A woman went to visit her old friend from university. It was her birthday, and everything was wonderful, simply perfect. The spacious flat had four large rooms, and the dining table was laden with delicacies—melted cheddar oozing golden drops, fine cured ham with delicate marbling, roasted fish, and spit-roasted meat fresh from the new oven. There were pickled tomatoes, crunchy coleslaw with garlic, desserts, and pastries—a feast fit for a still-life painting.
The guests were lovely—family and colleagues, all offering heartfelt toasts. Soft music played in the background, porcelain figurines lined the shelves, and heavy brocade curtains draped the windows. A plush floral rug muffled footsteps as everyone ate with relish.
The hostess’s husband gifted her an elegant diamond ring—after all, fifty was a milestone! Their children toasted their mother warmly, and the youngest grandchild kissed her cheek. There was space for everyone, and all were content.
Later, they even danced. The hosts had cleared a room for it, and the guests, pleasantly warmed by food and drink, swayed to nostalgic tunes from their youth. A handsome colleague of the birthday girl’s husband asked Dorothy to dance. She flushed, her hair coming loose as she moved gracefully—just like in her younger days. He smiled, paid her polite compliments—nothing untoward, just kind words that lifted her spirits.
Then Dorothy checked her watch and snapped back to reality. She had to rush home. Her mother-in-law needed medicine, a bath—her husband couldn’t manage alone. Tomorrow’s meals had to be prepared before her afternoon shift. And there was always more—her husband, laid off when the publishing firm folded, was scraping by on temp wages. Their son’s failed venture meant loan repayments, and her daughter-in-law had been in hospital with the baby for weeks.
The carer’s hourly rate was staggering. Money was tight. She’d work late tonight so they could afford help tomorrow.
The thoughts flooded in. Dorothy bundled into her coat—no one stopped her. The party carried on. Her friend hugged her goodbye—she always helped where she could, but she had her own life, her own joys. Dorothy stepped out into the cold, sobering rain.
For a moment, she wished she could turn back—to the warmth, the laden table, the music, the laughter. Where conversation wasn’t about illness or debt, but films and youthful escapades. Where a charming man’s smile made her forget, just for a song.
But Dorothy boarded the chilly bus. Home smelled of antiseptic and burnt porridge—no matter how much she scrubbed, misery lingered. Her exhausted husband greeted her with doctor’s updates—his own tests weren’t promising.
The flat felt cramped, dark, the air thick with struggle. Even the bulb had blown. Boxes of pills, stacks of adult nappies, a bin bag ready for the dump—it was a stark contrast to the glow she’d left. Tears prickled, but she swallowed them.
She hugged her husband. “Thank you for letting me go to Lucy’s. It was lovely.” She rolled up her sleeves. “I’ll draw a bath for Mum. Did you give her the medicine? Take yours?”
Life was this—work, care, duty. No comparing. Just love, and doing what must be done.
Her husband changed the bulb. Light returned. The flat seemed larger. Her mother-in-law slept peacefully—tonight might be easier. There’d be time to work, if she pushed through.
Later, when Lucy texted—“Can I give your number to that lovely man?”—Dorothy sent a smiling emoji and a firm _No._ She thanked her for the joy, the respite. Lucy understood.
Life sometimes tempts us with escape—a glimpse of warmth when burdens weigh heavy. Yet we return to where we’re needed. Love guides us back. Not without weariness, not without longing—but without regret.
Because some duties are woven into the heart, and no fleeting comfort outweighs them.
