The Ring That Changed Fate…
William brought his fiancée, Evelyn, to his mother’s cottage near York. “What a house!” gasped Evelyn, gazing at the two-story manor with its carved shutters. “Nothing special,” William replied modestly. “Mum adores it.” A warm-faced woman greeted them. “This is my mother, Margaret. Mum, this is Evelyn.” “Come in, I’ve baked some pies for you after your journey,” Margaret invited. At the table, Evelyn bit into a fragrant cabbage pie—only to crunch on something hard. “What’s this?” she exclaimed, pulling out a glinting object that stole her breath.
“What are you doing here?” Evelyn found her ex-husband, Thomas, sipping tea in her flat as if he still lived there. “Tea?” he offered blandly. “I asked you a question,” she hissed, fists clenched. “Just having tea,” he shrugged. “Why are you here? And where’d you get the key? You said you lost it!” “Found it,” he replied. “Evie, I want to come back. Can I?”
“Walk out and waltz back in?” she sneered. “Seriously?” “I’m sorry,” Thomas muttered. “Life’s better with you. Please.” “No. Finish your tea and leave.” “Where will I go? The flat’s yours now.” “You’ve got parents,” she shot back. “And I paid you every penny for this place. It’s mine.” Their divorce had been bitter. The mortgaged flat became the battleground—Thomas demanded it, claiming his new woman had borne his child (though Evelyn hadn’t). But her parents had paid most, and in court, Thomas settled for compensation. Evelyn took a loan, cleared the debt, and now the flat was hers alone.
“Why keep such a big place for yourself?” Thomas squinted slyly. “Who says I’m alone?” “Mum says you live solo. Maybe we could try again?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes—only calculation lurked there. “Never,” she snapped. “Drink up and go.” “No need to be cruel. Fine, I’ll leave. But this isn’t over.” Evelyn realized—she’d forgotten to take back the key. Or he’d made a copy. “I’ll change the lock,” she decided, her heart aching with the sting of his betrayal. Love had long faded; only bitterness remained.
The next evening, her former mother-in-law, Dorothy, arrived—unusual, as she’d never meddled before. “Evie, darling! Still so lovely. My Thomas is a fool. I told him not to let you go.” “That’s in the past,” Evelyn said coldly. “What do you want?” “Make up? You were happy once.” “No. My life’s mine now—his is his.” “For old times’ sake, let him stay. Things might mend.” “They won’t.”
“He’s in trouble,” Dorothy pressed. “Debts up to his ears, and that woman—cleaned him out and left. The child wasn’t even his. Now he’s back.” “How sad,” Evelyn scoffed. “Am I to pay for his mistakes? Let him sort it.” “He’s homeless.” “What about you?” “My pension’s meager. I can’t help.” “Nor will I. Goodbye.” “Think it over—he’s changed.” “I’ll think,” Evelyn lied, knowing she wouldn’t. It was over.
By morning, a locksmith arrived. Midway through the job, Thomas returned. “Who’re you?” he barked. “Who’re *you*?” the man countered. “William, come here!” Evelyn called. The locksmith entered, and she whispered, “Please pretend you’re my fiancé. I’ll pay extra.” “No trouble, love,” he winked. Back at the door, he crossed his arms. “Still here? What d’you want?” “Came to see my wife.” “Ex-wife. She’s mine now—wedding’s soon.” “She never mentioned you.” “You never asked. Piss off, and toss that key.” Thomas slammed the door on his way out.
“Thank you,” Evelyn sighed. “What do I owe?” “For chatting with your ex? A cuppa’ll do.” “Really?” “Aye. Dad did the same—begged Mum for money, kept the key. I delivered papers to earn a new lock. No help from him.” “He won’t return now,” she said, relieved.
That Saturday, the doorbell rang. “God, not him again,” she thought—but it was William. “Morning! Fancy a trip? Mum’s got a country house. Or we could stroll through town.” “The countryside,” she brightened. “Haven’t been in ages.” “I’ll wait in the car.” Outside, she gaped at the gleaming Land Rover. “Nice wheels!” “Expecting a rusty Mini?” he teased.
The village was thirty minutes away. “This isn’t a cottage—it’s an estate!” Evelyn admired the manor. “Gran’s, now Mum’s,” William explained. “No veg patches—just flowers and apple trees. We come to unwind.” Margaret welcomed them warmly: “Evie, how lovely! Come in, I’ve pies fresh from the oven.” The house gleamed; the pies smelled like childhood. “Just like Gran’s,” Evelyn smiled. “Walk down to the lake—it’s splendid,” Margaret urged.
The weekend flew by. “Enjoyed yourself?” William asked on the drive back. “Immensely!” “Then, as your ‘fiancé,’ I invite you fishing next week. Ever fished?” “Probably,” she laughed. “Wait—what fiancé?” “Since the day I booted your ex.” They chuckled. All summer, they escaped to the country, often with Margaret, who spoiled them with pies.
One teatime, William handed Evelyn a meat pie. “Try this.” She bit—then froze. “Margaret, think your ring slipped in!” “No, dear—that’s yours,” Margaret beamed. “Mine?” Evelyn gasped. “Too little romance,” William winked. “I schemed. Mum’s out today—off with her neighbor. Relax.” After Margaret left, William took Evelyn’s hand. “Marry me?” “Yes,” she breathed. “Meat pie?” “That too. And… I think we’re expecting.” “What?! Why didn’t you say?” “Wasn’t sure—but it seems so.”
Margaret, hearing the news, glowed. “Joy at last!” They wed quietly, with just family. They lived in Evelyn’s flat, renting out William’s bachelor pad. The country house became their haven, where their children grew under doting Gran’s eye. “Owe your ex thanks,” William joked once. “Had he not shown up, I’d never have changed your lock—we’d not have met.” “Well then, thank him,” Evelyn laughed, the ring on her finger warming her heart.
