“Artem, you look like you’ve lost a fiver and found a penny,” James said, clapping him on the back as they left the gym.
Artem kept his eyes down. “My life’s falling apart, and I’m pretending it’s fine.”
“Let’s grab a coffee—you can tell me about it. Sounds serious.”
They walked into a small café near the gym, ordering lattes and carrot cake. James rambled about his wife and how they’d been picking out a pram for their newborn, laughing at the chaos. But Artem just nodded, barely listening.
“Oi, you’re miles away. I’m chatting, and you look like you’re at a funeral,” James finally said.
Artem took a deep breath, clasping his hands. “You know Emily’s got a daughter, Lily. When we started dating, she was only two. All this time, she lived with Emily’s mum in Manchester. Emily sent money, visited, but swore her mum would raise her. Even after we married and moved to London, she insisted—‘It’s just us two, always will be.’ But six months ago, she brought Lily home. Said it was easier—school nearby, all that. But I can’t… I don’t want this.”
James sighed. “Mate, you knew she had a kid. Did you really think the girl would stay up north forever?”
“Yeah, but Emily promised! Now the kid’s everywhere—underfoot, needing attention. I love Emily, but I can’t pretend Lily’s mine.”
“So either you accept her as yours, or you walk away. No half-measures here. If you want Emily, you love Lily too. Or make room for someone who can.”
On the walk home, Artem replayed the conversation. He remembered Emily asking him to take Lily to ballet, hoping they’d bond. He’d just scowled, brushed her off. Today, she’d asked him to drive Lily to dance class. He went, but stayed silent the whole ride. Lily chattered about school, how she loved painting, how excited she was for Christmas.
“Artem… do you not like me?” she suddenly asked.
“Where’d that come from?”
“You never talk to me. You never smile. Maybe I annoy you? There’s a boy in my class I don’t like—we’re not friends. Maybe that’s how you feel about me…”
He didn’t reply—they’d arrived. But her words stuck in his chest like a splinter.
That night, as Emily tucked Lily in, he approached her. “Em… will Lily go back to your mum’s? Maybe after Christmas?”
Emily turned, disbelief flashing in her eyes. “Are you serious? We’ve been married six years. You knew about Lily from the start. She’s my daughter. She belongs with us now. Mum’s getting older—she can’t manage anymore. And a child needs her mother. What’s your problem?”
“We agreed differently. I thought we’d have our own kids—not me raising someone else’s. Sorry, but she doesn’t feel like mine.”
Emily went pale. She stepped back, hands dropping to her sides. “Someone else’s? Six years together, planning a future, and now my daughter’s in the way? I need to think. You’re sleeping on the sofa tonight.”
Artem lay there, thoughts racing. Emily was right—but it still felt like betrayal. He’d believed one thing, and now everything had shifted.
Near dawn, he dreamed Lily ran to him, laughing, arms outstretched. He lifted her, spun her around, and she whispered, “Daddy.” He woke in a cold sweat.
Staring in the mirror, the answer was clear: step up or step out. The choice was his.
