**The Road to Happiness**
Rodney walked home from work. It was a fair distance, but the evening was warm and still, the air thick with the promise of summer. On nights like this, he didn’t regret not owning a car.
He’d spent his whole life in the heart of the city with his parents, surrounded by noise and bustle. But recently, he’d moved to the outskirts, to a quiet suburban estate. He’d come home exhausted, collapsing into bed just to wake up and plunge back into the chaos of central London.
At night, the moon peered unhindered through his bedroom window—no trees, no nearby buildings, not even curtains to block its silver glow. He lived on the twelfth floor of a new-build flat overlooking fields and a distant fringe of woodland. Sometimes, he’d wake in the small hours, disoriented by the unfamiliar blue-lit room before remembering where he was.
***
Two years ago, he hadn’t known shared flats still existed. Not like the old days, with ten families crammed into one kitchen, but still—living with strangers, sharing bathrooms, never feeling truly at home.
Rodney had grown up in an ordinary two-bedroom flat near Camden, with high ceilings and spacious rooms. His mother worked as a nursery teacher, his father drove a bus. They weren’t rich, but they managed holidays by the seaside.
Then, in a single day, everything fell apart.
His father hadn’t broken any laws. He’d waited for the light to turn green, eased the bus forward—when suddenly, a woman bolted into the road, dragging a wheeled suitcase. He slammed on the brakes, but physics didn’t care about good intentions. She died in the ambulance.
Turned out she was rushing for a train. Her son-in-law had promised her a lift but backed out last minute. They’d argued, and in a rage, she’d stormed toward the station—convinced she could make it.
The same son-in-law later screamed in court that a drunk driver had killed his beloved mother-in-law. There’d been a farewell party the night before for a retiring colleague—yes, there’d been drinks. But the medical exam showed nothing in his father’s system. Still, somehow, the report claimed otherwise.
To protect his colleagues, his father said he’d had a drink at a birthday party. He took the blame. His mother wept. Money grew tight. A nursery teacher’s salary wasn’t much. Rodney announced he wouldn’t go to university—he’d work instead.
*”Oh, so you want the army now? First your father, now you—do you want to destroy me?”* she’d sobbed.
To calm her, he promised to keep studying. Then, just before graduation, his father died in prison. A heart attack.
Rodney kept his word—he went to university. Two years later, his mother remarried and moved in with her new husband, leaving him alone in the flat. She still paid the bills, sent him money—*just focus on your studies*. She could afford it. Her new husband wasn’t just some office worker; he was senior management. Rodney barely registered the details.
When his classmates found out he had an empty flat, they turned it into a party venue. At first, he loved it—the noise, the laughter, waking up to strangers passed out on the sofa. But soon, the chaos wore him down.
His neighbours complained. His mother arrived unannounced one morning and walked in on a half-dressed girl sauntering to the bathroom, utterly unfazed.
Predictably, she exploded. Kicked everyone out. Threatened to cut him off if this kept up.
Two weeks of silence followed. Then his mates begged to use the flat for a birthday party. They kept it civilised—mostly. But the drink flowed.
The next morning, he woke with a warm body beside him—a girl, face turned to the wall, fiery red hair fanned across the pillow. The only redhead in their group was Melody Carter.
Rodney slipped out without waking her. He remembered nothing—but if anything had happened, surely he wouldn’t have put his boxers back on?
He checked the flat. They were alone. Showered, made coffee. Melody emerged in his oversized T-shirt, purring nonsense, reaching for his mug. He pulled away.
*”What? You said you loved me last night,”* she huffed.
*”Don’t be daft,”* Rodney muttered. *”Nothing happened. And if Kyle finds out, he’ll flatten me.”*
*”We broke up. Didn’t you know?”* Her voice cracked. *”That’s why I got so wrecked. He’s shagging Lauren from fifth year.”*
He herded her into the shower, bagged the empty bottles, aired out the flat. His mother could drop by any time.
They missed lectures. Melody begged him to skip and go to the cinema—but Rodney refused. When his mates asked where she was, he feigned confusion. *”Thought she left with the rest of you?”*
She didn’t speak to him for weeks. Then she cornered him—*I’m late.*
Rodney’s stomach dropped. *”What’s that got to do with me?”*
*”Don’t play dumb. I’m pregnant,”* she spat.
*”Maybe it’s Kyle’s?”* He clung to the hope like a drowning man.
*”We used protection. That night, I was too pissed to think. You could’ve stopped it.”* Her voice cracked. *”What am I supposed to do?”*
He wasn’t ready. But he couldn’t leave her. *”We’ll get married if you want. Just… stop crying.”*
She kissed his cheek. The next day, she moved in.
His mother screamed that she’d seen it coming. Surprisingly, her husband backed him—*decent bloke, that one*. They married after summer exams, which Rodney nearly failed.
Melody gave birth in December—a tiny girl with fair hair and blue eyes. Rodney stared at her, feeling nothing. His mother still worked, so Melody took a gap year.
After lectures, Rodney raced home. Exhausted, Melody thrust the baby into his arms the second he stepped inside. He studied with the child in his lap, dragged himself to classes on no sleep. They fought constantly—once, she fled to her mates’ dorm.
*”Sometimes I think you don’t want me or this baby,”* he said one night. *”Did you marry me for the flat? Is she even mine?”* The question had gnawed at him. *”She was due after New Year’s.”*
Melody scoffed. *”Don’t believe me? Get a paternity test.”*
They didn’t speak for a week, moving like ghosts through the flat. Then he caved. Things settled—but the doubt lingered.
One day, he came home to unfamiliar shoes in the hall. *Visitors.* Then a voice—
*”Lucky you—flat in Camden, a husband. What if Rodney finds out?”*
*”He won’t. Not unless you tell him.”* Melody’s voice was steel.
Rodney stormed in. *”So you did lie. You weren’t at the dorm—you were with Kyle!”*
Three pairs of eyes fixed on him. He bolted, headed straight for the dorm.
Kyle was drinking with mates. Rodney swung first—but Kyle was stronger, quicker. The punch sent him reeling.
*”You two planned this, didn’t you?”* Rodney wiped blood from his lip.
*”Maybe.”* Kyle smirked.
Rodney lunged again—but his friends held him back.
At home, he threw Melody out.
*”I’m not leaving. I’m your wife. Polly’s legally yours. Sell the flat, and I won’t sue for child support.”*
Rodney remembered his father. He agreed.
That’s how he ended up in a shared flat with a warehouse worker whose visiting girlfriend brought enough food for all.
Six months later, his flatmate made an offer—*”Let’s swap. You take my sister’s place on the outskirts. Quiet. Fresh air.”*
Rodney agreed.
After graduation, his stepdad helped him find work. Life stabilised. His mother offered money for furniture, but he refused—he’d save for a car himself.
***
The sun dipped behind the rooftops. Cool air settled.
On a bench by the playground, a girl hunched, shoulders shaking. Rodney hesitated—then crossed the grass.
*”You alright?”*
*”What’s it to you?”* She glared.
He sat. *”It’s getting dark. Not safe. Come inside, tell me what’s wrong.”*
She followed him.
Her name was Natalie. Nineteen, though she looked sixteen. Thrown out by her mother—pregnant, abandoned. She’d confided in her mum, who’d pushed for an abortion. At the last second, Natalie refused—but lied about it. When she came home with the baby, all hell broke loose.
*”She won’t let me back in. What if she takes Danny away?”*
Rodney looked into Natalie’s tear-filled eyes, smiled softly, and said, *”You’re not alone anymore,”* as he reached for the baby, knowing this was where he was meant to be.
