LUCKY OR JUST A FOOL?
Irene, a quiet, unassuming girl, was often called “the lucky fool” by her friends. How could such things go together? You’ll soon understand.
She’d barely turned twenty when a friend invited her on holiday to Brighton. Sea, sun, free accommodation—they were staying with the friend’s relatives. There, Irene met Alex—a handsome lieutenant colonel renting a flat nearby. A man with a military past, having served in Afghanistan, he now worked at the local recruitment office. Strength, resolve, and confidence radiated from him. But also pain. Irene saw it when she noticed the old, terrible scar on his back. She foolishly asked, “From over there?” Alex just shrugged and dived underwater. He didn’t like talking about it.
Irene fell head over heels. She gave herself to him the moment he wanted her. Smirking, he said, “Well, now I’ll have to marry you.” She wasn’t bothered that no words of love were spoken. To her, this was real happiness.
Alex was seventeen years older and took charge of everything: a wedding without dresses or limos, just signing the papers in his town. “We’re too old for those games,” he said. Besides… he’d done it all before. He was a widower with an eight-year-old daughter, Lily.
It was a blow, but Irene decided love mattered more. So she stayed. Lily, neglected and unwanted, had been shuffled between grandmothers. At first, Irene merely pitied her—until one day, hearing “Mum!” called from the street, she nearly burst into tears. She adopted Lily.
Irene had only taken hairdressing courses. She wanted to study further, but Alex cut her off: “Find a salon and go on maternity leave. I want a son.” But pregnancy never came. Maybe the issue wasn’t hers at all.
Then disaster struck: one of Alex’s subordinates was caught taking bribes. Though Alex wasn’t involved, the blame rolled uphill. He was forced to retire “for health reasons.” The pension was decent, but it broke him. He shut himself away, stopped contributing, and spent his days with friends and bottles. Within a year or two, Irene realized he’d become a shadow of himself. He didn’t work, didn’t help, didn’t even buy groceries—just ate what he fancied from the fridge.
When summer arrived, Irene and Lily left for Brighton. Two weeks later, it was clear: she had to go. “But you’re my mum,” Lily said. Irene nodded.
Alex made a scene: “Fine, 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 and 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 walked in—pleasant, polite. He left a tip, and that evening, flowers arrived. His name was Andrew. Ten years older, divorced, he owned his home and ran a small but steady construction business.
With him, life felt comfortable. He said he loved her. Irene thought: how much longer should she chase happiness? This was it. They married. Her friends whispered, “If only she hadn’t taken Lily, she wouldn’t be such a fool.”
Irene felt a pang—she’d never had children of her own. But life had another twist. Andrew had a troubled younger sister. Irresponsible, drinking heavily, she’d had two girls and was about to lose custody. Social services were already involved.
Andrew hesitated: “It’s not really your problem…” But in that moment, Irene pictured the girls in a boat, being pushed away by everyone—their mother, their fathers, even their uncle. Would she do the same?
“Take them,” she said firmly. “You know Lily isn’t mine, and now she’s off to college.” Andrew held her tight, and they sat in silence, two people who no longer needed words.
So, is Irene lucky? Absolutely. Her first husband—an officer, a looker. There’d been love, experience. They split, but without shared children. The second try worked: a kind husband, a home, stability. No wonder her colleagues envied her.
But a fool? She adopted a girl, took in her husband’s nieces. She knows the costs—the worries, the expenses, the tears, the sleepless nights. But she won’t back down. Because her heart doesn’t take the easy path.
…As she falls asleep on Andrew’s shoulder, Irene imagines braiding the girls’ hair, picking out dresses, reading bedtime stories. Their home will be full of laughter, the smell of cooking, balloons on birthdays, swings in the park. Lily’s grown now—more a friend than a daughter. These little ones will be with her for years. And that—that is happiness. Irene isn’t afraid of it. And so, she’s no fool. Just a truly lucky woman.
