**Diary Entry**
I never imagined my life would take such a turn. Here I sit, in this quiet village in Devon, surrounded by rolling green hills and fields of barley, reflecting on the strange twists of fate. At seventy, Thomas Whitmore was a man of wealth and respecthis lands stretched far, his sheep grazed in abundance, and his name carried weight among the villagers. Yet, for all his prosperity, there was a hollowness in him. Ten years had passed since he lost his first wife, Margaret, a strong woman who bore him three daughters. They were married now, scattered across different households, visiting often but never filling the space where a son should have been.
It gnawed at him, this absence. Despite his white hair and tired bones, Thomas clung to the hope that fate owed him a boyan heir to inherit his lands, his sheep, his name. That hope drove him to a decision that stunned the village: he would marry again.
His choice was Emily, a girl of only twenty, from a struggling family just down the lane. Life had been unkinddebts piled up, her youngest brother ill, medicines unaffordable. Emily was lovely, with golden hair and blue eyes shadowed by hardship. Her parents, desperate, accepted Thomass offer. A hefty sum in pounds secured their daughters hand.
She didnt protest much. Swallowing her tears, she told herself this sacrifice might save her brother. On the eve of the wedding, she sat with her mother by the dim glow of a lantern. “I just hope hes kind to me,” she whispered. Her mother could only hold her tight, tears silent.
The wedding was modest, but Thomas made sure the village saw it. Fiddlers played lively tunes, neighbours filled the church, whispering behind their hands. “Poor lass,” some muttered. “Look at him, old as the hillswhat a farce.” Thomas ignored them. To him, this wasnt just marriageit was proof he still had life in him, that he might yet have a son.
Emily played her part, smiling when expected, thanking guests with hollow grace. Inside, her stomach twisted with dread.
That night, the air in Thomass cottage still smelled of roast beef and ale from the feast. The guests had gone, leaving thick silence. Thomas poured himself a glass of some tonic he swore would renew his vigour. Taking Emilys hand, he murmured, “Tonight begins our life together, my dear.”
She forced a smile, heart hammering. The bedroom was dim, candles flickering over the old oak bed. Thendisaster. Thomas clutched his chest, gasped. Before she could cry out, he crumpled onto the mattress, his breath ragged, then still.
“Thomas!” she shrieked, shaking him. Nothing. The sharp scent of his tonic lingered like a cruel joke.
Chaos erupted. Neighbours rushed in. His daughters, still in their mourning blacks though the night was young, found Emily weeping over his body. They hauled him to the nearest doctor, but it was no use. “Heart gave out,” came the verdict. Just like that, the dream of a son was gone.
By dawn, the village knew. Clusters of villagers whispered over fences, some pitying, some smug. “Couldnt even give her a child,” they said. “Poetic justice.”
The funeral was grandThomas deserved that much. Fiddlers played mournful tunes; neighbours paid respects. Emily stood veiled, caught between rolestoo young to be a widow, yet marked forever as the bride of a man fifty years her elder.
The money had cleared her familys debts, paid for her brothers care. But for Emily, the cost was too high. Shed traded her youth for a marriage that lasted hours, left her branded.
Now, whenever she walks through the village, eyes follow. Some call her “the young widow,” others just whisper. At twenty, she feels her life ended before it began. Dreams of love, of choice, seem lost.
The wedding night, meant to start a life together, became Thomass end and Emilys burdened beginning.
The tale lingers in the villagesome see it as a warning against pride, others as gossip for the pub. But for Emily, its no story. Its her truth, carried in silence, her gaze always distant, as if searching for something beyond the Devon hills. Victim and survivor, bound forever to the man who sought an heir and found only death.
