At last, happiness found her.
When Valerie married Ian, she never imagined her new husband would be trapped by a destructive habit. Their romance had been whirlwind—he was charming, quick-witted, decisive, and proposed to her right there at a party, slightly tipsy.
*”Val, marry me!”* He laughed, leaning in with the unmistakable scent of whiskey on his breath.
*”Have you been drinking? This is how you propose?”* she asked, though her voice held no real anger. Valerie had dreamed of a wedding—most of her friends were already married.
*”What’s the problem? I’m happy, so I had a drink. Come on, don’t keep me waiting—say yes!”* He grinned, insistent.
She agreed, on one condition—drinking only on special occasions. Ian nodded without hesitation. *”You have my word.”*
What Valerie didn’t know then was that Ian’s father had been a lifelong drinker, and that same weakness, like an invisible chain, had been passed down. His mother, Margaret, had often fought his father when he poured his son a glass.
*”You ruined your life—now you’re dragging him down too?”* she’d shout. But all she ever got in return was laughter. *”Let him be a man.”*
After the wedding, they settled in Valerie’s grandmother’s old house in the outskirts of Birmingham. At first, things were fine. Ian worked, though he often came home with drink on his breath. There was always an excuse.
*”Mark just had a son—how could I not toast to that? Or it was Pete’s birthday. Or the lads after work—the boss treated us. It’s respect!”*
Valerie gave birth to their son, Oliver. But Ian kept drinking. He barely looked at the boy.
*”Why won’t you even hold him? He’s your son!”* she fumed.
*”You don’t want me near him smelling of booze, do you?”* he’d mutter, waving her off.
*”Then stop drinking! How many times do I have to say it?”*
Years passed. Eight of them. Ian drank more, lost job after job—always the same reason. Valerie carried everything: the house, their son, their whole life. The only bright spot was her mother-in-law, who understood, sympathised, helped with money, bought clothes for Oliver.
*”Val’s a gem. If he had a shred of decency…”* Margaret sighed to her sister.
When Oliver turned ten, Valerie knew she couldn’t go on. Ian was a shell of himself—broken teeth from brawls, thinning hair, glassy-eyed. He felt nothing for his wife or son.
*”Leave him,”* her colleagues urged. *”Val, how much longer can you put up with this?”*
But she kept waiting. Her heart was too soft—she pitied everyone, even stray dogs, even her husband.
Until she found a reason—a real one. Valerie fell in love. With a new colleague. His name was Simon.
He’d only been at the office a few months. Tall, bright-eyed, open-faced, with a warm smile that won everyone over. Even the boldest women in the office tried their luck, but he was a true gentleman—polite, firm.
Simon was divorced, had moved from Cardiff, lived with his father. The women whispered, made guesses, but he stayed quiet, never giving them anything to work with.
For the first time in years, Valerie felt something stir inside her. As if her heart had woken up. She didn’t dare say a word—not even to herself.
When she finally filed for divorce, she didn’t ask—she told Ian.
*”It’s over. Pack your things. I can’t do this anymore.”*
He left without a scene. Just took his bags and went to his mother’s.
Valerie—it was like being born again.
Then one evening, as she left work, Simon called out to her.
*”Val, got a minute? I’d like to take you to dinner.”*
Her cheeks burned, but she nodded.
They sat in a café, talking about life, work, family. Then he said it.
*”I heard you’re divorced. And… I’m not sorry to say this—but I knew from the start you were the one.”*
Her breath caught. Those were the words she’d waited for.
*”I had no idea…”* she whispered.
*”But I did,”* he smiled. *”I just didn’t know if I’d ever have the courage to say it.”*
From then on, they were together. Valerie laughed when jealous colleagues teased,
*”Who knew quiet Val would land Simon? How’d you manage that?”*
She didn’t answer. She didn’t care. Her heart was quiet and warm.
Ian didn’t interfere, but Margaret visited often—to see Oliver, to support Valerie. She understood why her son had been sent away. She didn’t blame her.
One Saturday, Valerie told Margaret about the engagement. Simon had given her a ring—it was serious.
*”Margaret… Simon proposed. I said yes.”*
For a moment, the older woman was silent. Then she pulled her into a hug.
*”At last! You deserve this happiness, love. I want everything to be perfect for you.”*
Valerie couldn’t believe it. She’d expected judgement—instead, she got warmth.
*”I’ll help with the wedding. Make it beautiful. Oliver should know he’s got a proper man in his life now.”*
From that day, their bond only grew. Valerie had found not just love, but a friend in her former mother-in-law. And Margaret had found a daughter. It happens. Rarely—but it happens.
Funny, how life works. Sometimes the darkest storms bring the brightest rainbows.
