The Fragile Woman
One September, a new girl named Lucy joined the class. She was so slight and delicate, it seemed a strong gust of wind might break her. She always wore a thick jumper, her sharp little shoulders poking through. Her thin, fair hair was plaited into fine braids with big pink bows. Her large eyes, set in a pale, triangular face, always looked sad and surprised.
To tall, sporty Matthew, she was like a fairy-tale princess who needed protecting—something he took to with enthusiasm. The other girls, though, took an instant dislike to her.
“Nothing special, yet she acts all high and mighty,” they’d whisper bitterly at break. “Looks like a stiff breeze would knock her over, and yet she’s snatched the best-looking lad.”
Lucy never ate in the school canteen—the food made her feel ill. Instead, she brought a big apple every day, taking tiny bites and chewing so slowly she never finished it. The girls would scoff when they saw the half-eaten core in the bin. Matthew, meanwhile, wolfed down his lunch and rushed off to guard her.
He walked her home, carrying her bag. Not a single lad dared laugh—Matthew was known for his strength. Soon, everyone got used to seeing them together.
When school ended, Matthew fought his parents hard, refusing to leave for university in the city. He didn’t care where he studied, so long as he stayed with Lucy. He enrolled at the local college instead. Lucy’s parents adored him and trusted him completely. She did well in class but barely scraped through her exams—her nerves got the better of her each time. Higher education was out of the question.
Lucy was a late-in-life child, and her parents coddled her, terrified she’d fall ill or get too stressed. Though, truthfully, she wasn’t actually sick that often.
At a family meeting, they decided education mattered less for a girl than a good marriage. And on that front, things were perfect—Matthew was the ideal match. Lucy’s mum, a doctor, got her a job as a secretary at the local clinic. So Lucy sat in reception, typing and answering calls.
Matthew’s parents, though, weren’t keen. She wasn’t the bride they’d dreamed of for their son. They warned him, “You don’t know what you’re getting into. She won’t be able to support you—might not even bear children—”
But Matthew didn’t care about any of that. He just liked looking after her. It made him feel stronger. He liked that she wasn’t like the other girls, those big grey eyes fixed on him. Still, his parents’ nagging wore him down, and eventually, he proposed.
Her parents were overjoyed—their daughter had landed a good man. Now they could die in peace, knowing she’d be cared for. Lucy wasn’t much for housework, so they decided the newlyweds would live with them for a while. Their flat was bigger anyway.
Matthew’s parents didn’t argue—at least he’d be fed.
The young couple lived quietly and happily. There was never any reason to argue. When Lucy got pregnant, her parents could hardly believe it. Even late on, her bump stayed small. There was no passion between them—barely a sound came from their room at night.
They wouldn’t even let Lucy lift a book, terrified she’d lose the baby. Soon, they banned Matthew from sharing her bed, buying him a sofa instead.
He hated sleeping apart, so he started staying at his parents’ place. Again, everyone was fine with it—except his parents, who carped that he’d shackled himself to a waif who’d never pull her weight. He’d snap at them and storm off to his mates.
One evening, he met Claire—strong, curvy, and openly sexy. The attraction was instant. They lost their heads, throwing themselves at each other like starved animals. The heat between them only grew.
His parents scolded him for straying when Lucy needed him most. But Lucy wasn’t bothered. She was too wrapped up in the life inside her. The baby kicked restlessly, making her ravenous. Only fresh air calmed it, so she’d sit on the balcony for hours, reading.
Maybe the baby took after his dad—or maybe he just got cramped—but he arrived early. He was small but strong, with his father’s looks. Even Lucy’s parents had to admit it.
Matthew was with Claire when it happened. His mum rang him at work the next day to say he was a dad. He rushed to the hospital, staring up at the window where Lucy lay, thinner than ever.
When she was discharged, he carried the baby home—Lucy was too weak. It was a wonder she’d given birth at all. Her chest was small, but her milk was plentiful. The baby fed hungrily and, within a month, was a chubby little thing with a loud cry and a hearty appetite.
Her parents took over most of the care. Lucy was only trusted with pushing the pram. She’d stare at her sleeping son, unable to believe he was hers—he was all Matthew.
At first, Matthew rushed home after work. Then, slowly, he started disappearing to Claire again. But he always came back to Lucy at night.
Both sets of parents sighed but left him be. He’d tire of it eventually.
Claire, though, wasn’t having it. “Why stay with that dried-up stick?” she’d snap. “She’s useless in bed and worse at home. Make up your mind!”
Her nagging wore him down. Lucy never complained—just smiled when he came home, chatting about the baby. Holding his son melted his heart. But Claire’s pull was strong too.
Then, one day, it ended. After a fight, Matthew stayed away. When he went back, a neighbour handed him a letter—Claire had found someone else and left.
He got blind drunk for the first time, staggered to his parents’, and collapsed. When he sobered up, he went back to Lucy. She never asked questions, just smiled when he started coming straight home. Little Alfie clung to him—only Dad could toss him in the air or give him piggybacks.
Matthew found comfort in his family. Evenings were all about Alfie—who worshipped him. Both lively and cheeky, they were peas in a pod. Lucy knew she was the odd one out but didn’t mind, happy to let Matthew take charge.
When Alfie started secondary, Lucy’s dad died. Her mum followed a year and a half later, too heartbroken to go on. Lucy had to learn to run the house. Matthew and Alfie helped—cleaning, shopping. Matthew’s mum taught her to cook.
Alfie, copying his dad, took on the heavy chores whenever Matthew was at work. The whole street cooed over them—Alfie nearly as tall as his dad now, Lucy like a reed beside them.
“What does she even do to deserve it?” one neighbour grumbled. “My daughter’s run ragged by her drunk of a husband, and this one gets everything handed to her.”
Matthew’s mum died of cancer as Alfie finished school. His dad sank into grief, and Lucy tried to comfort him, but within a year, he was gone too.
Funny how it worked—sturdy folk faded while Lucy, frail as she was, kept going.
Alfie went to uni in London and married a bright, pretty girl named Emily.
The passion was long gone—now it was just Matthew and Lucy, making the best of it. His heart started playing up. Years of push-ups with Alfie had kept him fit, but now there was a belly, thinning hair. Lucy had gone grey but stayed as slender as ever, like time couldn’t touch her.
When he had an attack and ended up in hospital, Lucy brought fresh juice and broth every day, nattering away while he listened, seeing the same girl who’d walked into his class all those years ago.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered once. “I failed you.”
“Don’t. It’s me who failed. You deserved better. I should’ve let you go.” She pressed his hand to her lips.
A few months later, he died in his sleep—a blood clot, the doctors said. Alfie came for the funeral with his eldest. Lucy took one look at him and wept—he was Matthew all over again.
“Come live with us, Mum,” Alfie said after. “What will you do here alone?”
“No, love. I’ll be fine. When your lad’s older, send him here. Good schools, fresh air—and you’ll visit more.”
And so she stayed. She visited the graves often, saving Matthew’s for last, standing there talking to him like he could hear.
She believed he still watched over her. Where else would she find the strength? She kept the house ticking over, remembering him fondly.
Then Matthew’s dad passed too.
God had given her a fragile body, but she outlived them all.
Alfie moved back with his family. Now she had joy again.
She swapped flats—taking Matthew’s parents’ smaller one, giving theirs to Alfie. The grandkids ran errands for her, took her to the doctor. Like he’d passed the torchAnd when her time finally came, she closed her eyes with a smile, knowing she’d see him again—just as he’d always promised.
