The Price of Happiness
Daniel lay on the sofa, eyes closed, listening to the sounds inside the flat and beyond the window. Through the double glazing came the muffled honking of car horns, the distant wail of police or ambulance sirens. Next door, neighbours were arguing, a phone rang somewhere, a door slammed shut.
He used to love lying like this, guessing which flat had the TV on too loud, which couple was quarrelling, which floor the lift would stop on…
“Daydreaming again? Did you finish your schoolwork?”
Daniel could have sworn it wasn’t his imagination—he’d heard his mother’s voice, distant but clear. He flinched and opened his eyes. The room was empty, the hallway door ajar. If she’d stepped out of the shadows just then, he wouldn’t have been shocked—he’d have been overjoyed. But she’d never walk through that door again. She had died a week ago. That voice? A phantom pain.
He sat up, feet sinking into the plush carpet. *I’ll go mad if I stay here. Should’ve taken the first flight back after the funeral—or at least the second.* Elbows on his knees, head in his hands, he rocked back and forth.
A sudden ringtone jolted him. His elbow slipped, head jerking forward. Daniel grabbed the phone without looking at the screen. His gaze landed on a note on the table: *”My dearest boy…”*
“Daniel, it’s Aunt Martha. How are you holding up? It must be hard, alone there. Why not come stay with me?”
“No, I’m fine.” He set the phone down, folded the letter, and tucked it into a drawer.
He couldn’t stay here any longer. Even voices were haunting him now. Scrolling through his contacts, he stopped at one name. *Mike—old uni mate. Exactly who I need.*
“Mike, hey!” Daniel said when his friend answered.
“Hey, wait—who’s this?”
“Don’t recognise me? Forgot your old friend that quick? Didn’t expect that from you.”
“Wait—Daniel?! You’re back? Where are you?” Mike’s voice brightened.
“In town. Seems I wasn’t missed,” Daniel muttered.
“Course I didn’t forget you, you prat. Just didn’t expect you, is all. Where are you now?”
“At home,” Daniel said quietly.
Mike caught the shift in tone. “Your mum?”
“Gone. Buried her a week ago. Nine days now.”
“Christ, mate, I’m sorry. Saw her six months back—she looked frail. How long you staying?”
“Three days.”
“Want me to come over? Better yet—come to ours. You’ll lose it, cooped up there alone.”
“Ours?” Daniel echoed.
“Yeah, got married. To Alice. Remember her? She’s here, sends her love—come now. Be here by lunch. Ah, new address though—mortgaged a flat with the wife.”
“Go on.”
*Married. Alice was mad for him since first year, and he kept flitting between girls till I set him straight…* Daniel packed quickly and hailed a cab.
On the way, he stopped at a shop. Picked up whisky for them, wine for Alice, chocolates, and some cold cuts.
Skipping the lift, he took the stairs to the sixth floor. After days indoors, the climb felt good. Passing the third floor, he heard a whimpering—like a child or a pup. He paused.
“Oi, who’s there?” He pressed his ear to the door.
The whimpering stopped. Just as he turned to leave, a small voice piped up.
“I’m not crying, I’m singing.”
“Why by the door?”
“Waiting for Mum.”
“Where is she? You alone?”
“At Gran’s hospital. She locked me in. I’m poorly.”
“Locked in? How old are you?”
“Five. Who’re you?”
“Daniel. Heard your song. What’s your name?”
“Theo. Want to hear my Santa poem?”
“Go on.”
Daniel listened, smiling. He’d learned the same one as a kid—long forgotten.
“Poems earn presents. How do I give you one if you’re locked in? Wait here—I’ll fetch something, yeah?”
Theo’s eyes widened. “Are you Santa?”
“Nah. Just wait.”
Mike answered the door, yanking Daniel into a bear hug.
“Look what the cat dragged in! Been ages.”
“Let the man breathe,” came Alice’s voice.
She’d changed—glowed.
“Place is a mess—just moved in,” Mike said, bursting with pride. *Look what I’ve built.*
Daniel whistled. “Blimey, it’s grand.”
“Broke, but ours. Planning a sprog soon.”
“Food’s ready,” Alice announced.
Over drinks, they caught up.
“Married? Kids?” Alice asked.
Then Daniel remembered Theo.
“Listen, this’ll sound mad—any sweets or satsumas spare? There’s a lad downstairs—recited me a poem. Promised him a gift.”
Alice packed a bag with treats.
At the third-floor flat, the door opened to a woman—familiar, though her name escaped him.
“You?” she said, startled.
Theo peeked out. Just as Daniel pictured—bright-eyed, sweet.
“Told you I’d bring something. No toys, sorry.” He handed over the bag.
“Come in?” he asked.
“Why?”
“To talk. Been years. He yours? Sharp lad.”
“Fine.”
Her name danced just out of reach—Anna? Lucy? *Elena!*
“Found you by chance. Mike lives upstairs—married to Alice.”
She shrugged.
“Theo’s dad?”
“Shouldn’t you get back?”
“Right. Good seeing you.”
As he climbed the stairs, his mind raced. *Mike bought a flat where Elena lives. Her son was crying—just as I passed. What are the odds?*
At a New Year’s party years ago, Elena had asked him to walk her home. Hazy memories—her flat, cozy, her warmth. Come morning, she’d woken him—*Mum’s due back.*
At uni, he’d dodged her, pretending nothing happened.
Then it hit him. *Theo’s five. Five years ago was that New Year’s. Six months later, I left for work in Newcastle. So Theo… No. She invited me that night…*
Back at Mike’s, he grabbed his coat.
“Where’s the fire?” Mike frowned.
“Need to go.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“That’s about right. Sorry—I’ll pop by tomorrow.”
“Want a cab?”
“Nah, need air.”
Walking, his mind churned. *What if…? No, she wouldn’t. She fancied me—obvious. Did I use her?*
At home, he buried his face in a cushion, howling.
Next day, he returned to Elena with toys. Theo beamed, tearing into them.
“Theo’s birthday?” Daniel asked carefully.
“Why?”
“September?”
Her silence confirmed it.
“He’s mine. I was a fool. But I’ll make it right. He needs a dad. My dad left when I was eight. Begged him to stay. Mum let him go—never forgave him. I won’t do that to Theo.”
“You’ll leave,” she said.
“One word, and I won’t. I’ll sort things, come back. I swear.”
She didn’t believe him.
Next day, he bought a ring.
“Typical size?” he asked the jeweller.
“Seventeen. Exchangeable—keep the tag.”
At Elena’s, Theo clung to him. At bedtime, the boy held his hand till he dozed.
“I should go,” he said.
She kept her distance.
Then he offered the ring.
“You don’t love me.”
“Didn’t then. Do now. Not just for Theo. Let me prove it.” He left the box.
Later, he bought jam from an old woman—strawberry, like Elena’s childhood memories. Over tea, she softened.
His train left that night.
“I’m leaving,” he said at her door.
Her face fell.
“Tell Theo I’ll be back.”
“Go.”
At the station, boarding felt impossible. The train pulled away without him.
Drunk, he stumbled to her door.
She opened it, sleep-tousled.
“I couldn’t leave.” He clung to her.
“Daddy?” Theo’s voice piped up.
Later, he quit his job, moved back.
Pondering the chain of events—his mother’s death, Mike’s flat, Theo’s cry—he wondered: *Coincidence? Or some unseen hand?*
If soHe held them tight, knowing that sometimes, the price of happiness is simply choosing to stay.
