He Wanted a Family
It’s not just women who struggle in matters of the heart—men do too. Victor was one of them. At thirty-eight, he couldn’t help but wonder: what was wrong with him?
“I’ve never been happy, even though I’ve been married twice. Well, legally once—the second time, we never registered it. Neither ended well. Where’s my happiness? Why does it always pass me by? Am I looking in the wrong places, or am I just unlucky with women?”
Victor was kindness itself, always eager to help, always shielding others from harm. Even his mates told him:
“Vic, you ought to be a bloody saint. You can’t save everyone, mate. There’s only so much kindness to go around.”
But that was just his nature. He lived with his parents in a village, in a big house with land. He was handy—good with his hands. He could weld, drive, build furniture, fix a washing machine, even handle electrical work. The villagers always had a job for him. On top of that, he worked shifts away, earning decent money. But when he came home to rest, the neighbours piled on—someone always needed something fixed.
“Son, why can’t you ever say no?” his mother scolded. “You come home knackered from work, and you’re straight back at it!”
“Mum, people need help.”
“They’re taking advantage, Vic. You do it all for free—they won’t pay anyone else when they’ve got you.”
“Ah, it’s nothing. Doesn’t hurt me,” he’d say.
At twenty-two, Victor had married Val. She was two years younger, pretty, and full of life. His mother never approved.
“A wife should be modest and quiet, not like that Val. She’s seen too much for her age. You barely knew her a month before rushing to the registry office!”
“Mum, nothing I do is right for you. What’s wrong with Val? She’s lively—I need that. I’m not sharp like other blokes.”
“Fine, I’ll shut up. But don’t come crying later. You could’ve picked someone like our neighbour, Alice—decent, hardworking, stays in at night. No one’s got a bad word for her.”
They lived with his parents, though Victor had his own entrance. His dad handled the farm with him; his mum just milked the cow.
But whenever Victor was away on shift, Val’s fun began. She’d wait until his parents’ lights went out, slip out the side gate—never the front, where his mum might see—and head to the pub for dances. Sometimes, lads from the village or the next town over walked her home.
One night, his mother fell ill, and his dad went to Val’s side of the house—Victor was away. The door was open, the house dark. No Val.
“Where’s that girl? Husband’s gone, and so is she,” he muttered, heading to the neighbour’s.
Zoe, Alice’s mum, hurried over with her blood pressure kit and pills. By morning, his dad confronted Val, who acted like nothing was wrong.
“Where were you all night? Think we don’t notice when Vic’s away?”
“I was asleep!”
“Don’t lie. I came by at one—you weren’t here.”
“What’d you want with me at that hour? I’ll tell Vic when he’s back!”
“Your mother-in-law was ill! Had to fetch Zoe instead.”
“Alright, don’t shout. I was at my mum’s—she was poorly too. Stayed till three.”
Victor’s parents kept quiet, but once, he came home early, hitching a ride with a mate, Mike. Walking back through the woods, he tapped on the bedroom window—Val’s usual spot. No answer. Then he heard shuffling, saw the kitchen window open—and a bloke bolted out.
Val opened the door, letting the stranger slip past.
“Who was that?” Victor demanded.
“No one. Why d’you care?”
“Didn’t realise I’d married a cheat.”
Next day, Val moved back to her mum’s. Victor filed for divorce.
“Told you about her,” his mum said.
“Yeah, well. Too late now.”
Then Val returned.
“I’m pregnant. Yours. Keep it or not?”
“If it’s mine, have it. I’ll help.”
Nine years on, Victor still paid child support, bought clothes for the boy—Johnny. Whenever Val needed something, she came running.
“Johnny’s torn his coat! Needs new shoes!”
Victor always paid. His mum fumed.
“You daft sod. That boy doesn’t even look like you!”
“Val says he’s mine. That’s enough.”
After Val, he met Anna from the next village—a single mum with a little girl. He helped Val while raising Anna’s daughter. They never married; Anna didn’t mind. She got on well with his parents.
“Anna’s a good ’un,” his mum told the women at the shop. “Helps with the cows, even milks ’em.”
They lived together ten years before Anna said:
“Mum’s ill. Taking my girl home to care for her.”
“Want me to come?” Victor offered.
“No. I’ll call if I need you.”
He visited, brought money. Then a mate asked:
“Vic, did you kick Anna out?”
“No—she’s caring for her mum.”
“Her mum’s fit as a fiddle. Anna’s got some bloke round—her old flame. She’s playing you for cash.”
Victor refused to believe it—until he showed up unannounced and caught them.
“Trust, but verify!” his mum scolded.
Finally, she nudged him toward Alice, their neighbour—plain but hardworking, never married. She baked pies, brought them over. Victor liked them—liked her.
“She’ll wait for you,” his mum said.
They married. Alice admitted she’d loved him since school—just never said.
“We could’ve had years together!” he groaned.
She smiled. “Plenty of time, Vic. I’m only thirty-two.”
His mum and Zoe, now family, were chuffed. At last, Victor had his proper family.
