Helen’s daughter was a great beauty. Though she came late in life—Helen was nearly forty when the girl was born—and after she had already been widowed, with no children from her marriage.
Then Helen visited her cousin in the city, stayed with her for two weeks, and nine months later, her daughter Lily was born.
The village women whispered, of course, but Helen never revealed who the father was, or why he never visited. Not even her closest neighbour managed to uncover the secret. Meanwhile, Lily grew up to be the envy of all—pretty, bright-eyed, and strong.
Helen doted on her endlessly—dressing her in fine clothes, teaching her, and training her to help around the house. Lily grew tall, graceful, and kind. After school, she completed a course in accounting and returned to her village to work as a bookkeeper at the poultry farm.
It was there she met Stephen. He was new to the village, having recently arrived as an agronomist. Educated, unlike the rough village men. The two took a liking to each other, and within a month, Stephen confessed his love. They married—she was twenty-one, he twenty-five—throwing a wedding the whole village celebrated.
But after the wedding, he began disappearing for days at a time, returning only to vanish again. One summer evening, as Lily and Stephen sat drinking tea in the arbour, a car pulled up. A woman stepped out with a little boy.
“Here,” she said. “Take him for the holidays, Father.”
It turned out to be his first wife—something he’d never mentioned to Lily. His constant disappearances? Visits to his son. Lily couldn’t forgive the betrayal. She packed her things and moved back in with her mother.
Helen wept for her, scolding, “You can’t just leave a man like that!”
“So what if he had a family before? He loves you now. Accept the boy—it’s just for the holidays!”
But Lily refused. Stubborn and young, she left for the city in search of happiness. She visited her mother often, but had little to show for her life there—no stable job, no home, no husband.
At twenty-eight, Helen fell ill, wasting away before her eyes. Lily returned without hesitation, dedicating herself entirely to her mother’s care. For two years, she carried the burden alone—though doctors had given Helen less than one.
When her mother passed, Lily never went back to the city. The fast life hadn’t suited her. Stephen’s new wife, meanwhile, grew restless—terrified Lily might try to reclaim him. He himself had grown colder, sterner.
At the funeral, he was the first to help, but Lily, though grateful, never sought his attention. And she was still as striking as ever—no one would guess she was nearing thirty! Stephen, though, had silver streaks at his temples.
Then the unexpected happened. The village buzzed again! The Parkers’ son, Adam, returned from service—a twenty-year-old, tall, broad-shouldered lad. Every girl in the village swooned, waiting to see whom he’d notice.
But Adam paid no mind—until the day he saw Lily swimming in the river. Sunlight glistened on her hair like a mermaid’s, and his heart leaped. He waited on the bank, and when she emerged, he plunged in, carrying her out in his arms.
She laughed, struggling, but he wouldn’t let go. Smitten at first sight, he proposed within two weeks.
His father was furious, his mother in tears.
“What are you thinking? She’s older, been married, lived in the city! You’re just a boy—how can you be her husband? Snap out of it!”
The village whispered. Lily met his gaze sidelong. What could she do? She’d spent two evenings with Adam by the river at sunset. But could she stop his heart?
His parents came, begging her to leave him be. She was no match for their son. So Lily left—again. No happiness waited for her there, not with Adam’s love and the villagers’ scorn.
Seven years passed.
City life had been just as unkind. She worked in a shop, rented a flat, then met a decent man—married him, had a son. He was kind, well-off, and they lived in a bright, spacious flat.
Her husband often spoke of visiting the village to deal with the old house, but Lily never wanted to return. Even visiting her mother’s grave, she avoided the village.
Too many bitter memories—her mother’s death, the villagers’ scorn. The house had stood empty for years. But before they could go, her husband fell ill.
At fifty, Lily was a widow. Grief weighed heavy—her fifteen-year-old son still needed raising. The village house nagged at her. Best to sell it, if anyone would buy.
That summer, she and her son went back—to tidy the grave and face the villagers. Lily, elegant in a black dress and pearls, walked beside her tall son. Neighbours emerged from gates, some she barely recognised.
The house had aged—crooked shutters, a sagging porch—but the bones were strong.
Visitors came, questions flew. Lily spoke of her life, her loss. Rumours spread like wildfire.
Late that night, a knock. Her son asleep, Lily sat flipping through an old album.
She opened the door—and gasped. Adam stood there.
Life had worn him, too.
After Lily left, he didn’t marry for years. Then, finally, he chose a woman named Olivia from the next village—trying to spare feelings. They moved in together, but no children came.
“No luck in life, Lily,” he finished sadly.
Olivia was unfaithful—shameful business.
“Never could forget you. One love, but I realised too late. Listened to my parents, lost what mattered. You’re as beautiful now as you were then.”
Tears streamed down Lily’s face. Adam had aged—forty now, thinning hair, rough hands. A tractor mechanic, hard work. They talked till midnight before she sent him away.
“Give me your city address—might visit sometime. Mind?”
She gave it, doubting he’d come. But why? Time had been wasted.
She didn’t sell the house—no buyers—and she and her son returned home.
Within a year, Adam arrived. She opened the door to a tall, clean-shaven man, well-dressed, eyes full of longing.
She let him in, warmth flooding her. Memories rushed back—his love, his proposal, her flight. Could love return after twenty long years?
It did. Adam divorced Olivia, begging her to accept him. He won her son’s friendship—the boy nearly grown. Realising this was her belated fate, Lily agreed.
They married quietly, no fuss. Adam moved in with them, and at last, they found happiness—twenty years late.
Time lost, but still—the best was yet to come.
