**Only the Third Time**
How much sorrow must one endure, how many loved ones lost, before true happiness finds its way?
This thought often crosses Elizabeth’s mind. At forty-eight, she’s still waiting, still hoping. Life hasn’t been kind, but she’s never let it break her spirit. Now, disaster has struck. She stood there, blinking back tears, watching flames devour her home. Embers scattered into the night sky, the fire casting an eerie glow on the gathered onlookers. The fire engine arrived, sirens wailing.
**Losing Everything**
The firefighters hurriedly unrolled the hose, finally dousing the blaze with a powerful jet of water. Thick smoke billowed, and Elizabeth covered her nose with a handkerchief, staring in horror at the ruins of her life. Everything was gone—furniture, clothes, the kitchen, all of it. They hadn’t managed to save a single thing. The house, where she’d lived for over twenty-five years, was now ash.
“Elizabeth, come with me,” urged Margaret, her neighbour, tugging at her sleeve. “Your husband, William, is already in our yard with my John.”
“And there he sits, barely bothered that his carelessness burnt us out,” Elizabeth muttered, tears streaming. “I barely woke him in time—another minute and he’d have been lost too…” She waved a hand at the smouldering wreck. “Oh, Margaret, I never realised how much every little thing meant—the photos, the memories…”
“Don’t fret, love,” Margaret soothed. “You’re not even fifty yet. There’s still time to rebuild.”
They walked to Margaret’s yard, where William sat with John. The shock of the fire seemed to have shaken William out of his usual stupor.
“Liz, what happened?” he asked hazily. “How’d we catch fire?”
“Because you fell asleep with that damned cigarette,” she snapped. “It rolled under the bed and set the whole place alight. How many times did I warn you? Now we’ve nothing left…”
William slumped, tears streaking his face. His bloodshot eyes fixed on the ruins of the home he’d once built with his own hands.
“Liz, I swear on my life—no more drinking,” he croaked, crossing himself. “We’ll stay at my parents’ old place. It’s a wreck, but we’ll fix it up. I promise.”
His parents had been heavy drinkers themselves, passing years ago, leaving the cottage derelict. Elizabeth and William sifted through the ashes, finding nothing salvageable. True to his word, William stayed sober after that—perhaps the shock had jolted him straight.
**Only Memories Remain**
Walking back from the shops one day, Elizabeth paused by the ruins of her home. Memories flooded her, and she sat on the scorched bench by the gate. Twenty-five years she’d lived here with William. She remembered their joy moving in, picking wallpaper, painting, arranging new furniture. Every Christmas, William brought in a towering tree, and they’d all dance around it, decorating. Oh, how her daughters had laughed.
“So many secrets, so much laughter these walls held,” Elizabeth thought. “And my own heartaches too.” Her girls had grown up here, then flown the nest.
**A Failed First Marriage**
Her two daughters, barely a year apart, were from her first marriage. Young and naive, she’d wed George before she knew better. They were ill-suited from the start—he was reckless, restless. Elizabeth fell pregnant quickly, trapped at home while George roamed day and night. She’d hoped fatherhood would steady him. They’d lived in a small town then, where he caroused with strangers.
“Should’ve listened to Mum,” Elizabeth murmured aloud, not realising she’d spoken.
George had a motorbike. One night, returning from visiting her parents (the girls left with his mother), they crashed. George died instantly; Elizabeth barely survived. “Some guardian angel watched over me,” she often thought.
It was the nineties then. Laid off from work, she moved back to her mother’s village. Nearby lived William—a quiet man who drank with his parents more than he should. One day, spotting Elizabeth with her girls, he fell for her instantly.
“Elizabeth, walk with me tonight,” he’d said. “Got things to tell you.”
They talked, though not for long.
“Marry me,” he blurted. “I’ll love your girls like my own. I’m building us a home.”
She said yes—not for love, but for security. And William was dependable, hardworking. He adored her and the girls. But his weak will with drink brought endless grief.
“Why does luck always desert me?” Elizabeth wondered, sitting on the bench. At least her daughters had grown kind, settled.
**Grief Strikes Again**
Yet fate wasn’t done. William, sober now, fixed up his parents’ cottage. Life seemed brighter—until he suffered a stroke. Shortly after, Elizabeth buried him.
Then came the grey, monotonous years: work, home, loneliness. Holidays brought brief joy when the children visited, but solitude always returned.
One winter’s day, heading into town before Christmas, laden with shopping, she passed a taxi and impulsively hailed it. The driver, Matthew, was warm, chatty. As he dropped her off, he handed her a card.
“Call if you ever need a ride,” he smiled. She thanked him, tucking it away.
New Year came, her family’s laughter filling the house. But as they prepared to leave, her son-in-law groaned: “Car won’t start. With the little ones, the bus is a nightmare…”
“Wait!” Elizabeth remembered Matthew. He answered at once, driving them home.
“Your mother’s lovely,” her daughter whispered. Elizabeth barely dared hope.
Matthew, watching her family’s warmth, ached with his own loss. Eight years prior, a call had shattered him: his wife and daughter died in a coach crash abroad. Elizabeth, so like his late wife in face and grace, stirred something in him.
Over pie at her house, they shared their grief—his tragedy, her fire, her widowhood. When he left, Elizabeth lay awake, warmth blooming in her chest.
“Maybe this wasn’t chance,” she thought.
Days later, Matthew called.
“Fancy the cinema?”
They spent the day laughing, debating the film over ice cream. He gifted her a delicate figurine.
“Meet my mother,” he urged later. Nervous, Elizabeth agreed.
His mother, Joan, was delighted. “She’s wonderful,” she told Matthew afterward.
“I know,” he grinned. “Soon, you’ll have a daughter-in-law.”
On Elizabeth’s birthday in March, her family gathered. Matthew, roses in hand, dropped to one knee.
Engulfed in joy, Elizabeth thought: “Third time’s the charm. At last, happiness has found me.”
