**Time to Fix a Mistake**
Verity didn’t want to tell her mum a thing about what had happened at the lake. Sneaking into her room the moment she got home, she nearly made it—until her mother caught the rustling in the hallway and stepped out of the kitchen.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Mum clutched her chest, scanning her daughter’s face.
“It’s fine. Just swam too much.” Verity brushed past her and shut her bedroom door.
The next day, Anthony turned up to check on her.
“Why would she be unwell?” Mum frowned.
“Well, she nearly drowned yesterday,” Anthony said, blissfully unaware.
“Don’t exaggerate. I just swallowed some water.” Verity shot him a pointed look.
“I—came to ask if you’d like to go to the cinema,” Anthony quickly corrected, seizing the chance to smooth things over.
“Oh, Verity, go! No point moping indoors. Lovely weather too,” Mum chimed in, flashing Anthony a slightly ingratiating smile.
The thing was, Anthony was the son of a rather well-off businessman. His attention had Mum dreaming of a comfortable future for her daughter.
From then on, Anthony popped by often, whisking Verity off to swim, ride his motorbike, or grab coffee. Not that she was head over heels, but the fact he’d picked her out of all the local girls was flattering. Any one of them would’ve jumped at the chance to be seen with him.
That evening, Mum scolded Verity for playing hard to get with such a catch.
“From a well-to-do family. You’ll never want for anything. Dependable, too—stood by you when things went south. I’d trust him with my only daughter. And if he proposes, don’t be an ungrateful fool,” Mum finished sternly.
“But I don’t love him,” Verity tried.
“Don’t lie to me. A handsome lad like that? I married for passion, and look where that got me.”
When Anthony proposed, Verity said yes. Mum’s persuasion had done the trick. Amid the wedding chaos, it sometimes felt like she was play-acting—as if none of it was real. Meanwhile, Mum was over the moon.
Verity knew instantly Anthony’s mother and elder sister despised her. She wondered how they’d even allowed the marriage. Probably because he was the golden boy—the youngest son could do no wrong.
They didn’t live in the family’s grand estate but in a modest flat Anthony inherited from his grandfather—a relief to Verity, who found her mother-in-law terrifying.
Years passed, yet Verity couldn’t conceive. Her mother-in-law blamed her, dragging her to specialists who delivered crushing news. Verity drowned in guilt.
Anthony never openly reproached her, but his distance spoke volumes. He buried himself in his father’s firm—left to him and his sister after Dad’s fatal heart attack three years prior. He visited his mother alone, which suited Verity fine. She could only guess what was said about her.
She suspected Anthony had other women, but no proof meant no confrontation. And Anthony was always careful—family reputation mattered.
When Verity tried moving back with Mum, she was waved off. “Don’t be daft. Handsome men attract attention—harmless flirting isn’t cheating. Once you have a baby, things’ll sort themselves.” Mum sent her packing.
So they played happy families for five hollow years.
When Verity finally steeled herself to discuss divorce, Anthony’s mother died. Turned out she’d been seriously ill—nobody had bothered to tell Verity. Anthony spent days arranging the funeral, returning only to sleep.
***
Verity woke but lingered in bed, listening to the shower. Drifting off again, she jolted when Anthony strode in, smelling of aftershave.
“Why aren’t you up?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t go. Your mother never liked me. Thought I wasn’t good enough. She was right.” Verity sat up, watching him dress.
“Right about what?” He rifled through the wardrobe, indifferent to her gaze. His charms had long since worn off.
“That I don’t belong. No one’ll even notice if I’m not there.”
“The whole family’s coming. You *are* family. Get dressed—we’ll be late.”
“I’ll never be family, and you know it. Can you even *be* late to a funeral?” Sighing, she dragged herself up.
Coffee waited in the kitchen.
“Drink. We’re on the clock.” Anthony nudged the steaming mug toward her, tapping his expensive wristwatch.
In the car, classical music suited Verity’s sombre mood. Silent, she feigned sleep until they arrived at the sprawling estate, already crowded with luxury cars.
Just get through the day. One less enemy now.
“You go ahead. I’ll fix my face.” She fished out a compact.
“Don’t dawdle. And lock the car.” Anthony vanished into the house.
She knew she’d be scrutinised briefly, then forgotten. Still, she dabbed on powder, tucking a handkerchief in her sleeve—for show, not tears.
Stepping out, she spotted old Mrs. Whitby from down the lane—alive, against all odds. The poor woman had lost her husband and son in a crash years ago; the neighbourhood called her “eccentric” ever since.
“Hello,” Verity said as the woman neared.
Mrs. Whitby squinted at her.
“I’m Verity. Anthony’s wife—”
“I’ve got eyes, girl. Here for the funeral?” She nodded at the house.
“Yes.”
A curtain twitched—someone was watching. Verity hurried inside.
“Married the wrong man, you did. Time to fix that mistake. Do it, and you’ll have children.” The words froze Verity mid-step.
“What mistake? What d’you mean?” She called after the retreating figure.
Mrs. Whitby didn’t look back. Bewildered, Verity headed inside.
Anthony was deep in conversation. Nobody glanced her way. Coming here had been a mistake—just like marrying him.
***
Years earlier, her friend had dragged her to the lake. The lads drank beer while the girls sunbathed, sneaking glances at Anthony—the best-looking of the lot.
Her friend whispered that Maisie had been chasing him forever.
“Fancy a swim?” Her friend splashed in. Verity and Maisie followed reluctantly.
“Bet you can’t swim across,” Maisie sneered.
Verity took the bait. Mid-lake, something slippery brushed her leg—too deep for weeds. Locals whispered of a drowned girl who dragged swimmers under.
Panicking, Verity thrashed, choking on water—then woke onshore with Anthony hovering over her. Everyone fussed—except Maisie, smirking nearby.
Anthony drove her home on his motorbike…
***
At the graveside, Verity stayed ignored. Anthony consoled his wailing sister.
As cars lined up to leave, she ducked into a distant relative’s vehicle, hopping out near a chemist’s. “Headache. I’ll walk.”
Alone, she headed for the bus stop—then realised her handbag was still in Anthony’s car. Trapped.
“Verity?”
She spun. A car had pulled up—a man leaning out.
“James… James Whitby. Don’t recognise me?”
She blinked. Once the gang’s quiet one, he’d grown into a striking man.
“Need a lift? Not keen on the wake?”
“How’d you guess?”
“Easy. You were never one of them. I was mad for you back then. Nearly lost it when you married Anthony.”
“I can’t have children,” she blurted.
“You? Who told you that? Anthony?” He almost laughed.
“His family. The doctors—”
“Anthony’s the infertile one. Childhood illness. His mother covered it up. Easier to blame you. Money buys lies.”
Verity reeled. Mrs. Whitby’s words echoed: *Fix the mistake.*
“Sorry—bad timing,” James sighed.
“No. She—your aunt—said the same today.”
“Aunt? She’s younger than your mother-in-law. Grief aged her. Sharp as a tack, though.” He hesitated. “Verity… I need to say something.”
“Not now.”
“Listen. It was me. *I* pulled you from the lake. Anthony couldn’t swim worth a damn. I collapsed hauling you out—he got there first. By the time I could speak, you were smitten. Didn’t seem right to interfere.”
Her breath hitched.
“Why tell me now?”
“No mother means no leash. He and Maisie? Been at it for years. His mum blocked the divorce—family reputation and all.”
Stunned, Verity barely registered reaching her flat.
*Fix the mistake.*
“Wait here.” She packed in a frenzy. *Not Mum’sAs she slid into the passenger seat, the weight of five years lifted, and for the first time in ages, Verity felt the wind of freedom whisper through her hair—and this time, she knew it was real.
