Anne had never trusted her husband, so she learned early on to rely on herself alone. That was the way their marriage had always been. Victor was as handsome as a poppy blossom and the life of every gathering. He drank only in moderation, never smoked, and showed no appetite for football, fishing or hunting. In short, he was a solid chap, worthy of the manor.
Because of these fine qualities, Anne suspected that Victor sought comfort beyond the walls of their own home; a man like him was not the sort to be found with a fire in his belly during the day. And the huntresses would surely turn up on their own The only thing that soothed Annes worries was Victors adoration of their little boy, Stephen. Victor poured all his free time into his son, and Anne thought that this fierce fatherly love would be enough to hold the family together.
At school Anne was teased as Annie for her fiery red hair and the freckles that dotted her face like sprinkles. Her mother, a striking beauty, had warned her from childhood: Anne, youre my own ugly duckling. Im sorry for the comparison, but the bitter truth must be faced. No one will sweep you off your feet, so you must depend on yourself. Study hard, build a career, and if a decent man ever comes along, be a dutiful wife. Those words lodged themselves in Annes mind forever.
When she left school with a gold medal, Anne headed to university, where she met the man who would become her husband. She could not understand why Victor, a coveted young gentleman, found her appealing. Later Victor confessed that she was the only girl he ever dared to approach. Anne never used cosmetics, dressed modestly, and knew nothing of coquetry. When she realised Victor was courting her seriously, she seized the moment and proposed marriage herself, refusing to waste the chance fate had offered. She promised to be gentle, obedient and faithful, insisting that love would grow in time. Victor, taken aback by such forwardness, eventually consented, encouraged by his mothers blessing.
Victoria OLeary, Victors mother, first gave Anne a cold, judging glance, calling her a freckled mess and questioning how such a girl could be worthy of her son. Yet after Anne arrived for tea, Victoria found herself oddly charmed. Im getting used to her, she thought, and Annes pledge to be a loyal, obedient wife tipped the scales in her favour.
Victorias own life had been marked by abandonment: her husband had left her years earlier for a younger lover, returned broken and unrepentant, and never regained the familys trust. She spent decades questioning whether forgiveness was possible, yet she could not let her son suffer alone. She gave her blessing to Anne and Victor, hoping their union would bring her some peace.
A year later Stephen was born, a perfect miniature of his striking father, and Victoria swooned at the sight. Victor fluttered around his son like a moth, making Stephen the centre of his world. Yet the affection he felt for his wife never truly blossomed, and Annes feelings remained equally tepid. Their days settled into a steady rhythm: Anne washed and ironed Victors shirts, cooked meals, and planted kisses on his cheek at night; Victor handed over his entire paycheck, presented flowers on birthdays, and offered morning pecks before heading to work. It felt more like a ritual than romance, and both waited in silence for the passionate love they had read about in books and heard friends describe.
Five years passed before Victor finally stumbled upon that missing feeling but not within his own marriage. He fell for a breathtakingly beautiful woman named Bonnie, whose ethereal charm ensnared him. Their secret meetings in cafés, on park benches and at friends flats exhausted Victor, and he grew increasingly distant at home. Stephen saw a father irritated rather than smiling, and Victor felt powerless to abandon Bonnie. Either marry me or we remain friends, Bonnie demanded, leaving Victor bewildered. He could not bear to lose her, yet he could not forsake his son. When Stephen was five, Victor packed a bag and left.
In those lonely evenings Anne recalled her mothers harsh lesson. The words that once cut like a knife now steadied her: she would survive his departure without dramatic tears or desperate gestures. She kept a small part of herself intact, like a featherlight hope lodged deep within her heart.
Victor drifted for another halfyear, shuttling between his son and Bonnie. Anne, quietly resolute, kept the toothbrush Victor had left in the bathroom, a silent reminder of his absence. When Victor visited Stephen, the toothbrush stared back at him from its cup, a mute rebuke he could not ignore. One day he slipped the brush into his pocket, intending to throw it away, only to find a brandnew one waiting in the same cup on his return.
The small comforts of domestic life a favourite coffee mug on the kitchen counter, slippers waiting by the hall nagged at Victors conscience. He could not explain why he had left, feeling torn between an inexplicable pull toward Bonnie and the aching need to protect his son. He asked himself how to hurt those he loved the least. No answer came.
Years slipped by. Annes friends urged her, Marry someone else! Why wait for a man who abandoned you? Youre still young! She listened, sighed, and stayed quiet. Time, relentless as ever, marched on.
Victor eventually stopped seeing Stephen altogether. Father and son met only on neutral ground. Stephen finished school, and Anne finally accepted that Victor would not return twelve long years had passed. She placed a decisive full stop on that chapter of her life, realizing she still had strength to raise another child. She booked a holiday to a sunny seaside town, where a brief, uncomplicated romance blossomed, offering her a taste of companionship without expectations.
Nine months later Stephens sister, a baby named Mary, arrived. Annes friends were astonished at her decisive actions, gathering at the hospitals doorway to greet the newborn. A tired yet radiant young mother emerged, cradling a pinkribbonwrapped bundle. Hello, ladies! Please love and cherish my Mary! she beamed.
One friend teased, And what shall we call her by patronymic?
Anne retorted, Shell grow into her own name!
No teasing could dim Annes joy. Her life now revolved around Marys upbringing. Stephen became an indispensable helper, doting on his sister. Questions about Marys father never arose; Annes happiness eclipsed everything else.
When Mary turned three, she started nursery, where children taught her that families could have both mums and dads. She began to call Stephen dad, a bittersweet mix of humor and longing.
One evening, a hesitant knock sounded at Annes front door. Mary sprinted, shouting, Its my dad! Anne peered through the peephole and saw Victor, older, weary, and unexpected. She opened the door wide.
May I come in, Anne? Victor asked, shifting from foot to foot.
Come in if youre here, Anne replied, masking surprise.
Victor set two overloaded bags aside, removing his backpack. Mary lunged into his arms, crying, Mum, thats my dad, right?
Anne, tears glistening, whispered to her daughter, Yes, sweetheart, thats your father.
Victor kissed Marys freckled nose, ruffled her golden curls, and called her my little firecracker. He then turned to Anne, kneeling, Thank you, Anne. Will you forgive me?
Anne gently grasped Victors elbow, preventing him from falling fully to the floor. Hello, my bitter honey. You were away for seventeen years, but theres no room for resentment now. We need a father for Stephen, she said, exhaling relief.
Stephen stood nearby, eyes wide with astonishment, smiling faintly.
In the weeks that followed, Anne processed the upheaval, calling a curious friend and declaring, You wanted to know my daughters middle name? Shes Mary VictorThomas. No alternatives.
Victors brief return reminded Anne of a truth she had long learned: a life built on selfreliance, forgiveness, and quiet strength endures far beyond the whims of any lover. She had turned loss into independence, grief into resilience, and love into a steady, nurturing flame for her children.
The lesson lingered like a soft echo: when you anchor yourself in inner worth and compassion, no ones departure can truly diminish the light you carry.
