LUCKY OR JUST A FOOL?
Irene, a quiet, unassuming girl, was called “the lucky fool” by her friends. How could such things go together? You’ll understand soon.
Before she even turned twenty, a friend invited her on holiday to Brighton. Sea, sunshine, free accommodation—they’d be staying with the friend’s family. There, Irene met Alex—a handsome lieutenant colonel renting a flat nearby. A man with a military past, having served in Afghanistan, now working as a recruitment officer. He carried himself with strength, certainty, and an air of quiet pain. Irene saw it when she noticed the old, jagged scar on his back. Foolishly, she asked:
“Was it from there?”
Alex just shrugged and dove under the waves. He didn’t like to talk about it.
Irene fell for him, dizzy with infatuation. She gave herself to him the moment he wanted her. In return, he smirked and said:
“Guess I’ll have to marry you now.”
The absence of love words didn’t faze her. She thought—this must be real happiness.
Alex was seventeen years older and took charge of everything: a no-frills wedding, just signing papers in his hometown. “We’re too old for fairy tales,” he said. Besides… he’d done it all before. He was a widower with an eight-year-old daughter, Lily.
It hit Irene hard, but she decided love mattered more. She stayed. Lily, neglected and passed between grandmothers, was adrift. At first, Irene just pitied her—until one day, from the street, she heard:
“Mum!”
She nearly wept. And then she adopted Lily.
Irene had only ever taken hairdressing courses. She wanted to study—Alex cut her off:
“Find a salon and get pregnant. I want a son.”
But the pregnancy never came. Or maybe the problem wasn’t her.
Then disaster struck: one of Alex’s subordinates was caught taking bribes. Though Alex was innocent, in the military chain of command, the boss always pays. He was forced to resign “for health reasons.” The pension was decent, but it broke him. He shut himself away, stopped contributing, filled his days with friends and bottles. Within a year or two, Irene realized—her husband was a ghost of himself. He didn’t work, didn’t help, didn’t even buy food, just ate what he fancied from the fridge.
When summer came, Irene and Lily left for Brighton. Two weeks later, the truth was clear: she had to go.
“You’re my mum,” Lily told her.
Irene nodded.
Alex threw a scene:
“I’ll dump Lily on you!”
When he realized her mind was made up, he spat:
“You’re a fool, Irene.”
She returned to her hometown, to her parents. They would’ve preferred blood grandchildren, but they accepted Lily. The girl started school, Irene went back to cutting hair. One day, a silver-haired man came in—polite, pleasant. He left a tip, and that evening, a bouquet. His name was Andrew. Ten years older, divorced, living in his own house with a small but steady construction business.
With him, it was easy. He said he loved her. Irene thought—how long must she chase happiness? Here it was. They married. Friends envied her:
“If you hadn’t taken your ex’s daughter, you wouldn’t be such a fool.”
Irene felt a pang—God had never given her children. But life had another twist. Andrew had a younger sister—troubled. She’d had two girls but was reckless, drunk, unfit. Now her parental rights were being stripped. Social services were circling.
Andrew hesitated:
“It’s not really your problem…”
In that moment, Irene pictured the girls in a boat, everyone pushing them away. Their mother, their fathers, even their uncle. Would she do the same?
“We’ll take them,” she said firmly. “You know Lily isn’t mine by blood. And look at her now—off to college soon.”
Andrew held her tight, and they sat like that, wordless. Two people who no longer needed words.
So, was Irene lucky? Undoubtedly! First husband—an officer, a looker. There’d been love, there’d been experience. They split, yes, but no shared children. Second try—a success: a kind husband, a home, stability. No wonder colleagues seethed.
But was she a fool? Adopted a girl, took in her husband’s nieces. She knew it meant worry, expense, tears, sleepless nights. But she didn’t back down. Because her heart never chose the easy path.
…Falling asleep on Andrew’s shoulder, Irene imagined braiding the girls’ hair, picking out dresses, reading bedtime stories. Their house would be full of laughter, the smell of cooking, balloons on birthdays, swings in the park. Lily was grown now—more a friend than a daughter. These little ones would be hers for years to come. And this—this was happiness. Irene wasn’t afraid of it. And so—she wasn’t a fool. Just a truly lucky woman.
