**The Puppy**
Emily and her son, Alfie, lived alone. Of course, Alfie had a father, but the man wanted nothing to do with them. Alfie never asked—children in nursery cared more about toys than absent fathers.
Emily had once been head over heels for Alfie’s father. But when she told him she was pregnant, he dropped the bombshell—he was married. His wife’s father was his boss. Leaving her would ruin him financially, and he warned Emily not to expect child support. If she pushed, things would get ugly.
She vanished from his life. Alfie was sweet, and that was enough.
Emily taught Year Three, while Alfie attended nursery. They needed no one else.
After New Year’s, a new PE teacher arrived—tall, fit, smiling. Every single woman in the staff room, and there were plenty, immediately flirted and giggled at his jokes. Everyone except Emily. Maybe that was why he noticed her.
One afternoon, as she left the school gates, a Range Rover pulled up beside her. The PE teacher, Jack Wilson, stepped out and swung the passenger door open.
“Get in,” he said, grinning.
“It’s not far—” Emily hesitated.
“Faster by car, even if it’s just down the road.”
She wavered, then slid in. Jack revved the engine. “Address?”
“I—I don’t know. Just the nursery number.”
He frowned. “What nursery?”
“My son’s. Alfie’s five.” She grabbed the door handle. “Maybe I should walk—”
“Wait.” He turned the ignition. “I’ll drive you.”
Emily exhaled. Fine. Let him take her. What man would want a woman with baggage when there were plenty of single teachers around?
“You’re not in a hurry?” she asked.
“Nope. No wife, no kids.”
Her eyebrow arched. “Bad temper? Or just unlucky in love?”
“Feisty. Didn’t expect that.” He chuckled. “Never found the right one. And my temper’s no worse than yours, Emily Clarke.”
“Regretting offering me a lift? Turn left here.”
They stopped outside the nursery.
“I’ll wait,” Jack said as she stepped out.
Emily hesitated. “Don’t. We live close. I don’t want Alfie asking questions.” Her tone was firm, like she was scolding a pupil. “Go home.”
She shut the door and walked away.
Jack sat there, drumming his fingers. Then, with a muttered curse, he drove off. Ten minutes later, Emily emerged with Alfie. No Range Rover. Of course. A single mum was too much hassle.
But the next day, Jack was back at the gates.
“Thought I ran off when I heard you had a kid?” He smirked. “Guess again. Hop in.”
Emily smiled faintly and nodded. When she led Alfie to the car, the boy studied Jack warily, just as she had.
“This is Mr. Wilson, from school.” Emily forced cheer into her voice. “Get in, love.”
Alfie didn’t bounce with excitement. He climbed silently into the backseat and stared out the window.
“Where to?” Jack turned.
“Not too far. No child seat—police might fine us,” Emily cut in.
“How about the arcade? Too cold for the park. Alfie, sound good?”
The boy didn’t answer. Jack shrugged and pulled away.
At school, whispers followed Emily. The other teachers smirked when Jack entered the staff room, exchanging glances before making excuses to leave.
Jack took his time. He stayed for dinner twice, then left. On the third night, he didn’t go home. Emily barely slept, checking the clock, terrified Alfie would wander in and find them.
“Relax,” Jack murmured at dawn, tugging her close. “Kid’s smart. He’ll adjust.”
She pushed free just as Alfie padded into the kitchen, blinking.
“Morning,” he mumbled, eyeing Jack.
Emily pasted on a smile. “Washed up? Breakfast’s ready.”
She served Jack first—an unspoken hierarchy Alfie noticed instantly.
Jack grinned. “Race you. First to finish their pancakes wins.”
Alfie frowned. “Why?”
“Fun. Men rise to challenges.” Jack took an exaggerated bite.
Alfie chewed slowly, refusing to play along.
Jack tried again. “Birthday coming up, yeah? Want a transformer? RC car?”
“A puppy,” Alfie said flatly.
“Electronic one?”
Alfie rolled his eyes. “A real one.”
Emily sighed. “We’ve talked about this. Puppies need walks, training. We’re gone all day—”
“Then I don’t want anything.” Alfie’s voice shook.
Jack forced a smile. “Finish up. We’ll hit the toy store.”
March turned bitter again. The thaw reversed, lashing them with icy wind and sleet.
At the shopping centre, Emily hunted for discounted shoes while Jack paraded toys before Alfie. The boy barely glanced at robots or cars—until a high-end transformer caught his eye. But Emily dragged him away for a coat fitting.
Outside, laden with bags—one holding the transformer—they braced against the sleet.
Something small and filthy darted at their feet. Jack swore.
“See that? Nearly stepped on it,” he muttered.
Alfie dropped to his knees. A shivering, mud-caked puppy cowered by Jack’s boots.
Jack kicked it aside. “Sod off.”
The puppy yelped. Alfie lunged, scooping it up. “You—you idiot!” he screamed.
“Alfie!” Emily gasped. “Apologise!”
But he clutched the trembling creature, glaring.
“He’s filthy, probably diseased,” Jack snapped.
“Let’s get a proper one next weekend,” Emily pleaded.
Jack reached for the puppy. Alfie spun and bolted—straight into a reversing car.
Emily screamed.
The bumper clipped Alfie’s side. He crumpled, still cradling the puppy, tears streaking his face.
“The little berk ran right into my blind spot!” the driver yelled.
Emily helped Alfie up, trembling. “No harm done,” Jack told the man, who sped off.
“Drop that mutt,” Jack hissed. “Needs a thrashing, this one.”
“Enough!” Emily snapped. “We’re going home.”
Alfie glared. “I’m keeping him. And I’m not getting in the car with *him*.”
Jack scoffed. “Little brat. Let’s see how long before that mongrel ruins your flat—”
“Jack. Leave.” Emily’s voice was ice.
He spat a curse, revved the engine, and sprayed exhaust at them as he sped off.
At home, they bathed the pup. Once dry, it was fluffy and sweet. The vet cleared him the next day.
“You saved him,” the vet told Alfie, shaking his hand. “Dogs never forget kindness.”
Back home, Emily fretted. “But tomorrow—work, nursery—”
“We’ll shut him in the bathroom.”
“And let him howl all day?”
Alfie beamed. “He’s clever. It’ll be fine.”
That evening, Jack arrived with roses.
“Sorry, Em. Lost my temper.”
She blocked the doorway. “We’re done.”
His smirk turned nasty. “Who else’ll want you with that brat?”
Emily shoved him out and slammed the door.
Inside, Alfie played on the floor, the puppy licking his hands.
“Mum! Look—he’s smiling!”
The pup yawned, curled up, and dozed off.
“Was that *him*?” Alfie asked.
Emily nodded. “He won’t come back.”
Alfie grinned. “Good. We’ve got Smiley now.”
“Who?”
“That’s his name. Short for… well, *smile*.”
Emily watched her son, heart aching. She’d been wrong about Jack. But Alfie’s joy? That was real.
And for now, it was enough.