After getting his bonus at the factory, Andrew and his two mates were sitting in a cosy little pub. The bonus wasn’t much, but he wasn’t married, so money wasn’t a big deal to him.
“Money’s nice when it’s there,” he grinned, “and if it’s not, well, payday’s never too far off.”
He’d say this whenever his mates moaned about handing their wages over to their wives—assuming they hadn’t already stashed a secret tenner away.
“Yeah, Andy, easy for you, you’ve got no missus,” Ivan sighed glumly. “I’ve got three lads at home, and the pay doesn’t stretch far. Take my advice—stay single, mate. Otherwise, you’ll never hear the end of it—kids need feeding, shoes need mending, clothes don’t fit anymore… you know the drill.”
The lads laughed, but just then, a pretty, lively girl sidled up to their table. Spotting Andrew, she plonked herself right on his lap. He was the youngest of the lot, and though he flushed beet-red, he didn’t push her away.
“I’m Maisie,” she announced cheerfully. “And you?”
“Andy—uh, Andrew,” he muttered, while his mates winked and snickered.
Maisie hopped off and settled into a chair Ivan had nicked from another table. Andrew was a lad from the countryside, shy by nature, and had no clue how to handle a bold, brassy girl like her. But he liked Maisie—a lot—and that night, they left together. By morning, he woke up beside her.
“Got work,” he mumbled, scrambling into his clothes while she yawned and stretched.
“Andy, love, this isn’t the last I’ll see of you, is it?” She grinned. “Come round mine after your shift. I’ll be waiting.”
The workday dragged like molasses, but once it was over, Andrew shot straight to Maisie’s student digs. True to her word, she was there. He fell head over heels for her, never mind his mates’ warnings about her being a bit too fond of blokes’ company. Before he knew it, he’d proposed.
A year later, their daughter Evie was born. At first, Maisie wasn’t a bad wife—cooked, cleaned, breastfed. But the moment Evie turned one, everything changed. Andrew would come home from work to find Evie dumped on the neighbour while Maisie was off who-knows-where.
“Andy,” the neighbour scolded one evening, “I’ve got my own two girls to mind. Tell Maisie I’m done babysitting Evie.”
Rows followed, threats were made—Andrew warned Maisie he wouldn’t stand for her leaving Evie and rolling home drunk. But then she started bringing men back. He’d walk in to find a full-blown party in their tiny flat. Every time, he booted the lot out.
Then came the final blow-up.
“Take Evie and clear off,” Maisie spat. “I’ve had enough of the pair of you. Piss off back to your village.”
So he did. He’d thought about it before, hoping Maisie would come to her senses. Back in the village, his mum, Doris, was poorly—bedridden, tended by Vera, the neighbour. Their houses were so close, the rickety fence between them barely mattered. Vera could step off her porch and straight into Doris’s yard—handy for ferrying meals over.
Andrew hadn’t visited in ages and hadn’t realised how ill his mum was. With no one else to care for her, he was stuck—a sick mother and a two-year-old daughter. He found work locally while Vera minded Evie. Her own lad, three-year-old Tommy, became Evie’s playmate.
“Dunno what I’d do without you, Vera,” Andrew said gratefully.
Vera was married, but her husband, Mick, was a no-good drunk who’d pick fights. Andrew had “taught him manners” more than once—but the last thrashing did the trick. Mick slunk off to his mum’s in the next village, never to return. Vera didn’t mourn him.
“Andy, the house is peaceful now,” she admitted. “Thank you. I was scared of him.”
After divorcing Mick, Vera was happier. Then, a month later, Doris passed away.
Once Doris was buried, Andrew settled into a routine—work, while Evie scampered over to Vera’s. Grateful, he helped Vera with anything she needed. His own place was a tiny, crumbling cottage; hers, solid and well-built—her dad, Cliff, had been the best carpenter in the county before passing young from overwork. Her mum followed soon after, leaving Vera and her older sister alone at sixteen.
When the sister married and moved away, Vera, eighteen and on her own, accepted Mick’s proposal—despite Doris warning her he was trouble. Tommy came along, and while Vera adored her son, Mick’s drinking soured everything.
Now, with Doris gone, Andrew found himself thinking. He’d grown fond of Vera—proper fond. Nothing like Maisie. Vera was kind, homely, cooked brilliantly, and looked at him with such warmth.
“Why did I ever marry Maisie?” he’d grumble. “Should’ve waited for someone like Vera.”
One evening, he came home to find Evie feverish in Vera’s bed.
“She’s poorly,” Vera said, pressing a cool cloth to Evie’s brow. “Called the nurse—got medicine for the fever. Let her stay here tonight. I’ve given her honey and lemon—best let her sleep.”
Worried sick, Andrew barely slept. At dawn, he rushed over before work.
“Fever broke near morning,” Vera assured him. “She’s resting now. Don’t fret—go to work.”
That evening, Evie was sitting up, weak but smiling.
“Dad,” she murmured, “can’t we just live with Auntie Vera? I’ll call her Mum.”
The words hung in the air—what Andrew and Vera had both been too shy to say.
“Evie, love, it’s not that simple—”
“Why not?” Vera cut in, blushing. “She’s right. That cottage is freezing, and—” She trailed off, suddenly flustered.
Andrew scratched his neck, then chuckled.
“Suppose Evie’s gone and decided for us. I’ve been thinking the same. Should’ve asked you myself.”
So they married. Life was good—happy, even. Tommy and Evie were over the moon, growing up thick as thieves. By the time Tommy hit sixteen and Evie fifteen, they were inseparable—though neither realised they’d fallen for each other.
Tommy was tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed—girls flocked to him. But he only had eyes for Evie, though he’d never admit it.
“Why d’you drag your sister everywhere?” girls huffed.
“’Cos she’s my sister,” he’d snap. “And God help anyone who messes with her.”
When Tommy turned eighteen, the truth hit him like a brick. He loved Evie—properly loved her. No other girl existed for him.
“What do I do?” he groaned, sprawled in the hayloft. “She’s my sister. How do I live without her?”
Unbeknownst to him, Evie felt the same—had done since she was fifteen, seething whenever girls flirted with him.
Time passed. Tommy was drafted into the army; Evie trained as a chef. When he returned, their reunion hug lasted a beat too long—and Vera suddenly understood.
Later, Tommy confessed he was leaving for the city.
“Can’t stay here,” he muttered, avoiding Evie’s eyes.
Devastated, Evie fled to the old cherry tree in the garden—her secret spot. Vera found her sobbing.
“Tommy upset you?”
“No! He’d never—”
“Then what? Evie… are you in love?”
Evie froze. “How’d you know?”
“I see it. Both of you, torturing yourselves. You think you’re brother and sister—but you’re not.”
Evie gaped. “What?”
“When me and your dad married,” Vera explained gently, “he brought you, I brought Tommy. You just don’t remember life before that.”
Evie flung her arms around Vera. “Mum! But—Tommy’s leaving!”
Vera bolted inside to find Tommy packing.
“No need to run off,” she said firmly. “Evie just told me everything.”
Tommy’s jaw dropped. “We’re not—?”
Vera shook her head. “Not by blood.”
Alone, Tommy and Evie stared at each other before crashing into an embrace.
“You’re really staying?” Evie whispered.
“Unless you marry me.”
“So soon? Where’s my courting? My moonlit walks?”
Tommy laughed. “Plenty of time for that, love.”
The wedding was joyous—loud, lively, everyone beaming. A yearAnd as they danced under the twinkling fairy lights, surrounded by laughter and love, it was clear that sometimes the happiest families are the ones you build yourself, not just the ones you’re born into.
