocking her path. “Come for a walk,” he said. “Leave me alone!” she snapped. “You don’t like me?” he pressed. “No! And you’re harassing me!” She tried to push past—he grabbed her wrist. “You’re coming with me.” She struggled, but he was stronger.
Oliver, chatting with friends nearby, spotted them. Emily looked terrified. Without thinking, he sprinted over, his mates following. “Let her go!” Oliver barked. “Who are you—her boyfriend?” the boy sneered. “I’m her brother, you idiot!” Oliver punched him square in the face. The boy fled under the glares of Oliver’s friends.
“He hurt you?” Oliver asked. Emily rubbed her wrist. “Been pestering me for weeks.” “He won’t now,” one friend said. Oliver jerked his chin. “You heading home?” Emily nodded, murmuring, “Thanks.”
For the first time, they walked home together. Marina froze at the sight but said nothing, afraid to jinx it. That evening, Emily knocked on Oliver’s door. “Want to watch a film?” “Sure,” he shrugged.
When Andrew came home, he stopped dead. Emily and Oliver were sprawled in the lounge, sharing crisps, an action film playing. “What’s this?” he whispered. “No idea,” Marina breathed. “But I’m afraid to blink.”
From that day, they began talking. Still opposites, they found common ground. Years later, with families of their own, they stayed close—godparents to each other’s children, introducing themselves as brother and sister. Easier to explain, and by then, it was true in their hearts.
