**The Cure for Sorrow**
Lydia and Edward met at university, both living in student halls. They knew they’d stay together, but only after graduation. Life, as ever, had other plans—Lydia fell pregnant in her final year.
“Eddie, what do we do?” Lydia stared at him, desperate. “You know how strict my mum is. She barely let me come to uni—I had to beg. I promised I wouldn’t end up like her, unmarried with a baby. And now? How do I go home? She’ll kill me.” Lydia bit her lip, fighting tears.
Edward was terrified too, but he did what he thought was right. His parents had trusted him when he left for the city—no conditions, no warnings. Now, faced with Lydia’s heartbreak, he proposed. No grand wedding, just a registry office. They had finals looming.
He called his parents and confessed everything—they’d return after graduation, diploma and wife in hand. They scolded him, of course, but what was done was done. “Come home together,” they sighed.
Lydia hid behind Edward in his parents’ cramped hallway, her bump betraying her. His father frowned; his mother shook her head, chiding them for rushing into parenthood, marrying without blessing. “Is this how you start a life?” But after the lecturing, they helped. They sold their holiday cottage, scraped together savings, and bought the couple a one-bed flat.
“We’ve done what we can. The rest is up to you,” his father said.
Two months later, Lydia gave birth to a daughter.
Edward worked, but money was always tight. His parents had given all they had—he couldn’t keep relying on them. Then an old schoolmate offered him a business idea: selling computers.
“It’s booming now—everyone wants one. I’ve got supplier contacts. You know tech; I’m still learning. We’ll make a killing,” his friend insisted.
The chaotic 90s were behind them; this was legal, low-risk. Edward agreed, borrowing heavily to start. They bought faulty stock cheap, Edward fixed and upgraded them, then sold at a profit. It worked. He repaid the debt and even bought a two-bedroom flat.
Their daughter grew; nursery was next. Lydia wanted to work again.
“Stay home—we’ve got enough,” Edward grumbled. “Besides, we should think about a son.”
“Give me a break. I’ve barely recovered. I’ve never worked since uni. And Alice needs friends—how else will she manage school?”
But nursery spots were scarce. The only way in? Lydia took a job there as an assistant.
“A grad as a nursery assistant? You’re embarrassing me,” Edward fumed.
“It’s just for a year, till Alice gets a place. Then I’ll find proper work. And she’ll be right there with me—what’s wrong with that?”
Edward relented.
The business thrived—until it didn’t. A new shipment of laptops vanished overnight, the theft disguised as a fire. Edward was left with nothing but debt. His friend turned to drink; Edward couldn’t—he had a family. Selling the flat wasn’t an option.
He found work by chance, pushing a stranded car. The driver, spotting a processor in the back, struck up a conversation. Learning Edward was a tech whiz, he offered him a job maintaining office systems. Edward took it.
Slowly, he repaid the debt. Life steadied. Alice grew up, nearing university. The worst seemed past.
Then, one evening, Edward worked late. Lydia cooked while Alice listened to music with a friend. When the friend left, Alice called, “Mum, I’ll walk her home!”
“Don’t be long!” Lydia shouted as the door slammed.
She turned off the stove, lost in a film, until Edward arrived.
“Why so quiet? Alice home?” he asked, rubbing cold hands.
Lydia froze—how long had Alice been gone? She called the friend: “We said goodbye twenty minutes ago.”
Panic set in. The parents helped search. Edward refused to let Lydia run outside—useless in her state. Then a call: a Jane Doe at the hospital.
Alice was alive—but in a coma. Lydia stayed by her side, begging her to wake. She never did.
The November weather worsened—wet snow, bitter wind. That night, black ice had formed. A car on summer tyres skidded, silencing Alice’s scream.
Edward held himself together; Lydia shattered. She blamed him, the failed business, the debts—”If not for you, I’d have had another child!” She wept at the grave daily.
At work, colleagues suggested a pet. “Something to care for—distract her,” the cleaner said.
Edward remembered—Lydia had loved drawing as a girl. Her mother couldn’t afford art school. He found a private tutor online—expensive, but worth it.
The tutor, a brooding man in black, arrived with supplies. Lydia threw herself into painting, showing Edward her shaky first attempts. “He says I’ve got a good eye!”
“For sure,” Edward agreed, relieved to see her smile.
Then, one day, the easel was shoved aside. A torn canvas lay on the floor. Lydia sat hollow-eyed.
“The tutor left—his mum’s ill. Needs an expensive op,” she murmured.
Edward’s stomach dropped. “You gave him money, didn’t you?”
The savings for Alice’s uni—forgotten, then emptied.
The tutor was a fraud. Edward tracked him down—caught before he could rent a new flat. The money was partly spent.
Edward let it go. The man had a pregnant girlfriend.
Lydia donated her art supplies. Then, a knock: their neighbour’s daughter held a grey kitten.
“Mum’s allergic. Thought you might want him,” she said. “They’re the best cure for grief.”
Edward handed the kitten to Lydia. “What’ll we call him?”
“Bear. Like Alice’s teddy,” she whispered.
He braced for tears—but Lydia busied herself, cooing, “Do we have milk?”
Edward smiled. “I’ll get litter. And food.”
As Lydia nuzzled Bear, he exhaled. A kitten—that’s all it took. No tutors. No lies. Just purrs and love.
