The morning found us on a dusty road leading away from the village. In one hand, I held little Sophies small fingers, and in the other, a light suitcase packed not so much with belongings as with shattered hopes. The bus rumbled away from the stop, carrying us far from the place where, just hours before, I had still believed in something. I left without even saying goodbye to Mark. He was out fishing at dawn, just as hed excitedly described the night before. Through the grimy window, I watched the fields roll past and faced a bitter truth: I had never met a man worth fighting for. Yet it had all begun so beautifully, so blindingly romantic, it took my breath away.
Mark burst into my life during his final year at university. He showered me with compliments, gazed at me with lovesick eyes that melted my doubts, and swore he couldnt imagine life without me or my four-year-old Sophie. His persistence, youthful sincerity, and passion chipped away at the ice around my heart, still fragile after losing my first husband. Within three months, he moved into my flat, brimming with plans and promises.
“Alison, my love,” hed say, eyes shining like deep lakes, “once I graduate, well visit my village. Ill introduce you to my parents, my whole family! Ill tell them youre my future wife! Youll come, wont you?” Hed hug me, and the world seemed simple and clear.
“Of course,” Id reply, a timid hope warming my chest. He often spoke of his motherkind, hospitable, a woman who adored guests and knew how to make a home cosy. I wanted to believe him.
The village where Mark grew up greeted us with a quiet evening glow. All his relatives lived close, practically side by side. I didnt know then about Emily, the local beauty whod loved Mark since childhood, the pride of the village and everyones idea of the perfect bride. Nor did I know about Grandad Thomas, Marks grandfather, who lived nearby in his ageing cottage and often visited to use the family bathhouse since his own had fallen into disrepair. Grandad Thomas spent his days in quiet reflection, gazing at the hill beyond the village where his wife lay beneath a birch tree. He knew guests were cominghis grandson was bringing his fiancée.
The night before, Grandad Thomas had dropped by and found his daughter-in-law, Helen, in a foul mood.
“Falling out with Steven again?” hed asked, ready to scold his son.
But Helen, seeing him, spilled her grievances first:
“Hello, Grandad. Did you know our Marks getting married? Bringing his city girl tomorrow.”
“I heard. Good for him. Time he settled downfinished uni, got a job. Better now than drifting,” Grandad said philosophically.
“Easy for you to say,” Helen snapped, her face twisting. “But this girl three years older than him! And a child in tow! As if there arent plenty of good village girlsour Emily, for one! Pretty, a nurse, hardworking And whos this one? No one knows where her child came from or what family shes got. Why saddle himself with someone elses burden? He could have his own children! Shes clearly latched onto a man with a degree”
“Helen, its not our place to meddle,” Grandad Thomas tried, but she wasnt listening.
Shed been stewing for days, nursing resentment toward her son and this stranger whod stolen him from “the perfect match.” Quietly, she hatched her plan: no effort, no lavish spread, no warm smiles. Let this city girl see she wasnt wanted. Shed taken Markthat was enough.
We arrived tired but hopeful. Mark glowed with happiness. It had been a year since hed seen his family. His mother opened the door. He rushed in first, dropping his bag, while Sophie and I lingered on the doorstep, waiting for an invitation.
“Mark, my boy! My clever graduate!” Helen hugged him as if afraid to let go, her glance at me and Sophie cold and assessing. “Youre home at last!” She stressed “you,” her eyes flicking to me as if to say, “unlike some.”
“Mum, wheres Dad? Grandad?”
“At the bathhouse. Theyll be back soon. Theyve missed you so much.” Again, only “you.”
Then her gaze settled on me, sweetly venomous:
“So this is Alison? With the child?” Her eyes raked me up and down, slow and disdainful.
“Well, come in, wash up. Mark, show her around.”
From those first words, I understood. Mark, oblivious, beamed and led me by the hand. His father and grandad returnedSteven gruff but honest, Grandad Thomas gentle and warm. They hugged us all with genuine warmth that couldnt be faked.
“Glad youre here!” Steven boomed. “Helen, set the table! Our guests are hungry!”
The meal was meagre. Marks brow furrowed brieflyhe knew his mothers usual generosity. I barely ate, my throat tight with hurt. Resentment grew: why hadnt he introduced me as his fiancée? Why let them slight us?
Steven poured homemade wine and raised a toast, but Helen cut in:
“To Mark! To his degree, his new job! Were so proud!”
Toast after toastall for Mark. As if Sophie and I didnt exist. And he he laughed, chatted, said nothing in our defence. Grandad Thomas watched, his kind eyes full of pity.
Sophie, polite but exhausted, struggled to stay awake. I asked Helen, “May I put her to bed?”
She nodded curtly, leading us to a narrow bed in a tiny room. “Sleep here.”
Alone, I wept silently. “Wheres the kind woman he described? Why doesnt he see this?”
Mark woke me later, whispering, “Come to my room. Well talk tomorrowthe wedding, everything.” But his words lacked understanding.
Dawn brought no sleep, only clarity. I recalled my first husbands motherhow shed embraced me, become a second mother. My David would never have let anyone slight me. But Mark just smiled as if nothing were wrong.
“To them, Im a mistake. Because of Sophie. But theyre wrong if they think Ill tolerate this. We leave today.”
Breakfast was a strained pantomime. Helen sighed dramatically, “Now youll have to work hard, feed” Her eyes flicked to Sophie. “Someone elses child.”
Mark grinned vacantly. Only Steven objected: “Helen!”
My patience snapped. When Mark cheerfully suggested a walk, I unloaded my pain. He dismissed it: “Youre overreacting. Just Mums jealousy.” He didnt grasp itI didnt need him to fight. Just one word in our defence. But he stayed silent.
“Dont fuss, love,” he said, patting my shoulder. “Well leave soon. Im fishing at dawngreat bite then!”
At dawn, he was gone. Helen cornered me, seething: “Mark says youre leaving. Because of you. When will I see my son again? Youll leash him to your skirts, make him feed your child”
Calmly, I smiled. “My first husband was an officer. Honest, brave. He loved me fiercelyand proved it, unlike your son. His mother still adores me and Sophie. She bought our flat and another in the city. I have two degrees, speak three languages, run two shops. Your fears about Mark supporting us? Unfounded.”
Helen paled. “Im grateful, actually. You showed me the truth. I dont need a mother-in-law who sees me as a threat. Or a man who wont protect his family.”
I packed quietly, my hands steady, my heart light. Sophie and I left without a backward glance.
The bus rolled away. Ahead lay the road hometo real love, real life. Id learned my worth. And that was everything.
