“Lena, Remember How We Promised Always to Be Honest With Each Other?” – How Helen Found True Happiness After Heartbreak
“Elsie, remember how we swore we’d always be straight with each other?” Tom’s voice was soft but firm. “I need to tell you the truth. I’ve fallen in love. With someone else. I’m sorry, but I’m leaving. She’s the one, the woman I want to grow old with. She’s extraordinary, like… the stars. What we have is real—vast as the sky.”
As he spoke, his eyes sparkled like a man drunk on dreams. Elsie gripped the back of a chair to steady herself, her knuckles white.
“Have you lost your mind, Tom? ‘The one’? And what am I? Do you even remember we have a daughter? Eighteen months, Tom. Eighteen. I’ve put my career on hold, and at thirty-five, you’ve decided to chase ‘true love’?”
“Elsie, I…” He faltered, then fled to the bathroom, phone in hand—doubtless texting his newfound ‘universe’.
That night, Elsie wept, clutching little Sophie as she slept. She didn’t sleep a wink. By morning, she’d tied her hair haphazardly, dressed Sophie in a rush, and marched to her mother-in-law’s.
“Elsie, love, you should’ve held on tighter to him,” Margaret tutted. “Look at you—scruffy ponytail, that tired jumper. No wonder he wandered. Men don’t wait these days. Timothy knew what he wanted. You’re not the first wife left behind, won’t be the last. Bring Sophie round if you need help. Who knows? You might even find someone new.” She waved a hand, as if discussing a spoiled milk carton, not a family.
Walking home, Elsie felt something wither inside—hope, illusions, dreams. All dead.
She cried for three days straight. Then she wiped her face and did what needed doing: filed for child support. Then divorce. No more pretending things could be fixed. Let Tom have the freedom he’d craved.
Margaret ‘helped’ occasionally, but it felt like charity. A pack of nappies handed down like alms. A fiver ‘for sweets’ with a pompous air. Elsie’s own mother, living in Manchester, sent what she could, lamenting life’s unfairness over the phone. Elsie clenched her teeth and carried on.
A year passed. Sophie started nursery. Elsie returned to work. The first months were hell—sick days, coughs, tears, sleepless nights. But slowly, life settled. There was solace in this new normal: freedom, clarity, no lies. Watching haggard fathers at nursery drop-off, she’d think, “Thank God I’m doing this alone.”
Then, one day, Margaret called:
“Elsie! Wonderful news! Timothy’s going to be a father!”
“Lovely. Wishes to the mother and baby,” Elsie murmured. And to her surprise, it didn’t sting. She’d moved on.
A week later, another call. Hysterics.
“Elsie! Disaster! Timothy’s had a crash! His Ford’s totaled—he’s in ICU! They say he’ll be disabled!”
Elsie went quiet. Pity stirred—he was Sophie’s father, after all. But pity wasn’t a rope to drag her back.
Days later, Margaret demanded: “You must take him in. Nurse him. I’ll help. He’s your husband!”
“Must I? How?”
“You were practically married! Just a piece of paper missing. And Sophie—he always asked after her! Loved her! Loved you too! He made a mistake!”
“A mistake? Fine. Let his ‘soulmate’ care for him. Not my circus.”
“She left him! Said she won’t shackle herself to a cripple. One hospital visit—that was it. And she’s pregnant! Can you believe it?”
“I can. Still not my problem. He left us. Saw Sophie once, pays pennies in support. Where was his ‘duty’ then?”
“You’re cruel! Heartless! I’ll tell Sophie how you abandoned her father!”
“Go ahead, Margaret. Start with how he walked out. Or where he was when Sophie cried with fever. I’m not afraid of the truth.”
Margaret took Tom in. He survived, learned to walk with a cane. Then, an old friend—someone Elsie and Tom had known as a couple—dropped a bombshell:
“Elsie, did you know Margaret’s telling everyone you left Tom while he was in a coma? That there was no other woman—you just divorced him unconscious? And that you’re keeping Sophie from him?”
“What?!”
“And that his crash was your fault—he was ‘heartbroken’.”
Elsie walked home in a daze. How could lies spin so easily? Worse—how could people believe them?
Sophie skipped beside her, chattering. “Mummy, why so sad? Because of Granny? Because of Daddy?”
Elsie nodded, throat tight.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be good for both of them. I love you loads, Mummy.”
Hugging her, Elsie felt a sudden lightness—like shrugging off a sack of bricks. The anger faded. Let them talk. Let them lie. Here was her truth: small arms around her neck, eyes full of love.
This was happiness. Not fairy-tale romance. Not empty promises. Just a child’s unwavering love—and the certainty that whatever came, they’d be alright. And they would be.
