Everyone in the village knew and disliked Jeremy for his unbearable temper. He was married to Emily, a quiet woman with her own troubles—she couldn’t bear children. Twelve years passed, and still no child came.
Then, out of the blue, Emily died. Her mother had noticed her daughter’s poor health, but Emily never complained.
“You don’t look well lately, love,” her mother said during rare visits.
“It’s nothing, Mum. Just a bit weak, dizzy sometimes. I’ll rest and be fine. Don’t worry.”
Emily never whinged, especially not to Jeremy—he couldn’t stand it if she so much as mentioned a headache.
“Stop pretending. Women like you always find something wrong. Too lazy to work, too quick to moan. No one pities you here,” he’d snap.
A year after the funeral, Jeremy lived alone, but the thought of remarrying nagged at him. Loneliness gnawed, though he’d grown used to his solitary ways. He eyed the village women.
“Must be childless,” he muttered. “Don’t need another man’s brats. Problem is, women my age have baggage. Need someone younger—but who’d take me?”
He knew his temper put people off. No friends, no charm—who’d want him? Then he settled on Sophie. A quiet, mousy sort, plain but hardworking.
One day, he ‘happened’ to catch her passing his house.
“Soph, come ‘ere a minute.”
She glanced up, saw him at the gate, and approached.
“Hello,” she murmured.
“Listen,” he barked. “Been watching you. How’d you like to marry me? Place is solid, money’s decent. We’ll have kids—need an heir.”
“Oh—I—I’ll have to ask Mum,” she stammered, flushing.
“Ask then. I’ll stop by tonight.”
Sophie rushed home. “Mum, I think I’m getting married.”
“To who? You’ve not even got a sweetheart!”
“Jeremy’s coming to ask.”
“Good Lord, girl, he’s twice your age! Think hard—that temper of his! Folk whisper he worked his first wife to the grave. Why rush?”
“But who else’ll have me, Mum? Years are passing. Maybe the gossip’s just spite.”
Sophie married him. The village buzzed. Some pitied her—”Should’ve run—he’s a brute.” Others shrugged—”Lucky him. A meek wife’ll obey.”
And she did. Jeremy snarled at neighbours, sneered at his mother-in-law, barely let Sophie visit.
“A tyrant, plain as day,” her mother fretted when Sophie sneaked over.
“It’s fine, Mum. I’ll manage. Let him grumble—I’ll pray for patience.”
“Lord help you, daughter. A lifetime of prayers with that man.”
Yet Sophie bore two sons in five years. Jeremy ‘loved’ them—in his way. He barked, he ranted. She warned the boys—”Keep clear when he’s cross.” They learned fast, vanishing outdoors.
“Where’re those layabouts? Lazy sods!” Jeremy roared.
Sophie tuned him out. Younger but wiser, she ran the house while he drank more, raged louder.
Neighbours steered clear—”Not worth the trouble.” His tirades echoed—”I slave, you sponge! No respect!”
Once, Sophie dared retort—”You wanted marriage, wanted sons. Now what’s your gripe? And your drinking’s cost more than all of us!”
Big mistake. He never shut up.
“How d’you stand it?” her mother wept. “I’d have fled!”
“For the boys, Mum. I’m used to it.”
The sons grew, left for trade school in Manchester, rarely visited.
“Sorry, Mum. Can’t stand Dad’s mouth,” the eldest said. “Marry, then you’ll live with us.”
“No, lad. My place is here. Visit when you can.”
They stayed with Gran, dropped by home like guests. Jeremy’s rages worsened—”Ingrates! Spongers!”
Sophie sighed—”You say we’re a burden—so enjoy solitude.”
“Tired. Just want to lie down.”
“Then lie down. Just stop shouting.”
One morning, Sophie returned from milking. Silence. The boys were grown, married, gone. She lingered at the farm to avoid Jeremy’s grumbling. Late now—why wasn’t he up?
She flicked the bedroom light on. He lay on the floor, wheezing. Panicked, she called an ambulance.
“Stroke,” the doctor said. “Needs hospital.”
The loud, bitter man returned a husk. Doctors warned—”He’ll need full care.”
She tucked him in. “You wanted rest, Jeremy. Now you’ll lie here all day.”
His pale face stared blankly. Her mother came, crossed herself at the door.
“Be careful what you wish for. Lord, daughter, why must you bear this? You should’ve left.”
“I’ll manage, Mum. At least it’s quiet now. He’s still their father.”
“Aye, strong as ever. But pity he got his wish.”
“Should’ve seen this coming,” Sophie whispered. “Now he’s just… wood.”
“Don’t blaspheme, girl. God decides his time.”
The house stayed quiet. Sophie tended him dutifully, but eighteen months later, Jeremy passed—soft as a sigh.
In time, her youngest son returned with his family. They loved her, wouldn’t leave her alone. Yet age crept in—aches, frailty—so she moved in with her mother.
Jeremy faded from memory. Sophie thanked God his temper skipped the boys. Grandchildren brought joy. Now, her days flowed—calm, unbroken.
