After her divorce, Marianne took a long time to recover. She had loved her husband, Edward, with all her heart—that was just her nature. When she loved, she loved deeply, giving everything to her husband and son. Of course, her son was different; he was the one man in any woman’s life she could never stop loving, no matter what.
Owen had decided after finishing school to dedicate his life to helping others, so he enrolled in medical school. Marianne had assumed he’d stay close, but her son chose differently—a university miles away from home. Edward couldn’t have cared less; he never seemed bothered by anything.
“Come on, Marianne, if Owen wants to be a doctor, let him. It’s his life, his choice,” Edward had shrugged.
Owen had dreamed of this since childhood.
“Mum, you know I’ve always wanted to help people. This isn’t a surprise. I know you’d rather I stayed close, but I need to do this. We’ll see each other when we can. I promise I’ll visit when possible. You’re the best mum in the world—never forget that. If you ever need me, I’ll be there,” Owen said as he packed his bags.
It was his final summer before graduation.
“Love, I know I can count on you. Thank you. And don’t worry—your father’s still here. We’ll manage,” Marianne reassured him, though her heart ached.
After medical school, Owen married, found work in London, and soon welcomed a daughter. Marianne longed to see them more, but distance kept visits rare, so she waited patiently for his holidays.
She and Edward had been married twenty-five years—comfortable, or so she’d thought. Marianne was educated, intelligent, striking. Edward had pursued her relentlessly at university, slipping into her life despite plenty of suitors.
She was never one for arguments, smoothing tensions at home and work with tact. Edward, though—brash, abrupt. Yet she had softened him. She’d helped him establish his business—a car repair and servicing garage—drafting the plan herself, supporting him every step.
One afternoon, she met friends at a café. Katherine had news—her first grandchild had arrived. The three had been close for years. Louise worked with Marianne, while Katherine, married with a grand country house, was a homemaker. Today, they’d chosen the café—Katherine was in town briefly.
As they chatted about life, children, and men, Katherine suddenly asked, “Marianne… do you trust Edward completely?”
“Of course. We have no secrets. Why?” Marianne tensed.
Katherine and Louise exchanged glances.
“I’ve seen him a few times—at a café, the supermarket—with a young woman. She was holding his arm. He didn’t notice me, too wrapped up in her.”
Marianne stared, bewildered.
“Maybe it’s someone from work? He has a few young staff. He’s often late—clients, you know.”
After that, Marianne watched Edward more carefully, questioning his delays—but eventually, she pushed it aside.
Then came the day the young woman arrived at their doorstep, pregnant, smiling sweetly.
“Hello.”
“Good afternoon. Can I help you?” Marianne asked.
“You’re lovely! You’re Marianne? Edward said his wife was older, unwell,” the girl chirped. “You *are* his wife?”
“Yes. Quite well, actually. And you are?”
“I’m Hannah. I’m expecting Edward’s baby. We’ve been together a while. He keeps promising to tell you but never does. He’s sworn he’ll leave you—we’ll marry once the baby’s born.”
Marianne stood frozen.
“I was surprised to see you—thought you’d be some old granny. Edward’s forty-eight, but you? You’re still pretty.”
“How old are you? Where did you meet?” Marianne forced herself to speak.
“Twenty-one. Online, obviously.” She smirked.
“You—at twenty—chose a man nearing fifty? Our son’s twenty-five.”
“Spare me the lecture. I wanted security—money, a home. What’s a girl my age supposed to do? Just hand him over, will you? He says you won’t let go.”
“Fine. Take him.” Marianne ushered her out before collapsing onto the sofa, weeping.
When Edward returned, she was composed.
“See that suitcase? It’s yours. Take it and go.”
“Marianne, what’s gotten into you?” His eyes darted nervously.
“Hannah came by. Pregnant. Says you’ve promised to leave me. Well, you’re free. Get out.”
She opened the door.
“Wait—I don’t *want* to leave!”
“You should’ve thought of that sooner.” She shut the door behind him.
A month later, they met at a café. Edward wanted the house—a large two-story property bought by Marianne’s father.
“The house stays with me, you keep the business. I won’t interfere—though let’s not forget who helped build it.”
“I’m renting! The baby’s coming—just split it!”
“Choose: the house is *mine*, or we divide *everything*—but the house stays with me regardless. Think it over. Three days.”
Her father intervened; Edward backed down.
Six months passed. Marianne adjusted to solitude, though sometimes she wondered if she’d been too forgiving.
“What have I learned? Never love a man more than yourself. He won’t value it. The more I gave, the more he took. He’ll never remember the nights I stayed awake watching him, holding him, straightening his collar. But now? I’ll love myself—and those who deserve it.”
She visited Owen, spoiling them all with gifts. On the train back, a silver-haired man kept glancing her way.
At the station, he approached. “Excuse me—I’m James. May I know your name?”
“Marianne,” she replied, struck by the warmth in his grey eyes.
“Lovely to meet you. My car’s nearby—can I offer a lift? I’ve been away on business.”
“I was visiting my son—and granddaughter.”
“Granddaughter? You don’t look old enough!”
James had been alone six years—his wife, daughter, and grandson lost in an accident.
They talked like old friends. Then came courtship, love. A year later, on his fiftieth birthday, he proposed in front of everyone.
With James, Marianne felt protected—finally understanding what it meant to have a true partner. He shielded her from worry, handling life’s burdens effortlessly. She hadn’t known men like him existed.
