For two years, Mary had been nothing more than a nurse for his mother.
Mary had managed to marry a very respectable gentleman. All her friends envied her. Her husband owned his own business, a grand, luxurious house in Surrey, several cars, and a cottage in the countryside. And all this, at just thirty-two years of age.
Mary herself had only just completed her degree and spent a year working as a primary school teacher. They wed in the summer. After the wedding, her husband insisted there was no need for his wife to work for a pittance. He told her to stay at home and prepare herself for motherhood. Mary didnt protest this arrangement.
The first year of marriage was like something out of a fairy tale. Mary and her husband travelled, bringing back countless memories and expensive purchases. Yet Mary found she had nowhere to wear her new clothes. Her friends were always at work, and on weekends, they were busy with their families. Her husband was constantly attending gatherings, but never took her along.
Mary grew bored. She couldnt conceive, and her affection for her husband began to fade. Day after day, after finishing the household chores, she wandered from room to room, consumed by thoughts of her future. Another year passed. Her husband was rarely home during the day, returning late in the evenings, exhausted and irritable. He complained that business was not prospering as he had hoped.
First, he told his wife she ought to spend less. Then, he demanded that she account for every purchase, every expense. He tallied it all, insisting that they could live comfortably off half that sum. Mary was troubled. She wanted to return to work, but she couldnt find a job in her profession.
She decided to enrol on a course, but then her husbands mother fell ill. For two years, Mary had to care for her. Her husband moved his mother into their home. Mary did everything, tending to the sick woman, while her husband became even less present.
When his mother finally passed, her husband withdrew even further. He barely spoke to Mary, seemed perpetually downcast, and avoided meeting her gaze. He spent longer hours at the office, often not coming home at all.
Mary couldnt grasp what had changed until she visited her mother-in-laws old flat, where she hadnt set foot for ages. Behind the closed door, she heard a child crying. Mary was stunned; shed assumed the flat was empty. She hesitated, then pressed the doorbell.
A young woman answered. It turned out that her husband, even before his mother took ill, had started a second family. Later, he had installed them in his mothers apartment.
Mary was shattered. She knew her marriage could not be saved. She left for another city, to her aunts, with nothing but a small handbag. She didnt want any possessions to remind her of her marriage, or of how badly everything had turned outMary awoke in her aunts tidy guest room, sunlight pooling across the wooden floor, the lavender curtains trembling in the morning breeze. For the first time in years, she felt lighter, as though an invisible weight had finally slipped from her shoulders. It wasnt freedom exactlygrief lingered in the space her old life had occupiedbut a sense of possibility tugged at her heart.
Her aunt served strong tea and slices of honey cake, and listened quietly as Mary recounted everything. No judgments, only gentle nods and warm hands folded over Mary’s. After breakfast, her aunt suggested Mary visit the library, just to see. At first, Mary hesitatedher confidence felt thin and fragilebut she agreed.
In the quiet rows of books, Mary found herself drawn to a notice on the bulletin board: Local childrens art club seeks volunteer. Experience with kids welcome. The next week, she stood before a dozen cheerful, paint-spattered faces, showing them how to mix colors and encouraging their wildest imaginations. Their laughter, their small triumphs, filled the emptiest places inside her.
Days bled into weeks. Mary explored the towns winding streets and riverside trails. She savored the hush and beauty of her newfound solitude. When the headmistress of the primary school learned of Marys teaching experience, she offered her a part-time job. Mary accepted, and for the first time in years, walked into a classroom, her heart thumpingnot with dread, but with hope.
She still saw her dreams, sometimes shattered and sometimes gleaming, but she no longer lived only in their shadow. If she missed her old life, she told herself gently that endings could also be beginnings. One evening, walking home beneath blooming chestnut trees, Mary realized she was no longer waiting for someone else to save her. Shed stitched together her own story from the remnants of heartbreak and loss.
That night, in the quiet of her own small room, Mary smileda true, blossoming smilecertain that whatever the future held, it was hers to claim.
