**The Puppy**
Tom and his mum lived alone. His father existed, of course—though Tom didn’t ask questions yet. In school, kids might brag about their parents, but at nursery, toys mattered far more than whether you had a dad or not.
Emily had decided Tom was better off not knowing the truth: that she’d once been head over heels for his father, only for the man to reveal he was married when she told him she was pregnant. His wife’s father was his boss, he’d said—leaving her would ruin him financially, and what use was a man with nothing? He advised her to “take care of it” before it was too late—no court would squeeze child support from him anyway. If she pushed, she’d regret it…
She vanished from his life without protest and raised Tom on her own. He turned out sweet, and that was enough.
Emily taught primary school, and five-year-old Tom went to nursery. They needed no one else.
After New Year’s, a new PE teacher arrived—tall, fit, always grinning. Every single woman on staff (and most were single) instantly took notice, flirting over coffee or lingering in the halls. Only Emily ignored him, never laughing at his jokes. Maybe that’s why he singled her out.
One afternoon, as she left the school gates, a Land Rover pulled up beside her. The PE teacher—James—hopped out and swung the passenger door open.
“Hop in,” he said with a smile.
“It’s not far,” Emily replied, flustered.
“Still better than walking,” he reasoned.
After a pause, she climbed in. James slid behind the wheel. “Address?”
“I… don’t know mine. Just the nursery number.” She fidgeted with her bag.
“Nursery?” He frowned.
“My son’s. Tom’s five.” She reached for the door handle. “I should walk—”
“Wait.” The engine roared to life. “Let’s go.”
She shut the door. Fine—he could drive her to collect Tom. It wasn’t like anything would happen between them anyway. What man would choose a woman with baggage when there were plenty without?
“If you’re not in a hurry…” she sighed.
“Nowhere to be. No wife, no kids,” he offered before she could ask.
“Bad temper, then? Or just gun-shy after some heartbreak?”
“Feisty. Didn’t peg you for that.” He chuckled. “Had my share of both. Never got to weddings, though—not always my fault. And nobody’s perfect, *Miss Dawson*.” His eyes flicked to her. “You’re not what you seem either.”
“Regret picking me up yet? Turn here—left!”
The car stopped outside the nursery.
“I’ll wait,” James said as she stepped out.
She hesitated. “Don’t. We live close. I don’t want Tom asking questions. Understood?” Her tone was the one she used for slow students. Then she shut the door firmly and walked away.
James sat there a moment, thinking, before driving off. Ten minutes later, when Emily emerged holding Tom’s hand, she exhaled—equal parts relief and disappointment. Of course. A ready-made family wasn’t what he wanted. *Good*, she told herself. *We don’t need him either.*
But the next day, James was waiting again.
“Thought I’d bolted when I heard about Tom, eh? Wrong.” He grinned. “Nursery again?”
She nodded, smiling despite herself. When Tom saw the car, he studied James with the same stern look Emily had worn the day before, then glanced up at her.
“This is Mr. Carter. From my school. Get in, love,” she said, too brightly.
Tom didn’t cheer or scramble inside. He climbed silently into the backseat and stared out the window.
“Where to?” James twisted to face him.
“Somewhere nearby. No child seat—we’ll get fined,” Emily cut in.
“Soft play centre, then. Too chilly for the park. Sound good, Tom?” James’ voice was hearty.
Tom kept staring out the window as if it held the world’s secrets. James smirked and pulled away.
At school, conversations hushed when Emily entered the staff room. When James followed, colleagues scurried out, exchanging knowing smirks.
He didn’t rush things. Twice, he left after dinner at hers. The third time, he stayed till dawn. Emily slept fitfully, checking the clock—terrified Tom would stumble upon them.
“Kid’s sharp. He’ll adjust,” James murmured at sunrise, tugging her close.
She slipped free and dressed. Weekdays, Tom slept like a log—today, of course, he woke early. When he padded into the kitchen after washing up, Emily was flipping pancakes. James sat at the table.
“Hello,” Tom said, eyeing James warily.
“Breakfast’s ready.” Emily smiled at both of them, sliding pancakes onto plates—James’ first, Tom noticed.
“Two sugars,” James said when she offered tea. His gaze never left Tom. “Race you to finish?”
“Why?” Tom’s tone was flat.
“Just fun. Real men rise to a challenge.” James took an exaggerated bite.
Tom chewed slowly, ignoring the game. Emily was proud—he wasn’t easily swayed—but her heart sank. James didn’t impress him.
“Your birthday’s coming up,” James tried again. “What d’you want? Transformer? Remote-control car?”
“A puppy.”
“Robotic ones are for babies,” James scoffed.
“A *real* one.” Tom’s look could’ve withered grass.
“We’ve talked about this,” Emily cut in. “Puppies need walks, training—we’re out all day. When you’re older—”
“Then I don’t want anything.” Tom shoved his plate away.
“Finish up. We’ll hit the toy shop,” James said, swallowing his last bite.
March’s warmth vanished overnight. Icy wind spat needle-like snow as they drove to the mall. Emily hunted for discounted shoes—Tom outgrew everything—while James lectured on action figures. Tom barely glanced at them until a premium Transformer caught his eye. But Emily whisked him off to try coats.
Leaving, their bags held one large box—James guessed the Transformer. As they crossed the car park, snow flurried anew. A small, mud-caked blur darted under their feet. James swore.
“See that? Nearly trampled the thing!”
Tom dropped to his knees. A shivering ball of fur cowered by the wheels.
“Piss off,” James muttered, nudging it with his boot. The puppy yelped.
Tom snatched it up, glaring. “You *idiot*!”
“Tom! Apologise!” Emily demanded.
He clutched the filthy pup tighter, mute with defiance.
“He’s diseased, love. Put him down!”
Tom’s look said *never*.
“He’ll freeze. I’ll clean up after him,” Tom whispered, lip trembling.
“Your mum’s right,” James said, handing Emily the bags. “We’ll get a *proper* pup from the breeder. Give him here.”
Tom spun and sprinted across the car park—straight into a reversing SUV.
“TOM!” Emily screamed.
The car clipped him. He sat on the tarmac, still cradling the puppy, tears cutting tracks through grime.
“Where does it hurt? Let him *go*!” Emily wiped his face.
“Watch your kid, lady!” The driver glared. “Blind spot—not my fault!”
“No harm done,” James said, waving him off.
At home, they bathed and fed the pup. By morning, fluffed dry, he was downright charming. The vet found nothing wrong. “You saved him,” she told Tom, shaking his hand. “He’ll love you forever.”
“What about tomorrow?” Emily fretted on the way home. “We can’t leave him.”
“Lock him in the loo,” Tom said.
“And let him howl the place down?”
“He’s clever. It’ll be fine.”
“My brave boy.” She ruffled his hair.
That evening, James arrived with roses. “Em, I overreacted—”
“No, James. This won’t work.”
“Really? Good luck finding another bloke who’ll take you *and* your brat!”
She shoved him out and slammed the door. In the living room, Tom giggled as the pup licked his fingers.
“Mum! Look—he’s smiling!”
“Who?”
“Smiley. That’s his name.”
Watching them, Emily wondered when *her* happiness would come. But if Tom was happy, maybe that was enough. James had proven one thing: love shouldn’t kick puppies—or children.
