By the time he turned thirty, Stan had spent a decade serving in combat zones, survived two serious injuries, and carried the scars of war. After his second wound, he spent months recovering in a military hospital before returning to his quiet village in the English countryside.
The village had changedso had the people. His old classmates were all married now. Then he saw Lizzie. He barely recognized her. When hed left for the army, shed been a girl of thirteen. Now, at twenty-five, she was stunningyet still unmarried. She hadnt met a man worth marrying, and she refused to settle.
Stanbroad-shouldered, strong, with a deep sense of justicecouldnt walk past her without speaking.
“Did you wait for me, then?” he asked with a grin, studying her face.
“Maybe,” she replied, cheeks flushing, her heart suddenly racing.
They started meeting. Late autumn leaves crunched underfoot as they walked along the edge of the woods.
“Stan, my father will never let us marry,” Lizzie murmured, her voice heavy. Hed already asked her twice. “You know what hes like.”
“Whats he going to do? Im not afraid of him,” Stan declared, jaw set. “If he lays a hand on me, hell end up in prisonthen he wont be in our way.”
“Oh, Stan, you dont know him. Hes ruthlessand he owns half the village.”
William Hartley was the most powerful man in the area. Once a businessman, whispers now tied him to something darker. Barrel-chested, with a cold stare, he ruled through fear. Hed built two farms, employed most of the village, and thought himself untouchable.
“My father will never allow it,” Lizzie said. “He wants me to marry Vincent, his friends son from the next town. A drunk, a bruteIve told him a hundred times I wont.”
“Lizzie, this isnt the Middle Ages. No one can force you to marry a man you dont love,” Stan said, incredulous.
He adored hereverything from her gentle smile to her fiery temper. And she couldnt imagine life without him.
“Come on,” he said suddenly, gripping her hand and quickening his pace.
“Where?” She already knew but couldnt stop him.
In the yard of the grand Hartley house, William was arguing with his younger brother, Thomas, who lived in the cottage on the estate and did his bidding.
“Mr. Hartley,” Stan said firmly. “I want to marry your daughter. Im asking for her hand.”
Lizzies mother stood frozen on the porch, hand over her mouth, eyes darting to her husbandthe same man whod made her life miserable.
Williams face twisted with fury. “Get out of here, you fool,” he spat. “My daughter will never marry a broken soldier like you. Forget herand forget this house.”
“Were getting married,” Stan said, unshaken.
The village respected Stan. William had never known waronly money. Stans fists clenched. Thomas stepped between them, sensing neither would back down.
As Thomas escorted Stan off the property, William dragged Lizzie inside like a child. He never tolerated defiance.
That night, flames tore through Stans newly opened auto repair shop.
“Bastard,” Stan muttered, knowing exactly whod done it.
The next night, Stan crept to Lizzies window. Hed texted her earlier*Be ready. Were leaving.* She handed him a bag, then climbed out, landing softly in his arms.
“By morning, well be far away,” he whispered. “I love you.”
“Im scared,” she admitted, trembling.
Ten minutes later, they were speeding down the motorway. Lizzies breath hitched as headlights flashed behind them. A Mercedesher fathersswerved in front, blocking the road.
“No,” she whimpered, shrinking into the seat.
William yanked her out. Stan lungedthen a fist cracked against his jaw. He hit the tarmac, boots slamming into his ribs until the world blurred. They left him there, battered, in the dirt.
He dragged himself home, aching for days. The fire investigation blamed faulty wiring. But Stan knew. WorseLizzie was gone. Her phone was dead.
William had sent her to his sister Margarets house in London with a warning:
“Keep her inside. No phone. If she comes back, Ill bury that boy in the woodsyou know I will.”
“William,” Margaret sighed, “must you ruin her life?”
She led Lizzie to a room. Theyd have to wait until his anger cooled.
Rumours spreadLizzie was marrying Vincent. A wedding soon. Shed never return.
“Time will soften him,” Margaret said. “Youll find work, build a life.”
“Without Stan?”
“Without him.”
Weeks later, Lizzie realized she was pregnant. Margaret held her as she sobbed.
“Your father must never know.”
“I hate him,” Lizzie screamed. “Hes not human!” Margaret stayed silent. She knew.
Time passed. Stan couldnt forget her. He worked, drank, then quit drinking. Meanwhile, Lizzie gave birth to a boyMatthew, the spitting image of Stan. Her mother visited in secret. William never knew.
Four years later, Matthew was bright and lively. One spring day, Lizzies mother arrived at Margarets, pale.
“Williams dying. Cancer. The doctor says its too late.”
She weptnot for him, but for the years wasted. No one mourned William.
He died in June. Lizzie didnt attend the funeral.
Stan was away, working on an oil rig. When Lizzie finally returned to the village, her mother had removed Williams photos.
Days later, Lizzie walked with Matthew through the fields. He chased butterflies while she sat on a fallen log, lost in thought.
Then*”Lizzie.”*
She spun. Stan stood there, older, weary. They ran to each other.
“Stan, Im sorryfor everything. You never knew about our son.”
Matthew barrelled toward them. Stan frozethen lifted him high, laughing.
“Dad!” Matthew giggled. “Buy me a football?”
“Of course,” Stan said, grinning at Lizzie. “Right now.”
She smiled through tears. Fate had brought them backand fate rewards those who are grateful.
