Back in the days of the Soviet Union, I married a woman with three children—no one helped them, they were completely on their own.
“Andy, have you lost your mind? You’re really going to marry a shop assistant with three kids?” Vick, my roommate in the dorm, scoffed, clapping me on the shoulder.
“What’s wrong with that?” I didn’t even look up from the alarm clock I was fiddling with, but I caught his smirk out of the corner of my eye.
In the 1980s, our little provincial town moved at a slow pace, no rush, no fuss. For me—a thirty-year-old bachelor—life was just a cycle between the factory and my bunk in the shared flat. After university, I settled into the routine: work, the occasional chess game, telly, and rare meetups with mates.
Sometimes, I’d glance out the window, see kids playing in the courtyard, and feel it—the longing for a family I’d once dreamed of. But I’d shut it down fast. What kind of family could I have in a cramped dorm?
Everything changed one rainy October evening. I popped into the shop for bread, same as always—except this time, there she was. Emily. I’d never noticed her before, but this time, my gaze lingered. Tired but warm eyes, with a quiet spark hidden deep inside.
“White or brown?” she asked, offering a faint smile.
“White,” I mumbled like a flustered schoolboy.
“Fresh from the bakery,” she said, wrapping it neatly and handing it over.
When our fingers brushed, something clicked. I fumbled for change while stealing glances at her. Plain, in an apron, early thirties. Worn out, but with a glow about her.
A few days later, I spotted her at the bus stop. Emily was lugging shopping bags while three kids buzzed around her. The eldest—a lad around fourteen—was gripping a heavy bag with a serious look. The girl held the youngest boy’s hand.
“Let me help,” I said, taking the bags.
“You don’t have to—” she started, but I was already loading them onto the bus.
“Mum, who’s that?” the little one asked bluntly.
“Quiet, Ben,” his sister scolded.
On the ride, I learned they lived near my factory in an old council flat. The eldest was Tom, the girl was Lily, and the youngest—Ben. Emily’s husband had passed years ago, and she’d been raising them alone since.
“We manage,” she said with a weary smile.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Her voice, Ben’s chatter—it stirred something inside me, like a door creaking open to a future I’d forgotten.
Soon, I was a regular at the shop—milk one day, biscuits the next, excuses piling up.
“Andy, three trips a day—that’s not groceries, that’s love,” my foreman, Pete, teased.
“Just getting fresh stuff,” I muttered, face red.
“Or chatting up the shop girl?” he winked.
One evening, I waited for her after her shift.
“Let me carry those,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“You really don’t have to—”
“Sleeping on the ceiling’s worse,” I joked, taking the bags.
On the walk, she told me about the kids. Tom worked odd jobs after school, Lily was top of her class, and Ben 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 fixed their leaky tap. Ben hovered, fascinated by my tools.
“Can you fix aeroplanes too?”
“Bring me one, and we’ll see,” I grinned.
Lily asked for help with maths. We solved equations over tea while chatting about life. Only Tom kept his distance—watched me like a hawk. Then, I overheard:
“Mum, you need him? What if he leaves?”
“He’s different.”
“They’re all the same!”
I stood in the hallway, fists clenched. I almost walked out. But then I remembered Lily’s grin over her top marks, Ben’s laughter as we fixed his toy plane—and I knew I couldn’t leave.
Workplace gossip spread, but I didn’t care. I knew what I was living for.
“Andy, think this through,” Vick said. “Why take on the hassle? Find a nice girl without baggage.”
“Are you mad? Marry a shop girl with three kids?” my dormmate scoffed.
“Piss off,” I muttered, still tinkering with the clock.
One night, I helped Ben with a school project. He stuck his tongue out, concentrating hard.
“Uncle Andy, are you coming to stay forever?” he blurted.
“What d’you mean?”
“You know… like a dad.”
I froze. A floorboard creaked—Emily stood in the doorway, hand over her mouth. Then she turned and rushed to the kitchen.
She was crying into a tea towel.
“Em, what’s wrong?” I touched her shoulder gently.
“I’m sorry… Ben’s too young to understand—”
“What if he’s right?” I turned her to face me.
Her tear-filled eyes met mine.
“You mean it?”
“Dead serious.”
Tom burst in.
“Mum, what’s he done?” He glared at me.
“Nothing, Tom,” she said quickly.
“Liar! Why’s he here? Get out!”
“Let him speak,” I said, holding his stare. “Say what you need to.”
“What d’you want from us? We’ve no money, the flat’s tiny—why bother?”
“You. And Lily. And Ben. And your mum. I need all of you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Tom stared, then slammed his bedroom door. Muffled sobs followed.
“Go to him,” Emily whispered.
I found him on the balcony, knees hugged tight.
“Mind if I sit?”
He didn’t answer.
“I grew up without a dad too. Mum tried, but… it was hard.”
“So?”
“I know what it’s like—no one to teach you how to fix a bike or stand up for yourself.”
“I can fight,” he muttered.
“I bet. You’re strong, Tom. But being a man isn’t just about fists—it’s knowing when to let someone help. For your family.”
Silence. Then, barely audible:
“You’ll really stay?”
“Swear on my life.”
“Don’t lie.” For the first time, he almost smiled.
“Andy Smith, you’re seriously getting married? To Emily?” Aunt Val raised an eyebrow as I picked out a ring—simple, with a tiny stone.
“Dead serious.”
I proposed with wildflowers—she’d once said she liked them more than roses. Ben jumped on me first.
“Who’s the flowers for?”
“Your mum. And something else.”
Emily froze when she saw them.
“Em…” My voice shook. “Maybe it’s time we made it official?”
Lily gasped. Tom looked up from his book. Emily—burst into tears.
“Mum, bad present?” Ben panicked.
“Best one ever,” she smiled through tears.
We had a small wedding at the factory canteen. Emily wore a dress she’d sewn herself. Tom stuck close to her all day, solemn. Lily decorated the hall with her friends. Ben announced to everyone:
“This is my new dad! Forever!”
A month later, the factory gave us a two-bed flat in a new build. Pete slapped my back.
“Newlyweds, eh? Just don’t expect them to do the decorating.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I grinned.
We did it ourselves. Tom plastered, Lily picked wallpaper, Ben passed me tools. Emily cooked, and we ate on the floor. Those were the happiest days.
Emily quit the shop—I insisted she rest. Tom started college, helped me with projects. Lily took up dance. Ben just shone.
It wasn’t perfect. There were rows. Once, Tom came home drunk—first time with mates. I didn’t shout. Just sat across from him.
“Well?”
“Feel rough,” he admitted.
“Good. Means you’ve got sense.”
He never touched a drop after that.
Five years on, Emily and I sat on our new balcony. I was head engineer now. She leaned on my shoulder.
“Sometimes I think… what would we have done without you?”
“I think—how empty my life would’ve been without you.”
Inside, Ben crashed through another failed model. Lily played piano. Tom appeared in the doorway—tall, steady.
“Dad, you promised to teach me to drive.”
“Let’s go, son.”
And we did. Forward. Into our family. The life we built—brick by brick.
Recently, Tom brought a girl home.
“This is Jess. Her dad’s gone. She’s scared no one’ll want herI took her hand and said, “In this family, we don’t turn anyone away—we just make the table bigger.”
