During the time of the Soviet Union, I married a woman with three children. They had no one to help them—completely on their own.
“Andy, seriously, you’re actually going to marry that shop assistant with three kids? Lost your mind?” Vic, my flatmate in the student digs, clapped me on the shoulder with a smirk.
“What’s the problem?” I didn’t even look up from tinkering with the alarm clock, just glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.
Back in the ’80s, our provincial town lived slowly, without fuss. For me, a thirty-year-old bachelor, life was just a cycle between the factory and my bunk in the dorm. After university, that was it—work, a bit of chess, telly, and rare meet-ups with mates.
Sometimes I’d look out the window, see the kids playing in the yard, and it’d hit me—how I’d once dreamed of a family. But I’d shake it off quick. What kind of family could you have in a cramped dorm room?
Everything changed one rainy October evening. I stopped by the shop for bread—same as always. But this time, behind the counter was her—Natalie. Never noticed her before, but this time, my eyes stuck. Tired, but warm eyes, with a spark hidden deep inside.
“White loaf or wholemeal?” she asked with a slight smile.
“White,” I muttered like a flustered schoolboy.
“Fresh from the bakery,” she said, wrapping it deftly and handing it over.
When our fingers brushed, something clicked. I fumbled for change while stealing glances at her. Simple, in an apron, early thirties. Worn out, but with something bright inside.
A few days later, I saw her at the bus stop. Natalie was lugging bags, three kids milling about. The oldest—a lad of fourteen—carried a heavy bag with a serious face, while the girl held the little one’s hand.
“Let me help,” I offered, taking a bag.
“No, it’s fine—” she began, but I was already loading things onto the bus.
“Mum, who’s this?” the youngest piped up.
“Quiet, Alfie,” his sister scolded.
On the ride, I learned they lived near my factory, in an old council flat. The eldest was Jack, the girl—Emily, the little one—Alfie. Natalie’s husband had died years ago, and she’d been raising them alone since.
“We manage,” she said with a tired smile.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Her eyes, Alfie’s voice—something forgotten stirred inside me, like something important was waiting.
After that, I made frequent trips to the shop. Milk, biscuits, just dropping by. The lads at work started ribbing me.
“Andy, what’s this? Three trips a day—must be love,” smirked Pete, my foreman.
“Just keeping fresh stock,” I brushed it off, flushing.
“Or the shop girl?” he winked.
One evening, I waited for Natalie after her shift.
“Let me carry those,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“You don’t have to… it’s awkward.”
“Sleeping on the ceiling—that’s awkward,” I joked, taking the bags.
She told me about the kids. Jack had a part-time job after school, Emily was top of her class, and Alfie had just learned to tie his laces.
“You’re very kind. But don’t pity us,” she said suddenly.
“I don’t. I want to be here.”
Later, I went round to fix a leaky tap. Alfie hovered, fascinated by the tools.
“Can you fix planes too?”
“Bring it here, we’ll see,” I grinned.
Emily asked for help with maths. Over tea, we talked. Only Jack kept his distance. Then I overheard:
“Mum, does he want you? What if he leaves?”
“He’s not like that.”
“They’re all the same!”
I stood in the hall, fists clenched. Part of me wanted to walk out. But I remembered Emily’s face when she got top marks, Alfie’s laughter fixing his toy plane—and I knew I couldn’t.
Gossip spread at work, but I didn’t care. I knew why I stayed.
“Andy, mate,” Vic said, “think this through. Why take on someone else’s problems? Find a nice girl, no baggage.”
“You off your head? Marry a shop girl with three kids?” my flatmate scoffed.
“Sod off,” I grumbled, still fiddling with the alarm clock.
One evening, I helped Alfie with a school project. He stuck his tongue out, concentrating hard.
“Uncle Andy, are you coming to stay forever?” he blurted.
“How d’you mean?”
“Like… live with us. Like Dad.”
I froze. A floorboard creaked—Natalie stood in the doorway, hand over her mouth. A second later, she hurried to the kitchen.
She was crying into a tea towel.
“Natalie, love, what’s wrong?” I touched her shoulder gently.
“Sorry… Alfie’s little. Doesn’t understand.”
“What if he’s not wrong?” I turned her to face me.
Her tear-filled eyes met mine.
“You mean it?”
“Dead serious.”
Jack burst in.
“Mum, you okay? He upset you?” He glared at me.
“No, Jack, it’s fine,” Natalie said through tears.
“You’re lying! Why’s he here? Get out!” he shouted.
“Let him speak,” I said, holding his gaze. “Say what you think.”
“Why d’you keep coming round? We’ve no money, the flat’s tiny… What d’you want from us?”
“You. Emily. Alfie. Your mum. I need all of you. I’m not leaving, so don’t hope for it.”
Jack stared, then slammed his bedroom door. Muffled sobs came through.
“Go to him,” Natalie whispered. “You have to.”
I found him on the balcony, knees hugged tight, staring into the dark.
“Mind if I join you?” I sat beside him.
“What d’you want?”
“Grew up without a dad too. Mum tried, but it was hard.”
“So?”
“Just know what it’s like—no one to show you how to fix a bike brake or stand up for yourself.”
“I can fight,” he muttered.
“Bet you can. You’re a good lad, Jack. But being a man’s not just about fists. It’s knowing when to let someone help—for your family.”
Silence. Then, barely audible:
“You really won’t leave?”
“Swear it. On my life.”
“Don’t lie,” he said, almost smiling.
“Andy, you’re really doing this? Marrying Natalie?” Auntie Val raised a brow as I picked a ring at the department store.
“Dead serious,” I said, eyeing a simple band with a tiny stone.
I proposed simply, no fuss. Bought wildflowers—Natalie once said she loved them more than roses. That evening, Alfie hugged me first.
“Who’re the flowers for?”
“Your mum. And there’s something else.”
Natalie froze when she saw them.
“Natalie…” My voice shook, though I hadn’t meant it to. “Maybe it’s time we made it official? Tired of just visiting.”
Emily gasped. Jack looked up from his book. Natalie burst into tears.
“Mum, why?” Alfie panicked. “Bad present?”
“Best one, love,” she smiled through tears.
We married quietly at the factory canteen. Natalie wore a homemade white dress. I had a new suit. Jack stuck close to her all day, solemn. Emily decorated the hall with friends, while Alfie announced to everyone:
“This is my new dad! Forever now!”
A month later, the factory gave us a two-bed flat in a new build. Pete helped.
“All yours, newlywed,” he clapped my shoulder. “Just sort the decorating yourself, yeah?”
“Course,” I grinned. “With my own hands.”
And we did. Jack plastered. Emily chose wallpaper. Alfie passed tools. Natalie cooked, and we ate on the floor. Happiest time of my life.
Natalie quit the shop—I convinced her to rest. Jack started college and helped me with projects. Emily took up dance. Alfie just glowed.
Not everything was perfect. There were rows, tough moments. Once, Jack came home drunk after a night out. I didn’t shout—just sat opposite.
“Well?”
“Feel rough,” he admitted.
“Good. Means you’ve got sense.”
He never drank like that again.
Five years on, Natalie and I sat on our new balcony. I’d become head engineer. She rested her head on my shoulder.
“Think often… what we’d have done without you.”
“I think how I’d live without you lot,” I said, kissing her temple”And when Jack brought his girlfriend round—a bright-eyed girl named Lucy who’d lost her dad too—I saw him look at me the same way I’d once looked at Natalie, and I knew the circle had closed.”
