William Thompson had never once bought a gift for his wife in the twenty years they’d been happily married. It just never came up, really. He and Valerie had tied the knot quickly—just a month after they met. Back then, their dates were short and sweet, no frills. He’d drive to the village where she lived, whistle under her window, and she’d rush out. They’d sit on the bench by the gate till midnight, chatting now and then.
He didn’t even kiss her till after he’d proposed. The wedding came and went, and life settled into its routines. William turned out to be a proper homemaker—raised livestock, kept busy. Valerie was just as hardworking, tending a garden the neighbors envied. Then came the kids: nappies, baby clothes, childhood illnesses. Who had time for gifts? You were lucky to catch a moment’s rest. Holidays passed quietly, just a modest meal and that was that. Their life wasn’t flashy, just steady and calm, full of everyday chores.
One day, William went with his mate to the market to sell potatoes and bacon—right before Mother’s Day. He’d cleared out the cellar, sorted the spares, figured he’d make a bit of cash. The bacon wouldn’t last long anyway, with a new hog ready for slaughter soon. So there he stood in the market, the air crisp but hopeful, like spring was near. To his surprise, business was brisk. The bacon flew off the table, and the potatoes went like they were some rare delicacy. “Made a tidy sum,” William thought cheerfully. “Val’ll be chuffed.”
After loading the empty sacks into his mate’s van, William wandered the shops. Valerie had asked him to pick up a few bits. Out of habit, he stopped at the pub first—just a quick one to toast his good luck. He wasn’t a drinker, really, but he’d always believed skipping a celebratory pint after a good sale meant bad luck next time. With a warm glow in his chest, he strolled down the busy high street, taking in the shop windows and the passing crowds. Then his eyes caught something—a young couple lingering by a fancy display.
The girl, fresh-faced and beaming, was staring at a dress draped over a mannequin.
“Sophie, come on, what’s so special about that thing?” her boyfriend sighed.
“Look at it, it’s perfect—just my size!”
“It’s just some frock.”
“You’re clueless, Jamie! This is proper vintage—all the rage. Get it for me for Mother’s Day, yeah?”
“Soph, you know we’re skint. If I buy that, we’ll be eating beans for a month.”
“We’ll manage! It’s been a year since we married, and you’ve never got me a proper gift—not even at Christmas!”
“Soph, don’t do this to me…”
“Jamie, love, please?” She planted a firm kiss on his lips and dragged him into the shop.
The lad threw William a knowing glance—”Women, eh?”—before following. Soon, they burst back out, Sophie giggling, clinging to the dress bag like a prize. They vanished into the crowd, leaving William staring at the mannequin. It was a nice dress, simple, with little flowers—like the sundress Valerie used to wear when they’d meet on that bench.
Something stirred in his chest. Maybe it was nostalgia, or seeing his younger self in that couple. A long-forgotten warmth spread through him, and it hit him: “I’ve never bought Val a thing. Never had the time—thought it was daft. But that lad’s willing to go hungry just to see his wife smile. That’s love. Do I even love Val? Thought I did, back then. But now it’s all just… routine. Nothing to remember. Just chores. Blimey, life’s a funny thing.”
That stolen glimpse of someone else’s joy burned so bright it ached. He wanted it for himself.
Before he knew it, he was inside the shop. A young assistant hurried over.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Aye. Need that dress in the window.”
“Oh, brilliant choice! Vintage-inspired, pure silk. Your daughter will adore it.”
“Not for my daughter—for my wife,” William muttered.
“Oh! Lucky lady.” She wrapped it up, chirping away.
“How much?”
When she told him, his stomach dropped. That was a fortune.
“Why so steep?” he grumbled.
“It’s by a famous designer,” she explained patiently.
He hesitated. Money was tight. But then Sophie’s radiant face flashed in his mind.
“Fine. I’ll take it.” He handed over the notes and left with the bag, oddly pleased. His mate picked him up, boasting about his own profits all the way home.
“How’d you do, then?”
“How’s what?”
“Make much at the market?”
“Since when d’you count my money?” William snapped.
“All right, keep your hair on,” his mate frowned.
Back home, Valerie was still out at the farm. William fed the livestock, mucked out the pens, slopped the pigs. All the while, his chest felt heavy. He’d done a good thing, hadn’t he? Bought a gift. So why the nagging guilt? He spat, went inside, poured a whiskey. Then another. Felt a bit better.
The door banged. Valerie marched in, scowling as usual. She spotted him at the table.
“Sat down already? How’d it go?”
“Alright. Money’s there.”
She counted it. “Bit short, innit? Did you not sell well?”
“Nah, just—well, the rest is in that bag.”
She pulled out the dress, still scowling.
“Who’s this for, Emily? Too big for her. Wasting money again.”
“It’s for you,” William mumbled, suddenly shy. “For Mother’s Day.”
“For me?” She stared, disbelieving. “Really?”
“Aye, who else?” He brightened, relieved there’d be no scolding.
“Oh, Will!” Her voice cracked. She dashed to the bedroom, emerged ten minutes later, eyes wet.
“Doesn’t fit. I’ve gone all round.”
“Can’t be,” he floundered. “I remember you wearing one just like it when we sat on that bench.”
“Silly sod,” she sniffed. “That was years ago. I’ve changed.”
“But when I saw those flowers… remembered all those nights. You there, so slim, stars like scattered barley above.”
“Aye, Will. Those were good times.”
They talked till dusk. The kids trickled in. First came Emily, the eldest.
“Why’re you sitting in the dark?” She flicked the light on, spotted the dress. “Blimey! Whose is this? This season’s hottest! Mum, Dad, who‘s it for?”
Valerie glanced at William.
“Your dad got it for you. Mother’s Day gift.”
“Dad, I love you!” Emily pecked his cheek, vanished, then reappeared, strutting like a catwalk model. It fit perfectly. She threw on her coat. “Off to Sarah’s!” and bolted.
The younger ones got sweets. Night fell. They turned in early. Morning came too soon. Valerie nudged him awake.
“Up you get, love. Breakfast’s on.” She stroked his hair, her gaze so tender it near drowned him.
“Morning already? Right—happy Mother’s Day, then.”
“You made it happy yesterday. Ta for that.”
“Ah, stop.” He flushed.
“Go on, wash up.”
It’d been years since they’d shared a morning so peaceful. Here’s hoping for many more.
