Happiness comes to those who believe in it and wait.
In Year 8, Olivia sneaked away from the school Christmas party with Daniel. They just wanted to be alone, and suddenly, thick snowflakes began to fall—like an unseen hand had torn open a feather pillow above them. The snow kept drifting down.
Daniel took Olivia’s cold hands in his and pressed them to his lips, warming them with his breath. They’d been friends since childhood, but lately, something had shifted between them. They both knew their childhood was gone, though neither could say where. Still, they had each other, and they hoped it would last forever.
*God, that was so long ago,* Olivia thought now, *and where is Daniel now?*
At thirty-two, she’d never married. Life had turned out that way, though in truth, it was her mother, Margaret, who’d changed everything. If not for her, Olivia’s story might have been different.
She’d been an ordinary girl—loved playing, running, jumping, always with her two closest friends, Daniel and Charlotte. Daniel had carried her schoolbag since Year 1, helped with maths, shielded her from dogs and bullies. His own father drank, often threw him and his mum out of the house, and they’d end up staying at Olivia’s.
Margaret would always ask Daniel’s mother, “Sarah, why do you put up with it? Leave him—this isn’t living.”
“I stay for my son,” Sarah would reply.
“How can you let Daniel grow up seeing this? What kind of man will he learn to be?” But Sarah would just shrug.
Later, Margaret would say to Olivia, “Livvy, I don’t like you spending so much time with Daniel.”
“Mum, he’s my best friend—brave and kind!” Olivia would protest.
“You’ll see when you’re older. He’ll turn out just like his father. There are other boys, you know.”
But Olivia wouldn’t listen. She’d run off to Daniel. He was her rock—they’d been everywhere together, testing their courage, swimming too deep (though he always stayed close, because she wasn’t the strongest swimmer), even standing on the edge of a cliff once, nearly slipping.
Their friendship only grew stronger. Charlotte ran with them too, the three inseparable. Though as they grew older, Charlotte started fancying Michael from another class, so she drifted a bit—but they understood.
Then, in Year 8, after Christmas, Olivia fell and broke her leg badly. A nasty fracture, the doctors said. She’d be in hospital for ages.
Margaret wept. “Oh, love, how could this happen! You’ll be limping for life!”
Olivia fought hard to recover, swearing she’d walk again, tearing through physio. Even the doctor told Margaret, “Your daughter’s determined. She’ll get there.” And she did—first steps, then walking with a stick.
Her classmates visited, even her form tutor. But Daniel and Charlotte were there every day—Daniel bringing her books, jam tarts, anything to cheer her up.
Then she was discharged, but she still limped, her leg aching. The doctor suggested a warmer climate for recovery, so Margaret decided to move.
“Livvy, we’re going south—to my sister’s, near the coast. The sea air will help.”
“But Mum, I don’t want to! All my friends are here!” Margaret wouldn’t listen.
They left for a small village by the sea. Saying goodbye was awful—especially for Daniel.
“No matter what, Liv, don’t forget me. I’ll never forget you. We’ll write,” he said, pulling her into a tight hug—then kissing her properly for the first time.
At the new place, Olivia sent letters to Daniel and Charlotte but got nothing back. She didn’t know they’d never reached them—Margaret had made sure of that. She was glad to separate Olivia from Daniel, while Olivia assumed her friends had abandoned her.
The new school was rough. The kids called her “Limpy Livvy.” She had no friends, just books and memories. She wrote again, still no reply.
She threw herself into studies, went to uni, became an English teacher. Still walked with a stick, still pushed men away.
“I doubt anyone could love me like this,” she’d tell herself, though she was pretty. “There are so many whole women out there—why me?”
Nights were loneliest. “I can’t erase him,” she’d think. “Maybe he still remembers me too.” She dreamed of them flying hand in hand over that cliff, happy—knowing it was just a dream.
Years passed. Her uni friends married; she attended some weddings. Her eyes lost their sparkle. Men still noticed her, but she wouldn’t let anyone close. Maybe she just didn’t believe anymore.
She and Margaret bought an old house. It needed work, so Olivia put an ad out. A man named Stephen answered—early thirties, good with his hands.
Margaret noticed right away how he looked at Olivia, despite her limp, though she didn’t respond.
“Livvy, he’s handy, decent-looking, clearly likes you. What more do you want? Still hung up on Daniel? He’s married now—move on.”
Olivia decided to listen. Maybe her mum was right. She let Stephen court her.
They grew close, he moved in, kept fixing the house. “Livvy, why don’t we marry? Feels odd living here like this,” he said. She believed him.
They filed for marriage. Then one day, a knock—Stephen was out. A woman and a policeman stood there.
“You’re Olivia?”
“Yes…?”
The woman, exhausted, handed over a marriage certificate—and three birth certificates.
Stephen was her husband. They had three kids. He’d run off. The policeman was her cousin—they’d tracked him down.
Olivia was stunned. When Stephen returned, he tried to bolt—handcuffed on the spot. He’d grown bored, ditched his family, “lost” his documents, started fresh.
After that, Olivia gave up entirely. Then Margaret fell ill—seriously.
“Livvy, I’ve got to confess… Maybe this is God punishing me.”
“What?”
“I told my sister at the post office not to send your letters to Daniel and Charlotte. I didn’t want you tied to him—not with his father. I brought us here to separate you. Forgive me.”
Olivia froze. Betrayed by her own mother.
“And him being married—was that true?”
“I don’t know. When I went back, they’d moved—his mum left his dad.”
“What about Charlotte?”
“She’s still there. Married, divorced, about to again…”
Olivia wrote to Charlotte, gave her number. Soon, Charlotte called.
“Liv! Finally! Come to my wedding—I’ve got a surprise.”
The wedding was lively. Olivia knew half the village. But no Daniel. Overwhelmed, she stepped outside, sat under an oak tree.
Then a tall man approached. She looked up—*Daniel.*
“Liv,” he grinned, sweeping her into his arms. “God, it’s you.”
She buried her face in his chest. “Charlotte warned me about a surprise.”
“Me too,” he laughed. “Mum and I live nearby. I always hoped you’d come back. You’re not married?”
“No.”
“Good. Neither am I. Been waiting for you.”
After the wedding, they visited his mum—who blessed them. Even Margaret was glad to see Olivia happy at last.
Their own wedding was quiet—just them and their mothers. Daniel’s mum later sold her house, moved closer.
Now they raise twin boys, fifteen years old. Olivia teaches; Daniel farms—their sons help.
Olivia’s sure of it now—happiness comes to those who believe. And wait.
