Roman and Roman Murphy had been together seven years, childhood sweethearts since secondary school. No children yet—just hadn’t happened. Roman’s beloved Granny Murphy insisted, “Make it legal, dears! Then God’s blessing will find you. He’ll grant you heirs.”
For Roman, his grandmother was the final word. So, he soon formally proposed to his common-law wife, Chloe. They had a lavish wedding—exchanged rings, got the stamps in their passports. Though at the reception, a hiccup occurred. When the newlyweds were handed champagne flutes, tradition demanded they drain them completely (for a tear-free life) and then smash the empty glasses on the floor. Roman’s glass shattered into dust, but Chloe’s merely rolled away without a crack.
Guests whispered loudly behind their hands, “Oh dear, bad omen! No joy for the young couple.”
Roman and Chloe just laughed. “Load of nonsense!” And the party rolled on.
After the confetti settled, the newlyweds settled into their life. But…
Chloe, now a legal wife, swiftly changed, morphing into a ruler. Nothing was ever right. She nitpicked constantly. Then she declared, “Roman, we were wrong to marry. We’re chalk and cheese. Better we split.”
…Roman blamed his mother-in-law entirely. Sheena was his “Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe.” Nothing was ever enough—attention, money, space in their two-bed Leicester terrace. And having a son-in-law living in *her* flat, earned with “her life’s blood into building”? Sheena never stopped nagging, lecturing him on how to make millions, not just scrimping and saving. Roman silently endured wife and mother-in-law for a year. Then he heard:
“Get out.”
He asked Chloe, “Is this your *final* decision? Yours and Sheena’s?”
“Mum has nothing to do with it!” Chloe snapped.
Roman packed slowly, glancing hopefully at his wife. *Maybe she’ll change her mind? Show mercy?*
Chloe didn’t bat an eyelid.
“Goodbye, wife. Sorry… for whatever,” Roman sighed.
“Goodbye!” Chloe slammed the door shut behind him.
Roman was homeless. But gloom didn’t last long.
The young man soon found himself in another woman’s arms. He was quite the catch—tall, sporty, rugged.
This girl, Poppy, had long fancied Roman. They worked together. Spotting Roman lately walking about like a wet weekend, devoid of his usual banter, Poppy suggested meeting outside work. Roman agreed. Out of boredom…
Poppy was free, attractive, with a flawless reputation.
They strolled through Hyde Park one evening, sipped coffee at a cosy café. Roman spilled his guts. Poppy oohed and aahed sympathetically, soothing him. Then she blurted out:
“Roman, haven’t you noticed? How I watch you, catch your every glance? Been mad about you for ages! Are you blind?”
Roman had suspected Poppy’s feelings. They crossed paths daily at the office. When Roman neared, Poppy flushed or paled. She lost her voice, felt dizzy. Roman noticed her like a lovely, fragrant flower, that was all. Poppy was Chloe’s opposite—calm, affectionate, easy-going. Roman liked it. But back then, he was married! He kept his distance. Now, evicted, Roman thought, *Why not? Fish practically jumping into my lap… Why pass up a tasty morsel?*
…Next morning, Roman and Poppy arrived at work together. Colleagues exchanged knowing smirks. So, Poppy got her man. Everyone knew she dreamed of Roman. She’d never have crossed the ‘wife’ boundary before.
Roman moved in with Poppy. She fluttered around him like a gorgeous butterfly, anticipating his every whim, delighting him. She felt this must be the pinnacle of earthly joy! Roman happily soaked up Poppy’s care. He privately called her *Glow-worm*. Her inner light was so bright it warmed his soul.
…Poppy introduced Roman to her parents. Her dad was a high-ranking Whitehall mandarin. He noticed his daughter was head over heels. His verdict:
“If that’s the way it is—live together. We’ll arrange the wedding later. First, I’ll see what sort of chap you are, son-in-law.”
Dad, of course, didn’t know Roman was married. Poppy hadn’t dared tell him. Knew his temper…
The young couple loved life! Made plans. Flew off to Spain’s Costa Blanca. Poppy’s dad arranged and funded the trip. “Nothing’s too good for my girl! Let them enjoy themselves.”
…Three months later, Chloe summoned her lawful husband back to the family fold. She told Roman she was expecting a baby needing its father. Roman (gritting his teeth) returned to Chloe. Poppy let him go back to his family but added:
“Roman, I’ll wait for you. Always…”
…Six months on, Chloe and Roman became parents to a daughter, Sophie. A week later, Poppy phoned. She asked Roman to meet her… from the hospital. Poppy had had a daughter. Emily.
Roman raced to the hospital with flowers and questions for Poppy.
Poppy’s dad was waiting, clutching a huge basket laden with crimson roses.
Roman kissed Poppy, handed her a small bouquet. Poppy saw bewilderment and fear in his eyes.
“This is our daughter, Roman. Congratulations!” smiled the exhausted Poppy.
Roman stood dumbfounded. He started frantically calculating dates in his head… Poppy interrupted his thoughts:
“Don’t fret, Roman. Me and little Emily won’t stand in your way.”
Poppy’s dad didn’t even turn his head to acknowledge Roman. Stood immovable, a silent statue of reproach.
So Roman began living for two families. Everyone eventually knew—Chloe learned about Poppy, Poppy about Roman’s daughter Sophie. Both women suffered in silence. Chloe cursed herself for kicking her husband out, leaving him unsupervised. Now she was “eating humble pie,” having to accept his illegitimate child.
Poppy blamed herself for nothing. She had a child with the man she loved! What more? She just wished Roman visited more. But thank heavens, he remembered them! Roman wasn’t exactly having a picnic either.
He adored both daughters completely. As they grew, the awkward questions began. “Daddy, why didn’t you stay with us last night?”, “Daddy, why do you smell different?”, “Daddy, I’m Emily, not Sophie!”, or vice-versa…
Then one day, arriving to visit Poppy and Emily, Roman “bumped into” Poppy’s imposing dad.
“Poppy, take Emily for a walk. I need a word with Roman,” Dad stated
Harry chuckled at yet another demand from his ever-so-slightly exasperated father-in-law, wisely refraining from pointing out he’d just produced a perfectly healthy granddaughter. ‘Very well, Sir,’ he sighed dramatically, already envisioning himself in a decade, a man permanently surrounded by giggling daughters and whispering hens.
