The Fate Hidden in a Lost Purse
Margaret Elizabeth wiped her hands on her apron and glanced at her granddaughter’s closed bedroom door. Emily had returned from university in low spirits, and her grandmother knew at once that something was wrong. “Another quarrel with Daniel, no doubt,” she thought, shaking her head. Their arguments were frequent, but Margaret always hoped the young ones would work things out. After a while, she decided to knock.
“Emily, love, come and eat. You must be starving after your lectures,” she called softly.
“I’m not hungry, Nan,” Emily’s voice trembled, as if she were holding back tears.
Margaret eased the door open and peeked inside. Her granddaughter sat on the bed, knees pulled to her chest. Her eyes were red, though the tears had dried. Margaret stepped in, sat beside her, and wrapped an arm around her. “No lad’s worth your tears, love,” she murmured. “You’ll be alright, you’ll see.”
“How did you know it was Daniel?” Emily wiped her eyes.
“What else would trouble a girl your age?” Margaret smiled gently. “Let him go, love. He isn’t the one. You’ll find your true match yet.”
She held Emily tighter, her mind drifting to distant years filled with their own trials and joys. Emily leaned into her and whispered, “Tell me about your life, Nan. I hardly know anything, only that Granddad passed seven years ago.”
Margaret took a deep breath, and her story flowed like a river, carrying them both into the past.
At twenty, she had married Gregory, the boy next door. Love had seemed eternal, but marriage quickly became a nightmare. Her mother had warned her: “Maggie, Gregory won’t make a good husband. Look at his father—a drunkard and a layabout. Auntie from the next village tried to arrange you with Andrew—he’s steady.” But Margaret hadn’t listened, believing in Gregory’s kind heart. Within a year, he took to drink, and quarrels became routine. One evening, in a fit of rage, he struck her. Margaret snatched up her son, Thomas, and fled to her parents. Her father met Gregory with a stern glare: “One more step, and you’ll regret it.” The man backed off and never returned.
Left alone with Thomas at twenty-two, Margaret moved to the city to live with her ailing, widowed aunt. The woman welcomed them as her own, and Margaret cared for her until her passing. The small flat became theirs. She found work as a nursery assistant, enrolling Thomas in the same nursery. They lived modestly but never went hungry. Sometimes Margaret brought home leftovers—a bit of shepherd’s pie, a slice of bread—whatever the children hadn’t finished.
One evening, stopping at the grocer’s on her way home, she fumbled her purse, losing nearly her entire wages. Discovering the loss at home, she panicked—how would they manage? Thomas needed new shoes, and payday was weeks away. She rushed back to the shop. The shopkeeper, a stout woman with a sour expression, snapped, “Should’ve kept a closer eye on it.” Then she handed Margaret a note. “Some lad found your purse. Left an address.”
Ignoring the sharp tone, Margaret hurried to the given address—a first-floor flat in an old building. A young man with kind eyes answered the door. “Hello,” she breathed, “I lost my purse.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, I kept it safe. Tell me the amount and the colour.” She described it—dark blue—and named the exact sum. “That’s yours,” he said, handing it over. “I’m Edward. And you?”
“Margaret,” she replied, relief warming her heart. “Thank you so much. This is all I have.”
Edward waved from the window as she left, and she thought, “I must repay his kindness.” That weekend, she and Thomas bought a cake and visited. An elderly woman—his grandmother—answered the door. Flustered, Edward said, “You shouldn’t have gone to such trouble,” but he invited them in for tea. Thomas, ever solemn, shook Edward’s hand. “I’m Thomas,” he announced. The room filled with laughter, and the air grew light.
Over tea, Margaret learned Edward lived with his grandmother, having lost his parents young. At twenty-three, he’d served in the army and now worked at the factory. His blue eyes and easy smile made Margaret feel at ease. Even Thomas, usually wary, listened intently to Edward’s stories.
They began seeing each other—cinema trips, walks in the park, sometimes with Thomas, who’d taken a liking to Edward’s grandmother, Mary. Margaret worried over their age gap—she was two years older—but her heart won out. Edward fretted too: would Thomas accept him as a father? Then, one evening after a stroll, Thomas settled the matter. “Mum, when will Edward live with us?” he asked. “And can we bring Grandmother Mary? She’s nice.” Mary, overhearing, chuckled. “Out of the mouths of babes.” Edward, mustering courage, proposed. Margaret, laughing through tears, said yes.
They married, and life blossomed anew. A daughter, Alice, was born, and Thomas called Edward “Dad.” Forty-six years they shared, until illness took him. Margaret felt half her soul had gone with him, but her children—and now Emily—kept her standing.
“So you see, love,” Margaret finished. “Life isn’t easy, but love finds a way. Don’t fret over Daniel. Your true happiness is still ahead—you’ll know it when it comes.”
Emily smiled. “I never knew Dad was so bold as a boy.” A year later, she married her classmate, James, not Daniel, who proved unworthy. When their son was born, Margaret, cradling her great-grandchild, rejoiced that she’d lived to see such joy.
