A Trial Introduction
“Life’s full of surprises,” mused Margaret to herself. “People live together for years, then suddenly go their separate ways—just like that. I’ve known plenty who’ve done it, and I’m no different. Though I didn’t stick around long with my own tyrant, that chapter’s firmly closed.”
Margaret had just retired and found herself alone. Her daughter, married with her own family, lived in the city. She’d left their village after finishing school, gone to college, and settled down. Now, visits were rare—both she and her husband worked, and their daughter was still in school.
Back when Margaret was still working, her colleagues would nag her:
“Meg, why stay single? Plenty of decent blokes out there—widowers, divorcees whose marriages didn’t work out. Put yourself out there! There are ads in the papers, magazines, even online.”
“I’d feel awkward making the first move,” she’d brush them off. “And if a man’s divorced, there’s usually a reason. Good husbands don’t get left—the decent ones stay married. I don’t trust them.”
“Nobody’s saying you have to marry the first one, love,” insisted Vera, who’d met her own husband through a newspaper ad and now lived happily, dishing out advice. “Just chat, and if you don’t like him, don’t call back. Simple as that.”
The Advertisement
Eventually, Margaret took the plunge. Dialling that first number was nerve-wracking, but once she did, she realized:
“What’s the harm? We’re just talking on the phone. If he’s not for me, I won’t call again.”
She rang a few men—some were clearly not worth her time. But gradually, her perspective shifted:
“Maybe it’s not always the man’s fault. Women can be difficult too. You never really know what goes on behind closed doors.”
So, over time, Margaret tried her luck with ads—though none had stuck yet. She still hesitated with divorcees, but fate had other plans. One call with Stephen changed everything. His manner and respect for women stood out—he never badmouthed his ex. They’d split after decades, once their two kids were grown.
Margaret didn’t pry. She hated dwelling on her own past, so she understood. But one thing unsettled her:
“Stephen, do you see your children? Do they visit?”
“No. They sided with their mother. They don’t call, let alone visit.”
That gave her pause.
“Whatever happens between husband and wife, children should still have their father. If they’ve cut ties, there must be a good reason.” She kept that thought to herself.
The Visit
Nervous on the bus ride over, Margaret relaxed as she spotted the crossroads he’d described. Stepping off, she saw a tall, pleasant-looking man grinning at her.
“Margaret?”
“That’s me,” she smiled—a smile he liked.
“Stephen, then. My motor’s over there,” he nodded to a sleek black 4×4. “I’ll show you the place.”
She appreciated the flowers, the fact he hadn’t kept her waiting.
His two-storey house was impressive—tidy, well-kept. The garden showed care, the interiors spotless.
“Must keep it clean himself,” she noted. “Been divorced a while, yet it’s cozy.”
But doubts crept in.
“His wife left all this behind—why? She poured her life into this house. What made her walk away?”
As Stephen gave the tour, she wondered.
The Test
Over tea (which he served himself, even slicing the cake neatly), he was charming. But then:
“Right then, Margaret, time for your test.”
“My what?”
“Clear the table properly—no crumbs. Wash up, then mop the floor. After, we’ll milk the cow. Let’s see your skills.”
She stared, stunned. Even if he’d asked politely, this was outrageous.
“I’ll wash the dishes, but I’m not mopping. And I’m not milking your cow. You don’t order guests about like staff. If you’d said, ‘Make yourself at home,’ I’d have helped. But this? No.”
He tried laughing it off, but she stood firm.
Then he laid it bare:
“Fair enough. If you move in, bring a dowry—livestock, chickens, sheep. Sell nothing to relatives; I’ll fetch them myself.”
Margaret laughed outright.
“You’re something else! I admired your house, so you assume I’m desperate to move in? Think again. I don’t want you, your cow, or this house. You’re after a free ride—someone to boss about. Not me. Don’t bother seeing me out.”
On the walk back, her mind raced. A local woman caught up, recognizing her.
“Oh, that Stephen’s had loads round—cleaning, cooking, never good enough. Drove his wife mad with demands. After the split, he let her take nothing—just her clothes. She fought him in court, but who knows if she won. Stay clear of that one.”
Now Margaret knew for sure: good husbands don’t get left.
