Elizabeth stands frozen as Jonathan’s trembling voice cuts through the silence. “Elizabeth! What are you doing?!” Desperation cracks his words. “You know how I feel about you! Why are you doing this?”
“Don’t complicate this, Jonathan,” Elizabeth deflects, turning sharply towards the window. “It’s settled. Alexander is a good man. A senior director. We’ll have a comfortable life.”
“And love? What we shared? Does that mean nothing?”
Elizabeth clenches her fists until her nails bite into her palms. Of course it meant something. More than she dared admit. But Mum lies in hospital after a second heart attack, treatment costs mounting astronomically – sums she and Jonathan could never have hoped to earn.
“It was beautiful,” she says coldly, “but life isn’t a fairy tale.”
Jonathan steps forward, hand outstretched, but stops short of touching her.
“Eliza… remember that day at Ullswater? When you fell through the ice? I pulled you out. We swore to each other then…”
“Stop it!” She whirls around. “That’s in the past. Let it go!”
Jonathan stares at her as if seeing a stranger. He nods slowly. “Right. I see how it is. Well then…” He pulled his wax jacket off the dresser. “Good luck, Elizabeth Green.”
He leaves without slamming the door. Elizabeth hears his footsteps fade down the stairs. Only then do tears finally fall.
Alexander Whitaker truly was a good man. A widowed fifty-year-old CEO, he offered Elizabeth not just marriage, but security. When Mum was hospitalised, he covered all the medical bills without question, asking only for her agreement to wed.
“You’re young, beautiful, intelligent,” he’d said, gently holding her hand. “I need a companion, Elizabeth. We fit.”
Elizabeth nodded, feeling like stock at market. But there was no choice. Mum was recovering; doctors promised a full return to health, with the right care and costly medication.
The wedding was a quiet registry office affair. Alexander proved a considerate husband, demanding no declarations of love, seemingly content with respect and gratitude. Elizabeth earnestly tried to be a good wife.
She went three months without seeing Jonathan. Then a chance encounter at the NHS clinic.
“How are things?” he asked politely, as if she were merely an acquaintance.
“Alright. You?”
“Same. Working hard.”
He looked leaner, tanned, wearing an expensive new suit. Elizabeth bit backhanded questions about how he’d afforded it.
“How’s your mum, then?” Jonathan had always cared for her mother; the feeling was mutual.
“She’s improving. Slowly.”
“Send her my best, won’t you?”
“I will.”
Standing in the sterile clinic corridor, Elizabeth vividly recalls that winter day on Ullswater. She was seventeen, he nineteen. They skated far from the shore. A faint cracking sound; Jonathan heard it.
“Don’t move!” he yelled, crawling towards her on his belly. When the ice gave way, he grabbed her wrist. Minutes of frantic struggle in freezing water followed before he hauled her out, wrapping her in his own coat.
“It’s alright,” he whispered, rubbing her frozen hands. “Got you. Always.” They’d sworn eternal love then. Seventeen and believing it possible.
“I’m due inside,” Jonathan says, pulling her back to now.
“Of course.”
He left. Elizabeth remained in the corridor, clutching her doctor’s referral, long after.
Life asked Alexander settled into a predictable rhythm. He built Mum a proper bungalow in Surrey, hired a carer, secured Elizabeth a prestigious role in his company handling logistics. She earned well, yet felt worthless.
“You seem down today,” her husband noticed over dinner.
“Just tired.”
“Perhaps a weekend away? Up to the Cotswolds?”
Alexander was attentive, noticing her moods, trying to please, giving gifts. Elizabeth knew many women would envy her position.
“Alright. The Cotswolds.”
His country house was luxurious, all swimming pool and manicured gardens. Elizabeth lay on a sunlounger, watching clouds. Alexander read the paper beside her.
“Remember Jonathan Smith?” he inquired suddenly.
Elizabeth flinched. “Yes. Why?”
“Saw a piece about him. Quite successful now. Runs his own property development firm, builds executive estates. Reportedly doing very well.” He showed her the newspaper photo: Jonathan standing by a construction site, grinning confidently at the camera.
“Good for him,” Elizabeth said flatly.
“Indeed. Pity he wasn’t in a position to compete back then.” Alexander gave a wry smile. There was no malice in his voice, only a trace of regret.
“What do what?”
“Nothing, really. Just musing about roads not taken.”
Alexander Whitaker was wealthy and perceptive; he understood exactly why Elizabeth married him.
“Roads don’t just appear. We build them,” she countered.
“Aye, true enough.”
They sat in silence. Jonathan succeeded. He was always determined, hardworking; he’d simply lacked the initial capital then.
“Alexander, may I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you regret marrying me?”
He lowered the paper, his gaze serious. “No. Do you regret accepting?”
Elizabeth’s automatic ‘no’ caught in her throat. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
“Right.” He picked up the paper again.
That night, sleep evaded her. She revisited the lake, their youthful vows, how easily those promises shattered against harsh reality. Mum was healthy, housed, money no longer an issue. Yet something vital within her died when she made that choice.
The following week, Alexander flew out on business. Elizabeth visited Mum. Warmly welcomed and plied with scones, her happiness didn’t escape her mother’s notice.
“You’ve lost weight, love. Is Alexander not feeding you properly?”
“Honestly, Mum, he treats me like royalty.”
“Are you happy?” Mum asked unexpectedly.
Elizabeth froze, scone halfway to her mouth. “What sort of question is that?”
“An honest one. Money’s well and good, love, but happiness counts too.”
“Mum, without Alexander, you wouldn’t be here.”
“I know. And I’m thankful. But that doesn’t mean you must sacrifice your own life.”
“No one sacrificed anything.”
Mum fixed her with a knowing look. “Jonathan visited last week. Asked about your health.”
“Why tell me?”
“Because he loves you. And you love him. True love’s rare, pet.”
“Love doesn’t pay the bills,” Elizabeth snapped.
“It might now. He’s doing well for himself.” Elizabeth stood up abruptly. “I need to go.”
“Think on what I’ve said.”
Elizabeth drove home feeling torn. What did Mum want? To wreck her marriage? Make her feel guiltier?
Alexander returned weary and thoughtful. Over dinner, unusually quiet, he finally said: “Elizabeth, we need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Us. About what is, or isn’t, happening here.”
Her heart pounded. “I don’t follow.”
“Yes, you do. You’re unhappy. I see it every day. You try to be a good wife, but there’s no joy in it for you.”
“Alexander…”
“Let me finish. I married you not just for your beauty. I hoped… in time… we’d have more than gratitude. It hasn’t happened.” Elizabeth remained silent, lost for words.
“I won’t keep you prisoner. If you want to leave, you may. Your mum keeps the bungalow. Her treatment costs remain covered. I’ll support you, if needed.”
“Why now?”
“Because I respect you. And life’s too short to waste on unhappiness.”
They sat in silence late into the night. Elizabeth reflected on Alexander’s remarkable decency. Such generosity was rare.
The next day, she went to Jonathan’s office. His PA directed her to a large development site near Winchester. Jonathan, helmet on, was consulting a foreman. Seeing her, he looked startled.
“Elizabeth? What
He saved my life once by pulling me from icy waters, while I, standing alone at his mother’s fresh grave decades later, realised I had drowned his faith in love with a single choice no words could ever mend, where she now understood that the warmth of true love was the only flame that might have thawed have thawed the permanent winter settling inside her.
