**A Bittersweet Kind of Joy**
On Friday, the head accountant arrived at work dressed elegantly, clutching a bottle of expensive wine, a cake, and a tray of cured meats.
“Girls, don’t leave straight after work—let’s sit together for a bit and celebrate my birthday,” she announced.
Immediately, everyone rushed to embrace and congratulate her. Charlotte joined in. She had come to the company inexperienced, enduring the brunt of mistakes, yet she truly saw Eleanor Williams as her mentor. Eleanor pulled her close and whispered:
“Just a little longer, and I’ll retire. I’ll be recommending you for my position, dear. I know you’ll manage. You’re disciplined, serious…”
Charlotte barely had time to thank her for the trust when another colleague approached with congratulations.
Work wrapped up early. They cleared the large desk in the head accountant’s office, draped it with a paper tablecloth, and set out whatever they’d scavenged from the fridge. The director and department heads arrived just as the celebration began, presenting Eleanor with a grand bouquet of roses and a gift. The room buzzed again. Charlotte slipped out unnoticed.
“Where are you off to? We’ve only just sat down,” called out her friend and colleague, Grace, catching her in the corridor.
“I need to go. My father’s alone at home.”
“Stay just half an hour—nothing’s going to happen to him in that time.”
“Don’t try to convince me. He hates when I’m late. He’ll worry, his blood pressure will spike—at his age, it’s dangerous.”
“What age? How old is he?”
“Seventy-one,” sighed Charlotte.
“Seventy-one? That’s hardly ancient! Men that age still fall in love, remarry…”
“Grace, I really have to go. Apologise for me.” She turned to leave, but Grace caught her wrist.
“You’ve trapped yourself. You’re young—no personal life, nothing. Is that normal? Doesn’t your father want you to have a family? Grandchildren?”
“What grandchildren? I’m forty-two.”
“So? You’ve given up too soon. At this rate, you’ll outlive him—Oh, sorry.” Grace faltered at Charlotte’s sharp look. “But who else will tell you the truth? Is he ill?”
“No, just getting older. Terrified of dying alone.”
“I don’t understand you, Char. Your mother spent her life dancing around him. And where is she now? Now it’s your turn—”
“Enough. It’s my life.” Charlotte wrenched her arm free and hurried down the corridor to collect her coat. Grace watched her go with pity.
Outside, the air smelled of spring. Most of the snow had melted; soon, buds would swell on the trees. On her way home, Charlotte stopped at the shop. The queue at the till snaked long, but she checked her watch—she had time. She’d left early; ten minutes to the house. She’d make it.
At home, she made noise deliberately in the hallway so her father would hear. She carried the groceries to the kitchen before entering the living room. He lay on the sofa, eyes fixed on the television.
“Dad, I’m home. What are you watching?”
The tension in his gaze told her he was displeased. When was he ever pleased?
“How are you feeling?” she asked patiently.
“Took your time, didn’t you? Too busy gallivanting. My blood pressure’s up. I’ll drop dead here alone, and you won’t even know.” He glowered.
“Gallivanting? I only stopped at the shops for a minute.” She fetched the blood pressure monitor. “Give me your arm.”
He didn’t move.
“Dad, don’t be childish. Cooperate.”
Reluctantly, he extended his arm. She tightened the cuff, pumped the bulb.
“You’re imagining things. Your blood pressure’s perfect.”
“You don’t know how to measure. *I* know when it’s high,” he grumbled.
She understood—he wasn’t young anymore. A lifetime on construction sites had worn him down. But that didn’t mean he could lie on the sofa all day.
“Should I call the doctor tomorrow?”
“What do they know? Just hand out pills. Useless.”
She put the monitor away and retreated to her room to change. As she cooked dinner, an endless internal monologue raged.
*I deserve a break too. Staring at a screen all day, my eyes ache. I could be laughing with colleagues, eating cake, drinking wine. They’re offering me a promotion, and I ran away. What if Eleanor’s offended?*
*I’m an adult. I’m sick of being controlled, criticised. You could at least go to the corner shop. Grace is right—I’ll make myself ill. I’m exhausted…*
She cut herself off. It was wrong to think like that, even if he couldn’t hear. Who knew how she’d behave at his age? Maybe worse. But who would be there for *her*?
Her mother had done everything—cleaning, cooking, hauling heavy bags. Her father believed housework was beneath him, especially with two women at home. Never mind that one was just a child.
Charlotte couldn’t recall her mother ever idle. Always cooking, sewing, knitting… As she grew older, Charlotte helped.
“Go out, darling. You’ll have plenty of time for work once you’re married,” her mother would say kindly.
When Charlotte brought home her fiancé, Daniel, her father scrutinised him before declaring he wouldn’t tolerate freeloaders. *He’d* earned everything himself. No handouts here.
Daniel barely kept his temper. Later, he said he’d never live with in-laws. After the wedding, they rented a flat. Charlotte visited her parents often, helping her mother, whose blood pressure was often high.
Daniel grew jealous, accusing her of lying about the visits. They fought. When her mother died of a stroke, Charlotte began visiting daily. Daniel left, filed for divorce. He tried to return, but by then, she’d moved in with her father.
She rebelled, but it always ended the same—her father feigned heart attacks, begged for an ambulance. She’d burn with shame as paramedics scolded her for false alarms.
If she stayed late at work, he’d greet her with insults. Men had shown interest, but she never dared bring one home. So she remained—no family, no children.
After dinner, she washed up, mopped the hall. Fresh mud clung to her father’s shoes. So he *did* go out while she was at work. She said nothing, just retreated to her room, tuning out the blaring TV.
Once, Grace snapped. “I can’t watch you waste your life anymore.” She bought tickets—they’d leave for the coast in June. No excuses.
“But my father—”
“He’s healthier than you. Cook meals, ask a neighbour to check on him. Ten days. You *need* this.”
Charlotte couldn’t refuse. She’d only been to the coast once, years ago with Daniel. As the trip neared, she hesitated. Only the night before did she tell her father.
Predictably, he erupted. “You want me dead!”
This time, she cut him off.
“Even maids get holidays. You won’t die in ten days. There’s food in the fridge. Aunt Margaret from downstairs will check on you. I’ll leave her the keys—we both know you wouldn’t open the door. And spare me the act. I know you go out.”
He blinked, stunned by her defiance. She locked herself in her room until Grace and her husband arrived. Their train left at 2 a.m.
On the journey, anxiety gnawed at her. But the sea washed it all away. Within days, she glowed, her youth returning.
“There’s my Charlotte again,” Grace teased. “Men can’t take their eyes off you.”
“Where?” She turned, spotting a tall, fit man watching her. His face was familiar. When he smiled and approached, she recognised him—Jacob, a university friend.
“Jake!” she gasped. “Here alone?”
“My wife passed. My daughter insisted I take a break. You’re with Daniel?”
“You remember Daniel?”
“Of course. I was in love with *you*. He beat me to it.”
They’d married; divorced. Now she lived with her father.
“You say that like it’s a death sentence.”
“It feels like one sometimes.”
They spent every day together. Grace contrived to leave them alone.
“Charlotte, I’m alone too,” Jake said the night before she left. “We could… My daughter’s engaged—she’d be thrilled. What do you say?”
“I don’t know. My father… Daniel couldn’t handle him.”
“I’m not Daniel. I don’t need a maid. Look, meeting you again—I still… Trust me, you won’t regret it.”
“Let’s try. But I’ll need to talk to my father first. Okay?”
Jake’sCharlotte smiled up at Jake, her heart lighter than it had been in years, knowing that for the first time in so long, happiness wasn’t just a distant dream but something real—something hers to hold.
