Too Late for Happiness? No. Just Right on Time…
When Vera moved to a quiet village in Yorkshire, she never imagined a new chapter of her life would begin there. The cottage was left to her by a distant relative—old, with a leaning porch. But from the first day, Vera decided: she’d rebuild, start fresh. She dreamt of a warm home filled with laughter, the smell of roast dinners, and the quiet comfort of peace.
One evening, while finishing the extension, she spotted a woman walking from the bus stop. Tall, elegant, with a refined air about her. “What a woman,” Vera thought. It was Olivia, her new neighbour.
Later, they bumped into each other outside the village shop.
“I heard you’re Vera? I’m Olivia,” she said, offering her hand.
And so their friendship began. Olivia quickly charmed Vera—bright, kind, gentle. At first, they spoke as neighbours, then more and more, until one day Vera admitted to herself: she was in love.
Olivia was three years older. At the time, she was fifty-eight. She’d had a hard life—working, raising a son alone after things fell apart with the boy’s father. The son had grown up, gone off to university, married, and now lived in another county with his family. A granddaughter, already five, visited rarely…
Olivia often sat by the window, reminiscing about her childhood. A big family—six children, parents, and a grandmother. A tiny house, barely any money, no toys. Grandma cooked, washed, and cared for the little ones while Mum and Dad worked the fields.
Father was a carpenter, brought home wages, but often came back tipsy. Mum argued with him, but he never hurt the children. When Vera was in Year Three, her father died suddenly. Soon after, Grandma passed too. Mum was left alone with six children.
That day, Vera’s childhood ended. She became a nanny for the younger ones—cooking, cleaning, forgetting about friends and toys. When she fell from the barn at school and injured her arm, the doctors couldn’t fully fix it. Since then, her left hand never worked right. Housework became harder, but she never complained.
At the boarding school she attended after Year Eight, Vera felt like a different person. For the first time, she was praised, made friends, felt wanted. She loved sewing—working with one hand, yet everything turned out neat and lovely. Teachers couldn’t believe it; classmates admired her. Twice a year, she went home with handmade gifts for her family.
In her second year, Vera fell for Andrew. He was attentive, cheerful. She already imagined marrying him… But when she told her mother, she replied coldly:
“What future have you got? With that arm? You’ll end up alone.”
The words stung. Slowly, Andrew drifted away. After graduation, Vera found work, but the company soon closed. She had to return to the village. And that’s when her real life began.
Her neighbour turned out to be John—a widower who’d moved from another village. Tall, sturdy, with kind eyes. He courted Vera patiently but firmly. Never mentioned her arm, never looked at her with pity.
A year later, he proposed. She cried with joy—couldn’t believe it was possible. That someone could love her just as she was, without conditions.
Years passed. They built a cosy home, raised a son, weathered life’s storms. Now, Vera often cooks roast dinners in the evenings, waiting for John to come back from the fields.
That night, he walked through the gate, tired but smiling:
“Done with sowing. Now we can live for ourselves.”
She just straightened the tea towel on the stove and said softly:
“I’ve always lived for you.”
Some things don’t need fixing—just the right person to see they were never broken.
