**Cursed Love**
“What happens now?” asked Emily anxiously, more to herself than to her sweetheart.
“Simple. I’ll send matchmakers your way. Be ready,” replied James calmly.
…Emily returned from their rendezvous—the one that would change her life—cheerful yet mysterious. She told her two younger sisters every detail of her time with James. They knew how deeply in love she was. He had promised to marry her come autumn, after the harvest.
Now, after their intimate evening in the hayloft, he was surely honour-bound to propose.
But… the fields lay empty, the harvest stored, winter approached—and no matchmakers came.
Emily’s mother, Aunt Helen, noticed the change in her eldest. Once lively, Emily had grown quiet and oddly fuller in figure. A heart-to-heart followed. After Emily’s tearful confession, Aunt Helen demanded to face the rogue who’d wronged her daughter—and to ask why those matchmakers had lost their way.
Without hesitation, she marched to the neighbouring village where James lived. His mother answered the door, oblivious to her son’s misdeeds. Aunt Helen laid bare her fury, and soon both women turned on James. His defence?
“How do I know the child is mine? Plenty of lads in the village—should I claim them all?”
Aunt Helen stormed out, cursing: “May you marry a dozen times, you wretch!”
Perhaps heaven heard. James wed four times over his life.
Emily read the truth in her mother’s face. Aunt Helen warned her daughters sharply: “Not a word to your father. We’ll handle this.”
“You’ll go to Manchester, to your aunt’s. When the baby comes, leave it at the hospital. Or the village tongues will never stop wagging. Time may mend this. My girls, sin tastes sweet—but people love to judge.”
Aunt Helen’s husband, Dennis, was the village schoolmaster—respected, stern, and just. Neighbours sought his counsel. And now his daughter bore a child out of wedlock? The shame would ripple through the parish.
Aunt Helen couldn’t risk it. To her husband, she lied: “Emily’s gone to the city for work—she’s twenty, not a child.” She watched her younger girls like a hawk.
But who could guard every step? Middle child Stacy soon left for York under a school placement; the youngest, Evelyn, for London.
…Gossip travels. Dennis learned the truth from his own pupils. He confronted his wife in a rage.
“How could you? Abandon your grand bairn to an orphanage? Bring her home—now!”
Aunt Helen hadn’t expected his fury—though she’d wept for a year herself, too afraid to visit the child, too guilty to face her own heart. “The child eats berries, the mother’s teeth ache,” she’d mourned.
…Soon, Aunt Helen and Emily brought baby Anna home. The girl, nearly a year old, had known no family. Emily would carry that guilt forever. Whatever mischief Anna wrought—and there was plenty—Emily bore it patiently.
Dennis, Aunt Helen, and Emily raised Anna together. Emily often remembered that last night with James—the scent of hay, the dizzy rush of love. She still loved him, shame and betrayal aside. Love wasn’t a potato to toss out the window.
Emily became a single mother. Anna favoured James in looks and spirit—bold, fiery. Emily moved through life numb, joyless even with cheerful Anna at her side. Fatherless…
At twenty-five, Emily caught the eye of a childhood friend—almost family. Aunt Helen’s sister had wed a widower with three boys; Freddie was one.
Emily reluctantly accepted his courtship. Life alone with a child was hard, and she was still young. Freddie would make a fine husband—but how would he treat Anna? He knew Emily’s past yet adored her since childhood. He’d have wed her with three bairns, let alone one.
…They married in a boisterous village feast. To escape prying eyes, Freddie took his new family to London—carrying their fragile secret.
Soon, Emily bore a second daughter, Lucy. To Freddie, both girls were his. He adopted Anna outright, treating the sisters as equals. His love breathed life back into Emily’s broken soul. Their home brimmed with peace.
…Ten years flew.
One summer, Anna, Lucy, and four cousins stayed with Grandma Helen, now proud and content. Three wed daughters, six grandchildren—three lads, three lasses.
While tidying the attic, one cousin stumbled upon a dusty notebook—Emily’s diary, brimming with James’s name. The girl gasped, then spilled the secret to Anna.
Anna snatched the diary and confronted Grandma Helen, who confessed everything, cursing her own neglect. Anna demanded to meet her real father. Grandma Helen relented, giving James’s address.
Anna took her cousin for moral support. At James’s door, his mother recognised her granddaughter instantly—Anna was his mirror image. She wept, confessing she’d longed to know Anna but James forbade it.
James emerged, eyeing the girls. “Which of you is mine?”
Anna snapped, “I *might* have been your daughter.”
He led her outside. She returned minutes later, seething. His mother tried smoothing things with food and drink, even offering homemade gin. The girls laughed—”We’re too young!”—but drank anyway.
They stumbled home. On the path, Lucy prodded: “What did he say?”
“Nothing. Offered me money—blood money! I refused. Didn’t even know me, though I’m his spitting image. Some father.”
Grandma Helen fretted: “Should we tell Freddie and Emily?”
Anna was firm: “Freddie’s my father. Only him.”
Yet she nursed a grudge against Emily—for yielding to shame, for abandoning her. Emily spent years begging: “Forgive your foolish mother.”
…Years passed. Anna and Lucy wed. Anna had two sons; the elder was James reborn.
And James? He never forgot Emily. They met occasionally in London. Emily dressed finely, determined to show him she lacked nothing—least of all him.
She never mentioned Anna barring her from seeing her grandsons, or their decade-long rift. Old sins cast long shadows. Emily bore it silently, sustained by Freddie’s unwavering love. Before their wedding, he’d joked: “A worm in a rosy apple doesn’t spoil it.” She’d grown to adore him.
They celebrated their golden anniversary surrounded by family.
Amid the joy, Anna pulled Emily aside, tearful: “Forgive me, Mum. I had no right to judge.”
James called too. “I’ll never make fifty years. On my fourth wife now… Why did I let you go, Emily?”
She cut him off. “If you had, you didn’t love me. But I’m happy—truly. I’ve paid for my mistakes, yet gained everything. Especially Freddie. I blame no one. I forgave you long ago.”
“Goodbye, James.”
