Marrying a Disabled Man: A Story Thank you all for your support, your likes, reviews, subscriptions, and a HUGE thanks for all your generous donations from me and my five feline companions. Please feel free to share any stories you enjoy on social media—every little bit brings joy to this author! My daughter came home late from her shift at the hospital, where she works as a nurse in trauma care. She spent ages in the shower, then wandered into the kitchen in her dressing gown. “There are some meatballs and pasta in the frying pan,” I offered, trying to read her face for clues, “Long day, Lucy? You look shattered. Is everything alright?” “I’m not hungry. I’m already hideous as it is, and if I eat now, no one will ever look at me,” Lucy muttered darkly, pouring herself a cup of tea. “Don’t talk nonsense,” I protested, “There’s nothing wrong with you, love. You’ve got lovely eyes, and your nose and lips are perfectly fine. Stop being so hard on yourself!” “It’s just… all my friends are married already, and I’m not. The only men interested in me are the awful ones. The ones I like don’t even notice I exist. What’s wrong with me, Mum?” she frowned, looking to me for answers. “You just haven’t met your person yet, that’s all! Your time will come,” I tried to reassure her, but Lucy just grew more upset. “My eyes are small, my lips are thin, and just look at my nose! If we had money, I’d get plastic surgery. But we’re poor, so I’ve decided I’ll marry some guy with a disability. There are men at the hospital who’ve lost limbs after car accidents—most of their girlfriends leave them. What else am I supposed to do? I’m thirty-three, I can’t wait around forever!” “Oh, Lucy, don’t say that,” I blurted out in distress, “Look at your father—his legs aren’t the best, either. I was hoping at least my son-in-law would be able to help in the garden at the allotment. It really would make a difference. How are we supposed to manage otherwise?” Then I caught myself and rushed to explain, “Don’t get me wrong, Lucy, but why tie yourself to someone with a disability? What about Alex from next door? He’s a good lad, has had his eye on you for ages. He’s strong, your babies would be healthy, and you know—” “Mum, please!” Lucy protested. “Your Alex can’t hold down a job, he loves a drink, and what would I even talk to him about?” “You don’t have to chat much! I’ll tell him to go dig over the garden and then come in for tea. Or I’ll send him to the shop. He’s a good sort, really. Maybe you two would get on?” I suggested hopefully, but Lucy just pushed her tea away and stood up. “I’m off to bed, Mum. Honestly! I thought you at least believed there was nothing wrong with me, but you’re just like everyone else—you think I’m an ugly duckling, too.” “Lucy, darling, don’t be silly,” I called after her, but Lucy just waved her hand. “I’m done, Mum!” And she shut her bedroom door right in my face. She lay awake for hours, thinking about the young man who’d arrived at the hospital recently. He’d lost his leg below the knee—a slab had crushed him in a derelict building due for demolition. Nobody came to visit this young fellow, not even thirty, and at first, after surgery, he’d look at Lucy with pleading eyes, clutch her hand. But then, once the shock wore off, he just stared at the ceiling, silent and withdrawn. For some reason, Lucy felt sorrier for him than for the others—maybe because no one ever came to see him. “Do you think I’ll walk again?” he asked, not looking at her. “Of course you will, you’ll heal—you’re young,” Lucy said, trying to sound certain. “They all say that. Try living without a leg—see how it feels,” he snapped, turning his face to the wall like it was her fault. “Well, why did you go in there, anyway?” she fired back. “Thought I saw something,” he muttered, and now whenever she entered his room, he’d turn to face the wall. Lucy couldn’t help but notice his eyes—icy blue and cold, but his face was handsome. It seemed so unfair, what had happened to him… “You pity me, don’t you? I can see it,” he said, catching her gaze. “That’s all anyone can do now—pity me. No one could ever love me like this.” “No one loves girls like me, either, even with both arms and legs, because I’m just not right. No one even pities me—maybe I’d be better off missing a leg, at least then someone would feel sorry for me,” Lucy shot back, eyes burning with self-pity. But then, for the first time, Michael (that was his name) smiled at her. “You’re mad—you think you’re not attractive? I’d give anything to be with someone like you, honestly,” he said quietly. Lucy looked at him, bright-eyed, and for some reason, she believed him. So she blurted out, “Well, what if I chose you? Would you marry me?” Then, when he just stared at her, speechless, she added, “If you don’t answer, I’ll take that as a no!” She stood, headed for the door, her feelings hurt. Michael struggled up on his elbows, trying to sit up as if to chase after her, then, remembering the leg, he called out, “Lucy, marry me! I promise, soon no one will even guess about my leg. I’ll recover. Please, don’t go, Lucy…” Lucy stopped in the corridor, on the verge of tears—but somehow, she knew this was it. The One. It didn’t matter about noses or eyes or missing legs—they’d found each other. Her time had come, just like her mother had said… Michael threw himself into rehabilitation with determination. He wanted to marry this wonderful girl, to be strong for their future together. He longed for Lucy to feel needed and cherished. He needed her—he wanted nothing more than to live by her side. “Are you in love at last, sweetheart?” I asked her quietly one day, “Look at you, all glowing—didn’t you say you weren’t pretty?” Lucy didn’t try to deny it. She walked on air, her biggest wish now that Michael would manage with his prosthesis. They walked together more and more, starting in the hospital courtyard, then through the snow-covered, twinkling pre-Christmas streets… “That’s where the building collapsed on me,” Michael showed her one day. “Why did you go in there, anyway?” Lucy asked. “You’ll laugh—I saw a puppy in there, a black and white stray. I thought he’d freeze to death. I wanted to take him home—didn’t want to be alone anymore.” They saw a skinny dog nearby, watching them warily. “That’s probably him!” Michael grinned, and the dog trailed them all the way home. “At least Lucy’s found herself a lovely husband—good looking, younger than her, with his own flat and no mother-in-law!” her friends teased at the wedding. Lucy’s mother shed a tear when Michael called her “Mum.” Michael was raised in care and had no family of his own. He was kind, thoughtful—and most importantly, they truly loved each other. Allotment gardening didn’t matter anymore—though Michael took on every task happily and made a success of them all. Now Lucy, Michael, and their dog Kuzma live together. Soon, they’ll be four—their daughter is on the way! Never give in to despair. If you do, you might miss your chance at happiness. After all, life’s greatest beauty is its unpredictability…

Author Walton MerrittReading 8 minViews 2

Marrying a Disabled Man

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My daughter came home late from the hospital where she works as a nurse in the trauma ward. She spent ages in the shower, then wandered into the kitchen in her dressing gown.

There are some meatballs and pasta in the pan, my wife offered, peering into her face, trying to work out what was wrong. Long day at work, Emily? Why the gloomy face?

Im not hungry. Im already unattractive, and if I stuff my face, no one will give me a second look, Emily replied glumly, pouring herself a cup of tea.

What nonsense! Youre perfectly lovelybright eyes, a nice nose, lipsdont run yourself down, Emily! her mum fussed.

Oh please, Mum. All my friends are married, and Im not! Only rubbish blokes ever like me, and the ones Im interested in never even notice me. Whats the matter with me? Emily frowned, waiting for an answer.

You just havent met your Mr. Right, thats all. Your time will come, her mum tried to reassure her, but Emily seemed even more wound up.

My bright eyes are little and my lips are thin. And look at my nose! Id have surgery if we werent skint, but we are! So, Ive decided Ill marry one of those blokes at the hospitalthere are quite a few who, after their accidents, have been abandoned. Looks like thats all Im good for. Im thirty-three, cant afford to wait any longer!

Oh, Em, no, dont talk like that! Look at your dads legs, hes struggled for years. I always hoped Id have a proper son-in-law to help on the allotment, help us out a bit. How are we supposed to manage? her mum blurted out, then quickly tried to recover. Not that you should marry for convenience, love. What would you want with a cripple? Theres always Ben from next doorsolid lad, and hes been sweet on you for ages. Strong, too. Youd have healthy kids and

Mum, please! Ben cant hold down a job, he drinks too much, and what would I even talk to him about? Emily snapped.

Well, you dont have to talk, do you? I could ask him to help dig over the garden, then Ill have lunch ready for you both. Or pop to the shops. Hes a good lad, really, maybe youd make it work? her mum pleaded. Emily just pushed her half-empty tea away, stood up and said, Im going to bed. Honestly, Mum, Id hoped you saw me as more than just someone who needs to get married. But youre just like everyone else, you think Im hopeless.

Emily, please, love her mum called after her, but Emily just waved her off, Thats enough, Mum, and closed the bedroom door behind her.

She couldnt sleep for ages. She kept thinking about the lad whod been brought in recently. Hed lost his leg below the ankle.

A bit of a disaster, reallya building had partially collapsed and crushed his leg. It took a while to get him out, and the doctors couldnt save it.

No one ever came to visit him, and he was barely thirty.

At first, hed watched Emily closely, especially straight after the surgery, clutching her hand and gazing up at her as if for rescue.

Then, as he came round, he got quieter. Stared at the ceiling, silent and brooding. She felt worse for him than the others, perhaps because no one ever came for him.

Do you reckon Ill walk again? he asked her recently, not looking her way. Emily replied firmly, Of course you will. Youre young, youll heal.

Everyone says that. You try having one leg and see how cheerful you feel, he snapped, turning his face to the wall, as if it was her fault.

Whyd you go into that building anyway? Emily shot back, annoyed. Its your own fault.

I thought I saw something, he muttered, and after that, whenever she came in, he kept his back to her.

Emily watched him: pale blue eyes, so cold. Still, he had a kind face. Such a shame, what hed been through.

Pity, isnt it? he suddenly caught her looking at him. I know you feel sorry for me. Its all I get these dayspity. No one could ever actually love me, not like this.

No one loves me either, Emily bit back, feeling a lump in her throat. Ive got both my legs and arms, but apparently Im not good enough. No one even pities me. Maybe Id be better off if Id lost a legat least then people would be sympathetic. She blinked away tears.

But then Tom, for the first time, actually smiled at her.

Youre ridiculous, he said softly. You, unattractive? You must be joking. I look at you and honestly envy the bloke youll pick. Believe me.

Emily stared at him, stunned, and she realised she actually did believe him. So she asked, quite unexpectedly: What if I pick you? Would you marry me? She watched him closely. Youre quietso youre lying. I get it.

Emily turned to walk away, wounded.

But Tom struggled to sit up on his elbows, almost as if he wanted to chase after her. Then, remembering he couldnt, he called out, Marry me, Emily. I swear, Ill get back on my feet. Give me a little time, youll seeno one will even notice anything wrong with me. Please, dont leave.

Emily and Tom

She paused, just outside the door, almost in tears, but inside she knewhe was the one.

It didnt matter if her nose was the wrong shape, or her eyes too small, or if Tom had lost part of his leg. Theyd found each other, simple as that.

Her moment had finally arrived, as Mum had always said

Tom attacked his physio with everything he had. He had a new purpose now: he wanted to marry this wonderful girl, and he was determined to be up and about for the future they could have together.

She needed to know she was wanted, too. Emily meant the world to him, and all he wanted was to stay by her side.

So, youre finally in love, are you? her mum asked slyly a few weeks later. Look at you glowing! And you said you werent pretty.

Emily didnt even try to deny it. She was walking around on air. Her biggest wish now was for Tom to get fully mobile and used to his prosthetic leg.

They walked together for longer and longer each day, first in the courtyard outside the hospital, then through the snowy, glittering pre-Christmas streets, lights shining everywhere.

They’ve taken the building down now, Tom pointed out one evening. Thats where it all happened.

But why did you go in there? Emily asked softly. You never told me.

Youll laugh, but I saw a stray puppyskinny little thing, black with white patches. I thought itd freeze to death out there. I wanted to rescue him, bring him home, so neither of us would be alone, Tom explained.

Look, theres a scrawny dog over there, watching us, but hes too scared to come closer.

Thats him! Tom grinned. Sure enough, the dog trailed them all the way home.

Talk about luckEmilys bagged herself a nice-looking husband, younger than her, with his own flat and no mother-in-law to speak of! her friends joked at the wedding.

Emilys mum even shed a tear when Tom started calling her Mum. Hed grown up in care and had no family of his own. Hes a wonderful, genuine manand best of all, they truly love each other. Thats all that matters now.

The vegetable patch will just have to wait, but somehow Tom manages to turn his hand to everything. Hes good at whatever he tries!

For now, its just Emily, Tom and their loyal dog, Bertie, who never left their side. But soon, therell be four of them: Emily and Tom are expecting a baby girl.

Never give up hope. Otherwise, you might let your happiness pass by completely unnoticed.

After all, life is beautiful in its unpredictability…

“Don’t Dare Touch My Mum’s Things,” My Husband Warned “These clothes belong to my mum. Why on earth have you packed them up?” my husband asked, his voice suddenly unfamiliar. “We’ll get rid of them. Why do we need this stuff, Mark? They’re taking up half the wardrobe, and I need space for winter duvets and spare pillows—the house is a mess as it is.” With purposeful efficiency, Olga continued stripping the modest jumpers, skirts, and light dresses of her late mother-in-law from their hangers. Mrs. Valerie Harris had always hung her clothes neatly, maintaining their good condition—a habit she’d instilled in her son, too. But Olga’s wardrobes were chaos; every morning, she’d dive among the shelves searching for a top, complain there was nothing to wear, and then attack crumpled shirts with her steamer—the clothes always looking as though a cow had chewed and spat them out. It had only been three weeks since Mark laid his mum to rest. Valerie had required medical care—though it was already a lost cause—and peace. Stage four cancer took her frightfully fast. Mark brought his mother home; she faded within a month. Returning from work that day, he found her belongings tossed carelessly in the hallway, as if they were useless rubbish. Stunned, he wondered—was that it? Was this how his mum would be treated? Thrown out—forgotten without a second thought? “Why are you staring at me like Thatcher at the miners?” Olga retorted, stepping back. “Don’t touch those things,” Mark hissed through clenched teeth. The blood pounded in his head so fiercely, he momentarily lost feeling in his hands and feet. “Oh, for goodness’ sake—what do we need this tat for?” Olga snapped, her temper rising. “What is this, a shrine? Your mum’s gone—face it! Maybe if you’d cared that much when she was alive—visited a bit more—you’d have known how ill she was!” Mark recoiled at those words as if whipped. “Leave, before I do something I’ll regret,” he forced out over the tension in his throat. “Whatever. Loony.” Olga scoffed. In Olga’s mind, anyone who dared to disagree with her was automatically mad. Mark, still in his shoes, went to the hallway cupboard, opened the top doors, and climbing on a stool, fetched one of their checkered moving bags—of which they had about seven. He packed all Valerie’s things, not haphazardly, but folded each item into tidy rectangles. Her coat went on top, and her shoes in a separate bag. Their three-year-old son bustled around helping, even tossing his toy tractor into the bag. Mark rummaged for a key in the hall drawer and dropped it in his pocket. “Daddy, where are you going?” Mark managed a bitter smile as he grasped the door handle. “I’ll be back soon, champ. Go to your mum.” “Wait!” Olga called, appearing in the lounge doorway, “Are you leaving? Where? What about dinner?” “Thanks, I’m full up with your attitude towards my mum.” “Oh come on, there’s no need for this drama. Take your coat off—where do you think you’re off to at this hour?” Without looking back, Mark left with the bag, got in his car, and drove towards the ring road. He kept his mind blank, let the motorway drone drown his thoughts—work, summer holiday plans, those funny Facebook pages he browsed to relax—all shrank to insignificance. Only one slow, heavy thought crawled through his mind: the real priorities. Everything else burned away. The only things remaining untarnished were the kids, his wife… and his mum. He blamed himself—hadn’t seen enough, never home in time, always some excuse. His mum hadn’t wanted to be a burden, so he’d postponed visits, rang less, cut their chats short. After driving for some hours, Mark pulled up along a country lane by the family home where he’d grown up. Artist: Shaun Ferguson It was pitch black. He fumbled with the garden gate, used his phone screen to light the way—five missed calls from Olga. No, not tonight. The night air was heavy and sweet with the dying scent of cherry blossom, luring moths in the dark. Old slippers stood by the porch, and, by the inner door, Valerie’s worn blue house shoes with two red bunnies on the toes—he’d given them to her years ago. The air inside smelt faintly damp, the sort of musty old furniture scent you never forget. In the lounge, the new sofa and telly he’d bought her stuck out, the fridge door ajar reminded him nobody lived here anymore. Her bedroom—his old one as a boy—was just across. He sat on the bed. The wardrobe there was once his brother’s. Now, the rail held his mum’s things. Mark stared at it as if expecting his mother to appear. He dropped his head in hands, crumpling onto the pillows—and he wept. He wept for the words he never said, for the last time her hand squeezed his, for all the “thank yous” he never voiced—for love, for sacrifices, for making him feel safe and secure. For the strength she gave him. And now, at the moment for words, he’d found none. All he thought of seemed pompous and outdated; nothing would do. Today, people had a vocabulary for cynicism and bravado, not for real feelings. Mark crashed out on the bed, not undressing, not wanting to disturb her orderly world. Miraculously, he slept soundly and woke with the dawn, just as he always had. He put everything back in her wardrobe, folding things neatly the way she liked, hung up her dresses, arranged her shoes. He stepped back, pictured her in this room, in these outfits, that warm, loving smile. He hugged her blouses, breathed in their scent, and stood there, lost in memory. Only later did he fish out his phone. “Morning, Steve. Can’t come in today—family emergency. Will you manage? Thanks.” And to Olga he texted: “Sorry I snapped. Will be home tonight. Love you.” Outside, daffodils and tulips flowered along the garden path. Mark picked them, plus a bunch of lilies of the valley, and made three small posies—for the cemetery, for his brother, dad, and mum. He grabbed breakfast at the village shop. “Mark! Back again?” the shopkeeper called. “Just visiting mum,” he mumbled. “Want some fresh Lancashire cheese? Your mum’s favourite.” He wavered, then nodded, “Alright, thanks, Mrs. Harris. How’s your lot?” She waved him off—her son was still a dead loss, always drinking. Mark ate at the gravesides—flowers and chocolate laid for each loved one. His brother had died young, his father five years ago, and now his mum. He broke off some cheese and chocolate for each stone, smiling to their photos. Recalling mischief with his brother, fishing at dawn with his dad, and his mum calling him in for tea—her voice unmistakable for miles. Oh, to hear it again. Standing by Valerie’s grave, its earth still fresh, he whispered: “Sorry, Mum. I should’ve done more. Life was meant to go on—but without you, it feels so empty. I wish I’d told you just how great you both were, and how lucky I am to be your son. Thank you for everything. I wish I’d been better—forgive me.” Soon it was time to go. Heading home, Mark ran into his old mate on the lane, already half-cut. “Oh, Mark! You back again?” the lad slurred. “Yeah. Family visit. You still drinking?” “Course I am—it’s World Turtle Day!” he exclaimed, waving a calendar scrap. Mark smirked, “Take care of your mum, mate. She’s gold—and she won’t be around forever.” He left his friend standing there, speechless, calling after him, “Alright, Mark. Take care, pal.” “Goodbye,” Mark replied, not looking back.

Marrying a Disabled Man: A Story Thank you all for your support—your likes, heartfelt comments, and generous donations from me and my five beloved cats. Please share your favourite stories on social media—it truly means a lot to the author! Lucy came home late from the hospital, where she worked as a nurse on the trauma ward. She took a long shower, then appeared in the kitchen wearing her dressing gown. “There are meatballs and pasta in the frying pan,” her mother offered, peering into her face and trying to gauge her mood. “Tired, Lucy? What’s wrong, love?” “I’m not eating—not that anyone would look at me anyway, but if I stuff my face, no one definitely will,” Lucy replied gloomily, pouring herself some tea. “What are you talking about?” her mother fussed, “There’s nothing wrong with you! You’ve a clever look in your eyes, your nose and your lips are just right—don’t go criticising yourself, Lucy!” “It’s just that all my friends have been married for ages and I’m still single! The only men who fancy me are total duds. The ones I like don’t even glance my way. What’s wrong with me, Mum?” Lucy asked, frowning, waiting for an answer. “You just haven’t met your soulmate yet, your time will come,” her mother tried to reassure her, but Lucy got even more wound up. “Oh, my ‘clever eyes’ just means they’re beady!” Lucy retorted. “My lips are thin, and look at the state of my nose! If I had money, I’d get plastic surgery, but we’re skint! So I’ve decided I’ll marry someone disabled—there are lads at the hospital whose girlfriends dumped them after accidents. What else am I to do? I’m thirty-three! I can’t wait forever!” “Oh Lucy, don’t say that…” her mum blurted, then let slip, “Your dad had trouble with his legs, I’d hoped at least your husband could help out on the allotment. It really helps us, you know? How are we supposed to cope otherwise?” She hurried on apologetically, “Don’t get me wrong, Lucy, but not everyone lives in luxury, and why would you want a disabled husband? Look, that neighbour, Alex—he’s a good lad, always had his eye on you. Strong fellow, your children would be healthy, and—” “Mum, stop. Your Alex can’t hold down a job, likes a drink, and what would we even talk about?” Lucy protested. “What do you need to talk about?” her mum insisted. “I’ll ask him to go dig the veg patch, then we’ll have lunch. Or send him to the shops. He’s a good enough lad, he tries—maybe it could work?” she suggested hopefully. Lucy just pushed away her tea and got up. “I’m going to bed, Mum. You really don’t get it. I thought at least you saw me as a person, but you’re just like everyone else—you think I’m a lost cause …” “Lucy, darling, don’t say that—” her mother followed, but Lucy just waved her hand. “That’s enough, Mum.” She closed the door in her mother’s face. Later, Lucy lay awake, thinking of the young man who’d recently arrived at the ward—he’d lost his leg at the ankle. A collapsing building had pinned his leg with a concrete slab. The house was already marked for demolition, but for some reason he’d gone inside. They’d rescued him too late to save the limb. No one had come to visit him, though he was young—not even thirty. At first, right after surgery, he’d looked at Lucy, holding her hand and searching her eyes pleadingly. Later, realising the full extent of his loss, he’d simply stare up at the ceiling, withdrawn. For some reason, Lucy felt especially sorry for him, maybe because he had no visitors at all. “Do you think I’ll ever walk again?” he’d asked her the other day, not looking her way. “Of course you will,” Lucy replied resolutely, “You’re young, you’ll recover.” “Everyone says that. Try living with no leg yourself—then say whether life’s worth living or not,” he snapped, turning his back to her as if she were to blame. “Why did you go in there anyway?” Lucy retorted, now annoyed herself. “It’s your own fault.” “Thought I saw something,” the man muttered, and from then on, when Lucy came into the ward, he’d turn to the wall. Lucy watched him: his eyes were light-coloured, cold as ice. Yet he was a handsome man—it was such a shame. “Pitying me, are you?” he caught her gaze one day, “I can see it—you’re feeling sorry for me. That’s all I’m good for now, isn’t it? Men like me, we aren’t loved.” “And women like me aren’t loved either—even with arms and legs—all because something about me is ‘off’. No one even feels sorry for me. Maybe I’d be better off like you—at least someone would pity me then,” Lucy snapped and, to her own surprise, felt tears sting her eyes. But then, Michael suddenly smiled at her for the first time, “You’re daft, you know that?” he said. “You think you’re not pretty? Are you mad? I look at you and honestly, any man you choose, I’ll just envy him. Do you believe me?” Lucy stared at him, and—strangely—she did believe him. She blurted out what had been pricking her tongue for days: “Well, if I choose you, will you marry me?” He stayed silent. “See, you’re lying, I knew it!” Lucy said, her lips trembling as she got up and headed for the door. But Michael propped himself up on his elbows as best he could, sitting up as if he might chase after her—then remembered he couldn’t, and called after her: “Marry me, Lucy! I swear, soon nobody will even notice I’ve got a bad leg. I’ll recover—don’t leave, Lucy!” Lucy stopped in the corridor, on the verge of tears, but now she sensed, deep down—he was The One. It no longer mattered that her nose was too big, her eyes too small, or that something had happened to his leg. They’d found each other—that was all. Her time had come, just as her mother had said… Michael threw himself into rehab with new passion. Now, he had a goal—he wanted to marry the wonderful girl he loved, and he needed to get back on his feet for both their sakes. He wanted Lucy to stop feeling sad or unwanted. He needed her—needed her so much there was no one else he wanted but her. “You’ve finally fallen in love, haven’t you, love?” her mother teased her gently one day. “Look at you—positively glowing! And you said you weren’t pretty.” Lucy just floated on air. Her biggest hope now was that Michael would walk again and get used to his new prosthetic. They went on ever longer walks—first around the hospital grounds, then through the twinkling pre-Christmas streets sparkling under snowy lights … “The old house, where I got trapped—that’s it, all levelled now,” Michael showed her once. “And why did you go in there anyway? What did you see? You never told me…” Lucy remembered. “You’ll laugh, but I saw a stray puppy—thin, all black with white patches. I thought he’d freeze, so I wanted to bring him home—didn’t want to be lonely anymore,” he told her. “Oh, look—there’s a skinny dog over there, eyeing us warily.” “Looks like him! That’s definitely the one!” Michael grinned, and the dog started following them at a distance—all the way home. “Lucky Lucy, found herself a handsome husband, younger than her, with his own flat and no mother-in-law!” her friends teased at the wedding. Lucy’s mum shed a tear of joy when Michael started calling her “Mum”. He’d been raised in care; no family at all. But he was such a kind, good soul—and most importantly—they loved each other. That’s all that mattered. And as for the allotment veggies—who really cares? Besides, Michael’s the practical type, and everything he tries, he manages! These days, Lucy, Michael, and the dog—Kuzma (now renamed Tommy)—all live together. But soon there’ll be four: Lucy and Michael are expecting a little girl. Never despair, or you might miss the happiness fate has in store for you. After all, life’s greatest beauty lies in its unpredictability…