**When Fate Comes Knocking**
Simon, the head of marketing and a self-assured bachelor, couldn’t resist the moment he spotted the new hire—bold and striking Emily. She’d barely stepped into the office before he made his move, interest written all over his face.
“Good morning, colleague,” he said, his smile warm enough to melt butter, and Emily lingered just a second too long before looking away.
“Morning,” she replied softly, but there was mischief in her eyes, the corners of her lips quirking into a smirk.
“Right then, let’s get you started. Olivia here will show you the ropes—she’s our resident mentor,” Simon nodded toward the senior colleague. “Familiarise yourself with the guidelines. Good luck, let’s hope we get on well.”
The office, mostly women, tracked him with raised eyebrows as he left. The moment the door clicked shut, Olivia leaned over to whisper to Grace beside her:
“Since when does our Simon turn into Prince Charming for new recruits?” They exchanged glances and stifled a giggle.
Emily kept her guard up at first—new faces, unfamiliar territory. Shy wasn’t her style. At twenty-three, she’d already left a trail of broken hearts, including a scandalous fling with her college professor—twenty years her senior. He’d cut it off when whispers reached his family. She’d shrugged and moved on, untouched.
Two weeks later, Simon suggested they grab a drink after work at a riverside café.
“Why not? You’re the boss, and it’s good to stay on the boss’s good side,” she replied, batting her lashes with a grin that dared him to call her bluff.
She sounded so innocent he nearly laughed. But his heart gave an embarrassing little leap. At thirty-two, he’d never made it past the halfway mark in a relationship—until Emily. Things spiralled fast: dates, passion, love. Soon, the office was buzzing—Simon and Emily were sending out wedding invites.
**A Family on the Edge**
Simon lived to please her, indulging every whim. Then came her ultimatum:
“No kids, Simon. I want to live for myself. If I change my mind, I’ll say so. Until then—no nappies, no sleepless nights.”
He waited, certain she’d come around. A family without children felt like half a life to him. But months passed, and she just waved him off:
“Simon, I told you upfront. Don’t push me. I’m not ready.”
Then one day, he found her in the bathroom—pale, clutching a pregnancy test with shaking hands.
“Emily… you’re pregnant?” he breathed, afraid to hope.
She nodded, eyes filling with tears. Overjoyed, he swept her up—only for her to burst into sobs.
“I don’t want this! I won’t get fat, I won’t ruin my life! Fix it!”
He held her, kissing her tear-streaked cheeks.
“Don’t cry, it’s a miracle. I love you, Emmy. We’re having a baby!”
But Emily was unmovable. She booked a clinic appointment, resolved to end it—until Simon stormed in at the last second and dragged her outside.
“Emily, please, don’t do this. Let our baby live. I’ll do everything—night feeds, nappies, everything,” his voice cracked.
She agreed—on one condition: burp cloths and midnight cries weren’t her problem. The whole pregnancy, Simon doted on her. When the time came, he drove her to hospital. Only when he saw their healthy little girl did he finally exhale.
**The Daughter Left Behind**
Exhausted but happy, he went home to rest. But the next day at the hospital, the nurse handed him a note, her face grim.
“Your wife’s gone. She left the baby.”
“No—that’s impossible!” Simon refused to believe it. “Check the car park, check everywhere!”
But Emily had vanished. Calls went unanswered; her number was dead. Six weeks later, she rang:
“Pack my things. My new boyfriend, James, will collect them. File for divorce yourself—I’m not coming back.”
Not a word about their daughter. She didn’t want little Sophie—or Simon. So he became both father and mother to her. His mum, living nearby, helped fill the gaps.
**Ghosts of the Past**
When Anna’s phone rang, she snatched it up—her son Max’s teacher, Mrs. Thompson. He was in Year 2.
“Anna, come to the school at once! Your son’s caused quite the scene!”
Anna dashed out of work, heart pounding.
*What could Max have done? He’s quiet, well-behaved. Never any trouble.*
Max had been a miracle. Before their wedding, her husband, Richard, admitted the truth—he was infertile. Medical proof. This was his third marriage.
“Maybe the doctors were wrong? Miracles happen,” Anna had said. She loved him, ready to accept anything—even adoption—but hadn’t brought it up yet.
Richard’s first wife cheated; the second left when she learned about his diagnosis, desperate for kids. With Anna, he’d been honest. Then, against all odds, she got pregnant. Beaming, she showed him the scan—eight weeks.
“Richard, look—we’re having a baby! I told you doctors make mistakes!”
Instead of joy, he slapped her.
“Happy? You’ve been sleeping around!”
That night, cooler-headed, he relented:
“Fine. Keep the baby. Even if it’s not mine.”
She stayed silent. Max was born—the spitting image of Richard. At first, his father watched, even held him. Then the rages returned.
“Tramp! Bet you’ve told your lover about the boy! Why put my name on the birth certificate? Let *him* pay child support!”
Max grew up hearing these tirades, crying. Richard snarled:
“Go find your real dad, then!”
Anna paid for a DNA test, proving Richard’s paternity. He scoffed:
“Bribed the lab, did you?”
She took Max and fled to her mother’s. Richard found them. So she rented a flat across town, filed for divorce. Still, he harassed her. Desperate, she moved cities. Only then did life begin anew.
At the school, Anna found Max and a man with a girl—his classmate, Sophie. She knew Sophie—top of the class, teacher’s pet. Max had a scratch on his cheek; Sophie glowered.
“Hello,” Anna panted as Mrs. Thompson approached.
“Finally,” the teacher said. “Max pushed Sophie. She fell and hurt herself.”
**Picking Up the Pieces**
“Mum, it wasn’t me!” Max blurted. “She started it! You said never hit girls, but she stuck her tongue out, called me names, scratched me! So I—”
“Dad, *he* started it,” Sophie muttered, winding up for another shove before halting.
“Sophie, enough,” the man said firmly.
“Max, apologise to Sophie,” Anna said.
“And you, Sophie,” the man added.
The kids stood, squared up like boxers. Mrs. Thompson sighed:
“Parents, perhaps you can handle this?”
“We’ve got this,” Anna and Simon said in unison, then—unexpectedly—laughed.
“Simon, Sophie’s father.”
“Anna, Max’s mum.”
“Sophie, sorry,” Max mumbled, scuffing his shoe.
“You too,” Sophie whispered, nudging his sleeve.
“Brilliant!” the parents chorused, laughing again. The kids cracked smiles.
“This calls for celebration,” Simon said. “Pizza?”
“Mum, yes!” Max cheered.
Sophie raised a brow. “We really *are* friends now. Right, Max?”
“We believe you,” Anna smiled, glancing at Simon. “Clearly just a misunderstanding.”
Over pizza, the kids chattered like old mates. Max even vowed:
“If anyone bothers you, tell me. I’ll sort them.”
The parents exchanged glances, saying nothing. A spark had flickered between them. After that day came more—cinema, park walks, evenings in. The kids noticed before they did, grinning like Cheshire cats.
Time passed. Simon and Anna, laughing, would reminisce about that first meeting, thanking fate for a playground squabble. Every cloud… Anna was pregnant again. Max and Sophie had already picked a name—they’d call him Oliver.
**When Fate Comes Knocking**
30th AprilAnd as Oliver’s first cries filled the room, Simon whispered to Anna, “Looks like fate knocked twice—lucky for us, we answered both times.”
