**An Unexpected Joy**
No one at the university department knew—or would have believed—that Valerie Whitmore’s husband was a hopeless drunk. It was her sorrowful secret, her private burden.
Valerie was a respected lecturer, associate professor, and head of the department. Her reputation was impeccable. Colleagues admired her as a woman who had it all. And why not? Her husband, Victor, often waited for her at the university steps, arm in arm, as they walked home together.
“Oh, Valerie, you’re so lucky! Your husband is such a gentleman—charming, attentive, handsome!” the younger colleagues would gush.
“Don’t be envious, girls,” Valerie would deflect.
Only she knew the truth. Victor would stumble home blind drunk, filthy, barely human. He couldn’t even fit his key in the lock, so he’d ring the bell, collapse at the doorstep, and pass out. Valerie would drag him inside, muttering, *”My cross to bear… When will you ever stop?”* She’d tuck him under a blanket, leave a jug of water beside him—lest he wake the house shouting, *”Val! Need a drink!”*—then return to her dissertation. First her PhD, then her professorship.
By morning, she’d step over him in the hallway, shut the door behind her, and head to work, dispensing wisdom and inspiration. This routine lasted weeks, months. Until one day, Victor would reappear on the university steps, sober, clean, smiling. As Valerie emerged with colleagues, he’d rush over, kiss her cheek, and ask, *”How was your day, love?”*
“Fine, Vic. Let’s go home,” she’d sigh.
The others would watch them fondly. *”Lucky Valerie, to have such a man.”*
The moment they crossed their threshold, silence fell. That was her revenge. She knew the power of quiet. Victor couldn’t stand the absence of noise, the weight of her mute reproach. Over time, he adapted—escorting her home, then slipping out again, “on business.” The drinking never stopped.
Valerie and Victor had been married 28 years. Once, their love had been tender, mutual. Then it scattered like down from a pillow, impossible to gather.
Early on, they struggled to conceive. Valerie felt hollow, incomplete. Then, at last, their son Daniel arrived. He became her world.
Money was tight, but Victor left all responsibilities to her—childcare, housework—while his only concern was hiding his liquor. Exhausted, Valerie was slow to notice his lies. When she finally found a bottle stashed on the balcony, she asked, *”Vic? Whose is this?”*
“Figure it out,” he smirked.
The fights began. Tears, pleas, threats. The same old story.
Years passed. Victor cycled through jobs, losing each to his addiction. Valerie never considered leaving. Her mother’s words echoed: *”Daughter, marriage is for life. A first husband is God’s gift; a second is the devil’s. Better a straw man than none. And who else will be a father to your child?”*
She climbed the career ladder alone, resigned to his failings. Pity lingered, but love? That had dried up long ago.
Daniel, though—he was her solace. Handsome, charismatic. His first love came at 14, his second at 19, his third… He was hopelessly romantic. Just as Valerie warmed to one girlfriend, he’d bring home another. One, Lucy, stayed five years. Valerie called her “daughter-in-law,” introduced her to relatives. They all lived together—Victor, Valerie, Daniel, and Lucy. She even hinted at grandchildren: *”Time to marry, surely?”*
Lucy shrugged. *”I’m ready. Daniel’s the one dragging his feet.”*
Then Lucy vanished. Valerie returned from work to find her belongings gone.
That evening, Daniel introduced them to Emma, a girl no older than 18. *”She’s moving in. We’re in love.”*
“Where’s Lucy? Bring her back!” Valerie protested.
Offended, Daniel and Emma left.
Valerie realized then how much she’d loved Lucy. Five years—no small thing. The girl had adored Daniel. What more could a mother want? And now… *this*?
*”Who is this flighty little thing? Emma? Lily? No. They’re not setting foot here.”* She seethed, then sighed. *”At least he doesn’t drink like his father.”*
A month later, Daniel returned alone.
“Well?” Valerie asked. *”Where’s your latest fling?”*
*”She told me, ‘I wasn’t picked for a mule like you.’ Too old for her.”* He laughed, then grew serious. *”Mum, about Lucy… She has two kids. Did you know? I didn’t. Those trips to ‘help her mum’? Visiting her children. Her ex-husband came to my work. Decent bloke. Raising them alone. Hopes she’ll go back. Five years, and she never said a word!”*
Valerie softened. *”She loved you, Daniel. Hearts don’t obey rules. But those poor children… They need both parents.”*
*”Don’t worry, Mum. She’s still a good sort,”* he joked.
A year later, Victor succumbed to cirrhosis. Six months of suffering, then tearful apologies before the end.
At the graveside, Valerie whispered to Daniel, *”Your father stole years from me. Drank his life away while I wept. But… I’d endure it all again if he’d rise from this earth. Love’s a funny thing.”*
She wept openly, placing fresh flowers on the mound. Arm in arm, they walked home in silence.
At the university, colleagues offered sympathy. For the first time, Valerie confessed: *”Alone now. Daniel’s too busy chasing romance. A grandchild would help. Where do I find the strength?”*
Another year slipped by. Retired, Valerie struggled to believe Victor would never wait for her again.
Then, New Year’s Eve. Alone, she watched TV. The tree glittered; the table held roast turkey, mince pies, champagne. *”Maybe Daniel will visit… Or has he found another fling?”*
A knock startled her. Daniel had keys—who’d disturb her at midnight?
Peering through the peephole, she gasped. *”Lucy!”* She flung the door open, embracing her—then noticed the little girl beside her.
Inside, over tea, Lucy asked to put the child to bed. As the girl slept, Valerie studied her face—and saw Daniel.
“Explain,” she urged softly.
Lucy exhaled. *”This is your granddaughter.”*
“I gathered that. What now?”
*”Can she stay with you? Just for a while. I’ve reconciled with my husband, but… he won’t accept Veronica. Says he has his own to raise. I’m stuck. Please.”*
Valerie sighed. *”Quite the New Year’s gift.”*
*”You’re retired now. You’ll never be bored. I’ll visit often. She’s Veronica, a year and three months.”*
By morning, Lucy was gone. A note remained: *”I love you. Happy New Year. Kisses. Tell Daniel hi.”*
Beside it, a bag of baby clothes and a birth certificate: *Veronica Danielle Whitmore.*
Valerie traced the name. *”Victor left… and Veronica arrived.”*
She kissed the sleeping girl’s forehead. *”My unexpected joy.”*
Years later, Veronica started school, calling Valerie “Nana” and Daniel “Daddy.” He adored his little Nicky, though his own search for love continued.
Lucy never came back.
*(Diary Lesson: Life’s deepest sorrows sometimes bring its sweetest surprises. Even in loss, joy finds a way.)*
