The Fragile Woman
That September, a new girl named Daisy joined the class. She was so delicate and slight, as if a strong gust of wind might snap her in two. Always wrapped in a thick jumper, her sharp, bony shoulders poking through. Her thin, fair hair was braided into wispy plaits tied with large pink ribbons. Her big eyes in that pale, triangular face always held a look of quiet sadness and surprise.
To tall, athletic Edward, she seemed like a fairy-tale princess—someone to protect and cherish. And so he did, with all his heart. But the other girls took an instant dislike to the newcomer.
“Nothing to look at, yet acting like she’s something special,” they muttered spitefully at break. “How does she even keep upright, and yet she’s gone and snagged the handsomest lad in school?”
Daisy never ate in the canteen. The smell of the school dinners made her feel ill. Instead, she brought a large apple each day, nibbling at it so slowly she never finished by the end of break. The girls scoffed when they saw the half-eaten core tossed in the bin. Edward, meanwhile, wolfed down his lunch and hurried to her side.
He walked her home, carried her satchel, and none of the boys dared tease him about it. It would have cost them dearly—Edward was known for his strength. Soon, everyone grew used to seeing them together.
After school, Edward fought his parents hard but refused to leave for university in Cambridge. He didn’t care where he studied, so long as Daisy stayed by his side. Instead, he enrolled at the local college. Daisy’s parents adored Edward, trusting him completely with their daughter. She did well in her studies but barely scraped through her exams, nearly fainting at every one. Further education was out of the question.
Daisy had been a late child, and her parents fussed over her—God forbid she fell ill or became distressed. Though, truth be told, she rarely did.
At a family meeting, they decided that for a girl, marriage mattered more than education—and in that regard, things had turned out splendidly. Edward was the perfect match. Daisy’s mother, a doctor, arranged for her to work as the surgery’s receptionist. And so Daisy sat in the office, typing letters and answering calls.
Only Edward’s parents disapproved. They had dreamed of a sturdier wife for their son and urged him to reconsider. “You don’t understand what you’re condemning yourself to,” they said. “She’ll never be your support. Who knows if she can even bear children?”
But Edward dismissed such worries. He simply enjoyed caring for his fragile girl. He felt even stronger beside her, loved how different she was from the rest, and adored the way her huge grey eyes gazed at him. Yet his parents’ nagging wore him down, and one day, he proposed.
Her parents were overjoyed—their daughter had landed such a fine husband. Now they could rest easy; she would be cared for. True, Daisy had never kept house, so they decided the young couple would live with them until they settled into married life. Their flat was larger anyway.
Edward’s parents accepted it grudgingly—at least their son would be well fed.
The newlyweds lived quietly and contentedly. They had no reason to quarrel. When Daisy became pregnant, her parents could scarcely believe it. Even late into the term, her belly remained small. And there was little passion between them—no sighs or whispers escaped their room at night.
Daisy was forbidden from lifting anything heavier than a book, lest she lose the child. Her parents even insisted they sleep apart, buying Edward a sofa of his own.
He hated it. Soon, he began staying overnight with his parents, who harped on about his misplaced devotion. “You’ll spend your life waiting on her,” they said. Frustrated, he stormed out to meet friends.
One such evening, he met Vanessa—a buxom, raven-haired woman with a bold, sensual presence. The attraction between them was instant and consuming. They lost all sense, embracing like starved creatures whenever they met. The heat between them only grew.
His parents scolded him for straying while Daisy needed him most. Yet Daisy herself seemed untroubled, absorbed in the life growing inside her. The child kicked restlessly, stirring her appetite, and only settled when she sat on the balcony with a book.
Perhaps the babe had inherited his father’s spirit, or perhaps he simply tired of confinement—but he arrived early. Small yet sprightly, he was the image of Edward. Even Daisy’s parents had to admit it, and they rejoiced.
Edward, meanwhile, had been with Vanessa. His mother rang him at work the next day to announce his fatherhood. He rushed to the hospital, standing below the window as he watched Daisy—pale and frailer than ever—recover from the birth.
When she and the baby were discharged, Edward carried his son home. Daisy was too weak. It was a wonder she had delivered at all. Her small, girlish breasts somehow yielded plenty of milk, and within a month, the baby had transformed into a chubby, robust little lad with a hearty appetite.
The grandparents took over most of the childcare. Daisy was only trusted to push the pram on walks. She stared at her sleeping son, unable to believe she had borne him—he was all Edward, with nothing of her.
At first, Edward hurried home after work. But soon, he was vanishing to see Vanessa again—though he always returned to Daisy by night.
Both sets of parents sighed, understanding his struggle. He’d settle down eventually.
Only Vanessa was discontent. “Why cling to that dried-up stick?” she demanded. “She’s useless in bed and can’t even keep house. Make up your mind!”
Their rows exhausted Edward. Daisy, by contrast, never scolded or demanded. When he came home, she greeted him warmly, sharing news of their son. Holding the boy, Edward’s heart swelled with love. Yet the pull of Vanessa remained.
Then, one day, it ended. After a bitter quarrel, he stayed away. When he returned, a neighbour handed him a letter—Vanessa had found another man and left. “Don’t look for me,” she wrote.
For the first time, Edward drank himself senseless. Stumbling to his parents’ house, he collapsed at their door. When he sobered, he went back to Daisy. She asked no questions, simply glad to have him home.
Little Henry clung to his father, following him like a shadow. Only Edward could toss him in the air or give him horseback rides. In his wife and son, Edward found solace. Evenings were now spent with Henry, who adored him unconditionally.
Daisy understood she was the outsider in their boisterous pair. She didn’t begrudge it, letting Edward take the lead in raising their boy.
When Henry was in Year Six, Daisy’s father passed. Her mother followed a year and a half later, heartbroken without her husband. Forced to learn housekeeping, Daisy muddled through with Edward and Henry’s help—tidying, shopping, even cooking, with instruction from Edward’s mother.
Like his father, Henry took on the heavy chores when Edward was at work. The neighbours marveled at them—Henry nearly as tall as Edward now, Daisy still a wisp beside them.
“Look at her luck,” one woman grumbled. “A handsome husband and an even finer son. My girl dances attendance on hers, and all he does is drink or stray. But this one gets everything handed to her on a silver platter.”
Edward’s mother died of cancer as Henry finished school. His father withered in grief. Daisy tended to him, but within a year, he too was gone.
It was said a storm felled the mighty oak, while the slender sapling merely bent low to the ground.
Henry went to university in London. In his third year, he married a vivacious beauty named Charlotte, a match as striking as himself.
With passions now behind them, Edward and Daisy lived simply. But Edward’s heart began to falter. Once, he and Henry had competed in push-ups and chin-ups. Now, a paunch had formed, his hair thinned. Daisy too had silver strands—yet she remained as willowy as ever, as if untouched by time.
After a heart attack, Edward lay in hospital while Daisy brought him fresh juices and broth, chattering softly. He listened, seeing only the girl who had walked into his classroom long ago.
“Forgive me,” he murmured once. “I failed you.”
“Don’t be silly,” she whispered, pressing his hand to her lips. “I was never the wife you needed. Forgive me for not letting you go.”
Months later, Edward died in his sleep—a blood clot, the doctors said. Henry arrived for the funeral with his eldest. When Daisy saw him, she wept—he looked so like his father.
“Come live with us, Mum,” Henry urged after.
“No, love. I’ll manage. When your boy’s older, send him to me. The air’s cleaner here, the schools good—and you’ll visit more.”
So she remained alone. She visited the graves often, ending always at Edward’s. Standing before his photo, she shared news as if he still listened.
She believed he hadn’t trulyAnd when her time came at last, she closed her eyes with a smile, knowing she would wake to the sound of his voice calling her home.
