**The Road to Happiness**
Oliver walked home from work. It was a bit far, but the evening was warm and still, the air sweet with the promise of summer. On nights like this, he didn’t mind not owning a car.
He had spent his whole life in the heart of London with his parents, accustomed to the bustle. But recently, he’d moved to the quiet outskirts, a sleepy suburb where he’d return just to sleep before heading back to the city’s chaos each morning.
At night, the moon peered into his twelfth-floor flat, unobstructed by trees or buildings—he hadn’t bothered with thick curtains yet. His view stretched over open fields to a distant line of woods. For weeks, he’d wake disoriented in the blue glow of moonlight before remembering where he was.
***
Two years ago, he hadn’t even known shared flats like this existed—not the crowded ones of the past, but still, living with a stranger, sharing a bathroom and kitchen, was far from ideal.
Oliver had grown up in an ordinary family—a modest two-bedroom flat in central London with high ceilings and a narrow hallway leading to a tiny kitchen. His mother worked as a nursery teacher, his father drove a bus. They weren’t rich, but they could afford holidays by the seaside.
Then, everything collapsed in a single day. His father hadn’t broken any rules—he’d waited for the green light before moving the bus forward. Then, out of nowhere, a woman with a wheeled suitcase darted across the road. His father slammed the brakes, but stopping instantly was impossible. She was flung like a ragdoll and died on the way to hospital.
It turned out she’d been rushing for a train. Her son-in-law had promised a lift but bailed last minute. They’d argued, and in her frustration, she’d bolted, convinced she could make it.
That same son-in-law later screamed in court that a drunk driver had killed his beloved mother-in-law, demanding the harshest punishment. Yes, the depot had thrown a retirement party the night before—there’d been drinks. But the morning medical check showed no impairment. His father barely drank. Yet somehow, the records falsely showed alcohol above the legal limit.
To protect his colleagues, his father claimed he’d had a drink at his wife’s friend’s birthday. He took the blame alone. His mother wept constantly. Money grew tight—a nursery teacher’s salary was meagre. Oliver declared he wouldn’t go to university; he’d work instead.
*”Oh, so you want the army now? First your father, then you—do you want me to lose my mind?”* his mother sobbed.
To ease her mind, he promised to continue studying. Just before graduation, his father died in prison of a heart attack. As promised, Oliver enrolled in university. Two years later, his mother remarried—a high-ranking civil servant—and moved out. Oliver stayed behind in their flat. She covered the bills, sent him money—anything to keep him in education.
When his uni mates learned he had an empty flat, they turned it into a party hub. At first, he loved the chaos. Then the endless noise wore thin. He’d wake to strangers passed out on his floor.
Neighbors complained. His mother stormed in at dawn to find a naked girl strolling past her to the bathroom.
A furious row followed. She kicked everyone out and threatened to cut him off unless the debauchery stopped.
Two weeks of quiet passed. Then his friends begged to celebrate a birthday there. They kept the noise down but drank heavily.
Oliver woke up next to a naked girl—red hair sprawled over the pillow, face to the wall. The only redhead in their group was Emily Carter.
He slipped out carefully, trying not to wake her. He remembered nothing, but if anything had happened, surely he’d have put his boxers back on?
The flat was empty. He showered, made coffee. Emily shuffled in wearing his old football shirt, mumbling nonsense, trying to flirt. He pulled away.
*”What? Last night you said you loved me,”* she pouted, reaching for his coffee.
*”Don’t be ridiculous,”* he muttered. *”Nothing happened. If Jake found out, he’d flatten me.”*
*”We broke up. Didn’t you know? Why d’you think I got so wasted? He’s shagging that girl from fifth year, the twat.”*
He sent her off to shower, cleaned up the bottles, and aired out the flat before his mother could drop by unannounced.
They missed lectures. Emily begged him to skip for a cinema trip, but he refused. When his mates asked where she was, he played dumb.
She ignored him for two weeks, then cornered him: *”I’m late.”*
He pretended not to understand.
*”I’m pregnant, you idiot.”*
*”How’s that my problem?”* His stomach lurched.
*”We didn’t use protection that night. You could’ve thought of that.”* She burst into tears.
Defeated, he muttered, *”Fine. I won’t run. If you want, I’ll marry you. Just stop crying.”*
She kissed his cheek. The next day, she moved in from student halls.
His mother screamed this was exactly what she’d feared. Surprisingly, her new husband backed Oliver. They married after summer exams—which he nearly failed.
Emily gave birth in early December to a blue-eyed blonde girl. Oliver stared at her, feeling nothing. His mother still worked, so Emily took a gap year.
After classes, he rushed home to take the baby while Emily napped. He studied with his daughter in his arms, dragged himself to lectures exhausted. They fought viciously—once, Emily fled to her mates’ dorm.
*”Sometimes I think you don’t want me or the baby. Did you marry me just for the flat?”* he finally asked. *”Is she even mine? She was due near New Year’s.”*
*”Don’t believe me? Get a paternity test,”* Emily shot back before erupting.
A week of icy silence followed. He cracked first. Things settled, but the doubt lingered.
One day, he came home to female voices in the flat. *”Emily’s friends,”* he thought—until he heard:
*”Lucky you—central flat, a husband. What if Oliver finds out?”*
*”He won’t, unless you tell him.”*
He barged in. *”So you did lie. You weren’t at the dorm—you were with Jake!”*
Emily flinched. Three pairs of eyes locked onto him. He stormed out, went straight to Jake’s dorm.
Jake smirked over a beer. Oliver swung first. Jake—stronger, a rugby player—dodged and knocked him out cold.
*”Maybe we planned this together,”* Jake taunted.
Oliver lunged again, but mates held him back. At home, he threw Emily out.
*”I’m not leaving. I’m your wife, on the lease. Polly’s legally yours. We sell the flat, split it, and I won’t sue for child support. Deal?”*
He remembered his father’s fate and agreed.
That’s how he ended up in a shared flat with a supermarket stockist whose visiting girlfriend occasionally shared groceries.
Six months later, his flatmate proposed a swap—his room for a tiny flat on the outskirts. Far, but alone. Fresh air, woods nearby. He took it.
After graduation, his stepdad helped him land a job. Life improved. His mother offered money for furniture, but he refused—too proud. He’d save for a car instead.
***
The sun dipped, the May evening turning crisp. Exhausted, he spotted a hunched figure on a playground bench.
A closer look revealed a tearful young woman. *”Something wrong?”*
*”None of your business,”* she snapped.
He sat anyway. *”It’s getting dark. People can be dodgy. Come up, talk. Maybe I can help.”*
Reluctantly, she followed. Inside, he noticed her swollen chest—like Emily’s after birth. He made tea first, didn’t push.
Her name was Sophie. Nineteen, though she looked sixteen. Her mum had kicked her out—she’d gotten pregnant, the bloke bolted. Her mother pressured her to abort, but Sophie chickened out and hid the pregnancy. When she came home with baby Daniel, all hell broke loose.
*”But—you’re breastfeeding. Where’s he?”*
*”She won’t let me in. Says she’ll put him in care. I was watching the flat, making sure she didn’t.”*
*”She’s bluffing. It’s her grandson.”*
*”You don’t know her. She barred my dad once—thought he was drunk. He was having a heart attack. Died on the doorstep.”*
Oliver hesitated. *”Fine. Let’s get him.”*
Her mother—sharp-faced, thin-lipped—tried slamming the door. Oliver blocked it. Sophie darted inside.
*”What’d you do to himAs he watched Sophie cradle her son, Oliver realized that sometimes the hardest roads lead to the most unexpected happiness.
