Impatience for a Second Chance: Alla’s Quest for a New Husband, Her Son Arty’s Grown Troubles, Betrayal by a Best Friend, a Tempting Younger Algerian Suitor, and the Winding Road to Forgiving Her Ex—A British Tale of Heartbreak, Hope, and Love at Forty

Author Emily TaylorReading 7 minViews 1

CAN’T WAIT TO REMARRY

Alice desperately wanted to marry well. Shed already tried her luck once, but it hadnt worked out. She had a twenty-year-old son, Thomas.

Years ago, Alice had come home from a work trip a day early. She walked in to find her husband half-dressed, nervously making the bed, while her best friend was in the kitchen brewing coffee in her dressing gown! It was the classic scenarioa betrayal straight out of a book. The divorce followed immediately; the treacherous friend was erased from her life completely. Alice didnt bother with messy explanations. Guilt brings its own kind of justice. She threw her husband out and forbade their son from speaking to him. At the time, Alice wasnt even thirty.

More than a decade passed by. Alice earned her PhD, then her doctorate. At forty, she was leading the English department at a teacher-training university, respected by colleagues and students alike. Not once during her long stretch of singledom did she give up hope of meeting a good companion. She felt life had more in store for her than knitting socks and cross-stitching tea towels.

There were suitors, of course, but none reached her heart. One admirer, straight after their first date, proposed. He then borrowed some moneyWere practically family nowand vanished. Another was a widower, father of three, who immediately invited Alice over, asking her to whip up a meal for his whole brood. She did, and filled their bellies, but afterwards wept on her way home. She pitied the children and their lonely father, but couldnt see herself carrying the weight of that household. Perhaps I am selfish, she thought.

With each year, the options dwindled. Just as Alice was about to give up for good, He appeared.

His name was WilliamWill for shorta former student of Alices, now twenty-eight and running a small local business. They bumped into each other at a petrol station he owned. They chatted, reminisced about university days, and laughed together. William gave Alice his business cardjust in case. From then on, Alice found herself stopping by weekly, always buying petrol from him. Williams interest grew.

He invited her to dinner, to concerts at the Royal Albert Hall, but Alice felt awkward and doubted his intentions. She declined every time.

But William was persistent. Alice remembered how, back at university, he was remarkably dedicated, standing out from his peers. William was the kind of man young women glanced at twice, with dark hair and a gentle smile. She remembered hed once given her a little carved trinket box. Inside, shed found a note. Reading it, Alice had blushed scarlet, then turned pale, before angrily tearing the note into tiny shreds. William had written, Miss Alice, I love you!

Assuming it was all a joke, Alice had thrust the box back at him and rushed out. The next day, William came to her office.

Miss Alice, please forgive me. I didnt mean any harm. I just really like you. She accepted his apology and told him to head to his lecture. William kept his distance for the rest of his studies, only sneaking glances her way. Now, all these years later, life had brought them together again. Alice didnt know whether to let herself fall or walk away. Now, were simply man and woman, she reasoned. Whats the harm in seeing what happens?

And so, Alice let fate decide.

A whirlwind romance blossomed. Their first real date was unforgettable. William was charming, funny, and tenderunlike anyone Alice had known. The age difference felt meaningless. Alice was giddy, young again, while William was steady and attentive. He called her Allie, and she began to call him Will, reshaping each other’s names like a private joke.

She was happier than shed ever imaginedshe finally felt desired. Love engulfed her.

But William never proposed. He was planning to return home to Birmingham, where his family waited. His mother had already lined up a lovely young womanEmily, seventeen, from a good family. Alice knew she could never follow him, abandoning her mother and son. Realistically, she would never be welcomed as an older, foreign bride.

So Alice poured all her unshed tenderness into her fleeting time with William. How much happiness do I have left? she confided to her mother. Might as well love him so fiercely hell hardly catch his breath. Her mother was vehemently opposed to William.

Allie, why get involved with this stranger? Arent there plenty of English men still around? Ill never give you my blessing for this! Your ex-husband still hangs about, hoping youll take him back. Forgive him, wont you? After all, you do have a son together! her mother fussed.

Mum, David cheated on me, remember? Alice retorted.

For goodness sake! Hes regretted it so many times. Besides, you buried yourself in your research and neglected him. Leave a man unsupervised, and of course women come near. And dont act so high and mighty.

But Mum, you never forgave my fatherhe begged your forgiveness too.

Oh, thats different! her mother replied. Your father left before you arrived. He had three children elsewhere and only came back to look at you. Was I to take a man with three extras? And could I steal a father from those children? No. Your David has been alone for ten years, just waiting for you to call him home. Thomas still loves him, you know.

Oh Mum Im not planning to marry William. Im too old for him. Ill just waitlet him leave first. I wont be the one, Alice said thoughtfully.

Old mares fancy salt too, you know, sighed her mum.

Three years later, William bid farewell. Ill keep in touch, my dear Allie, was all he said. Alice braced herself but it was still painfully hard to let him go to young Emily. As a parting gift, William gave her the same carved trinket box from long ago, this time with a ring inside: two angels holding a diamond heart.

My heart stays here with you, Allie, William said softly, kissing her goodbye.

He left for Birmingham.

A year later, William sent a wedding photo, captioned, My wife, Emily. The following year brought another picture: My second wife, Mary. He explained that in his familys tradition, polygamy was accepted.

Looking at these updates on Williams life, Alice felt no jealousy. What would those young things know of grown-up love? She smiled at the sadness in Williams eyesmaybe he still missed her, maybe even still cared. Still, old love rusts when the fresh wind blows.

The story ended. The page turned. During this time, Alices son Thomas married, bringing his bride home. When they had a daughter, Alice asked them to name her Allie, wanting this story of searing love to live on.

In time, Alice forgave (or perhaps just pitied) her ex-husband David. Guilt, after all, had met forgiveness. David, with her mothers help, managed to convince Alice to reconcile.

He knows his faults. And who among us is without sin? Temptation walks among people, not the woods. Not everyone can shield themselves from desire.

Now, Alice and David live together again, doing their best to appreciate each day. Alice even completed a knitting courseshe now makes little socks for her granddaughter Allie, sewing in patterns of English roses.

And so, Alice learned that life rarely brings the perfect story, but when we open our heartswhether to love, forgiveness, or kindnesswe find blessings where we least expect them.

Dad’s Always Better – Max, we need to talk. Olga fussed nervously with the tablecloth, smoothing out imaginary creases with trembling fingers betraying the worry hidden behind her steady tone. Max sat opposite, nose buried in his phone, thumbs darting across the screen in exaggerated focus. Deliberate ignoring – his favourite weapon. – Son… I need to explain something important. No response. Just clicks from the touchscreen. Olga took a deep breath, summoning courage for words she’d put off for a week. – When your dad and I divorced… it was six months before I introduced you to Steve. I didn’t rush, you see? I wanted to be sure it was serious. Max’s fingers froze above the phone. The teenager looked up slowly, outrage burning so fiercely in his eyes that Olga recoiled. – Serious? – he spat through clenched teeth. – You think it’s really serious with him, with some random guy? He’s not even worth Dad’s little finger! Dad’s still the best! Memories of that first meeting flashed sharply before Max’s eyes. The tall stranger on their doorstep, Mum’s nervous smile, the scent of foreign cologne in the hallway. An invader brazenly occupying Dad’s sacred place. – He’s not a stranger, – Olga protested gently. – He’s my husband. – YOUR husband! – Max slammed his phone down. – He’s not MY anything! My dad is Dad. This one… He left the rest unsaid, but the contempt in his voice said everything. Steve really tried. Oh God, did he try. Every evening, he disappeared into the garage, bending over Max’s battered bike. Blackened hands, a sweat-streaked brow, and that stubborn smile of a man determined to win at any cost. – Fixed the frame, – he’d say, wiping his hands. – You can ride it tomorrow? Silence in reply. Cold, ringing silence. At night, Steve sat with Max at the desk, explaining equations in simple terms. – Here, if you move the x over here… – I get it, – Max cut him off, though he clearly didn’t. Just wanted him gone. Each morning, the kitchen filled with the smell of fresh pancakes and honey – the boy’s favourite treat. Steve stacked them neatly and set them before his stepson. – Dad made them thinner, – Max said after barely touching them. – And he bought real honey. Not this cheap stuff. Every caring gesture crashed against a wall of icy indifference. Max seemed to collect reasons for sarcasm, turning every detail into grounds for comparison. – Dad never shouted. – Dad always knew what I liked. – Dad did everything right. Olga and Steve’s wedding shattered the fragile truce. Max took the marriage certificate as betrayal – final and absolute. Home became a minefield: tense silence every morning, doors slammed every night. Max morphed into a secret agent, tracking every stepdad’s misstep like a detective. A harsh word at dinner – noted. An impatient sigh over homework – remembered. A tired “not now” after work – stashed with grievances. – Dad, he screamed at me again – Max whispered into his phone, locked in his bedroom. – Really? – Andrew on the other end clucked in exaggerated sympathy. – My poor boy. Remember when we went to the park every weekend? – I remember… – That was a real family. Not like this. Andrew painted their ordinary spats as dramas, crafting an idealised past where the sun shone brighter, the grass was greener, and Dad never made mistakes. Steve felt like an unwanted guest in his own home. Every glance from Max shouted: you don’t belong. You’re taking someone else’s place. You’ll never be family. The pressure built, heavier each day, until it all snapped at dinner. – You have no right to tell me what to do! – Max exploded when Steve asked him to put his phone away. – You’re nothing to me! NOTHING! Olga froze with her fork in mid-air. Something inside her cracked. The hatred Max shot at Steve made the air thick. – Dad’s better than you at everything. And you… you just… Dad says you ruin everything! I’d be better off with him! – Enough, – Olga said quietly. – That’s enough. The next morning, she dialled her ex-husband, hands trembling but resolute. – Andrew, – her voice level, – since you say you’re the better parent, take Max. For good. I’ll pay maintenance if needed. The silence dragged on forever. – Well… see… right now… – Andrew stammered. – Work’s tough, business trips… Of course I’d love to, but… He hesitated, papers rustling on his end, coughing awkwardly. – And, well, Natasha… my girlfriend… she’s not ready for a kid in the flat. We just moved in together, you know… The pitiful excuses spilled from the same man who stoked their son’s discontent by phone each night, poisoning every spark of unrest. Now it was a one-bedroom flat. Renovations. Natasha’s not ready. – I understand, Andrew, – Olga said, calm. – Thanks for being honest. She hung up before he could respond. That evening Olga called Max into the lounge. He slumped into the armchair, face set in defiance, but something in his mum’s expression made him fall silent. – I spoke to your father today. Max leaned forward, tense. – And what did he say? Olga sat down opposite. – He’s not willing to take you. Not now, not ever. He’s got a new life, a new woman, and you’re not part of it. – You’re lying! You always lie! – Max flared. – Dad loves me! He said so… – Saying it’s easy. – Olga’s voice was quiet but firm. – But when I asked him to take you, he remembered his renovation and one-bedroom flat. Max opened his mouth but had nothing to say. – Listen carefully, – Olga said, leaning in. – No more comparisons. No more spy-games and reporting to Dad, no more rudeness to Steve. Either we’re a family – all three of us – or you go to Dad, who doesn’t want you. I’ll make him take you in, and you’ll see for yourself what he’s really like. Max sat frozen, wide-eyed. – Mum… – I’m not joking. – Olga stared at her son, not smiling. – I love you more than life, but I won’t let you destroy my marriage. You’re being awful. I’ve put up with it long enough. That’s it. Your choice. Max was stunned. The world – Dad the hero vs. stepdad the villain – splintered and shattered. Dad doesn’t want him. Dad chose Natasha and a renovation. Dad just… used him to hurt Mum? Understanding came slowly. All those evening calls, clucking sympathy, “what did he do now?” – not caring, but a weapon. Andrew stockpiled ammo for his petty revenge, and Max dutifully supplied it. The boy swallowed hard. And Steve? The same Steve he tormented for months? Who patiently fixed his bike while Max ignored the garage? Who woke early every morning for pancakes? Who didn’t leave, didn’t give up, didn’t stop trying – no matter what… …Change was hard. For weeks, Max hid in his room, avoided Steve’s eyes. He was too ashamed to admit how childish he’d been. Every time he saw his stepdad, he remembered “you’re nothing to me” and wished the floor would swallow him whole. Everyone walked on eggshells, spoke gently, in vague phrases. The house felt like intensive care, teetering between survival and disaster. The breakthrough came with a physics assignment. Max chewed his pencil for two hours, then finally admitted defeat. – Steve… – the name was hard to say, catching in his throat. – Can you help? Bit of a nightmare with these vectors. Steve looked up calmly, no surprise, no triumph – just acceptance. – Let’s take a look. A month later, they went fishing together. They sat on the bank, watching the bobbers, and Max started talking – about school, his mates, the girl in another year he liked. No bitterness, no comparisons. Just a chat. Steve listened, nodded, chimed in here and there. Max realised: this is a real family. Not grand declarations, or sugar-coated memories. It’s found in quiet breakfasts, patience, the determination to stay beside you even when the world’s against you. The boy had made his choice. The right choice…

The Truth That Tightened Every Nerve Inside As Tatiana hung fresh laundry on the back garden line, she heard quiet sobs and peered over the fence. There, at the boundary, sat Kate—her neighbour’s eight-year-old daughter. Though already in Year Two at school, Kate seemed so tiny and frail, more like a six-year-old. “Kate, have they upset you again? Come along,” called Tatiana, sliding back the loose board in her fence—a passage for the girl, who often sought refuge here. “Mum kicked me out, said ‘get lost,’ then shoved me through the door. She and Uncle Colin are having fun,” Kate said, wiping tears away. “Never mind, come inside. Lizzie and Mike are at the table, I’ll make sure you’re fed too.” Tatiana had often shielded Kate from her mother’s rough ways. Living just over the fence, she’d take Kate in until Anna, her mother, cooled off. She refused to send the girl home until the storm had passed. Kate always envied Lizzie and Mike, the neighbour’s children—Auntie Tanya and her husband adored their kids, never scolded them. Their home was full of calm warmth, and kindness. Kate understood this. She envied that gentle family life so much that it ached inside, like a stone settling on her chest and a lump tightening her throat. She loved it here, feeling safe and accepted. Her own home held only rules. Her mother made her fetch water, sweep the barn, weed the garden, scrub the floors. Anna had Kate alone, with no husband, and from day one, she’d seemed to resent the child. Back when Anna’s mother was alive—Kate’s granny—they still lived together in granny’s house. Granny doted on Kate and tried to protect her, since Anna hardly paid her any attention. Life was better with granny there, but when she died just after Kate turned six, everything grew harder. Anna, embittered by her single life, was always on the lookout for a man. She worked as a cleaner at the bus depot, mostly surrounded by men. Soon a new driver arrived—Colin, recently divorced and paying child support to his own son. Anna wasted no time inviting him to live with her. Colin, delighted with a roof over his head, let Anna dote on him. Kate didn’t bother him. “Let her scurry around, she’ll be useful soon enough,” Colin mused. Anna poured all her affection into Colin, neglecting Kate, making her work and sometimes hitting her. “If you don’t listen, I’ll send you to care,” Anna threatened. Kate was too small to manage the barn chores and often ended up crying quietly under the neighbour’s currant bushes. Tatiana would spot her and bring her inside. Kate grew up withdrawn, shy and unsure. Neighbours whispered about Anna’s treatment of Kate—everyone in the village knew one another. Especially Tatiana, who didn’t hold back her concerns. Anna spread a rumour to defend herself— “Don’t listen to that Tanya! She just wants my Colin, that’s why she says I mistreat Kate.” Anna and Colin often drank themselves silly at holidays. Whenever they were partying, Kate would sneak out to the neighbours and stay overnight. Only Tatiana truly understood Kate’s heartache. Time passed, Kate did well in school. Eventually she finished Year Eleven and dreamed of going to the city for medical college. Her mother was blunt— “You’ll get a job instead. You’re grown now; can’t keep freeloading,” Anna snapped. Kate, forbidden to cry in the house, rushed outside in tears. After she calmed down, Kate visited Tatiana, whose own children now studied in the city. This time Tatiana had enough. She marched over to Anna’s house. “Anna, you don’t act like a mother! Most mums try their best, but you push your own child away. It’s cruel. She deserves an education—look at how well she’s done in her classes. Someday, you’ll come begging to her yourself.” “Who do you think you are?” Anna shot back. “Mind your own!” “Calm down, Anna. Colin sent his son to study, and you torment your daughter. Open your eyes!” Anna yelled, then collapsed on the settee, drained. “Yeah, I’m strict. I do it for her own good—to make sure she doesn’t end up like me. Fine. Let her move to the borough and study, let her go,” she finally huffed. Kate was accepted into medical college. She was ecstatic, though self-conscious—her clothes were modest, making her stand out. No one judged her; there were other village girls just like her. Kate rarely came home. She hated visiting Anna and Colin, but on breaks she had to return, always stopping at Tatiana’s first, who would welcome her, feed her, and listen. Tatiana and her husband made her feel at home. Meanwhile Anna faced her own troubles—Colin had run off with a younger woman. Anna was angry and difficult when Kate came home for holidays. “What are you doing here? No time for you. Go work!” One day, Colin came home, packed his things. “Where do you think you’re going? You’re not leaving!” Anna shouted. “Rita’s expecting my child, and I’ll care for my own. Your daughter is like a stranger to you, but mine will know love and kindness,” he replied, and left. The truth in his words stunned Anna. She couldn’t scream or cry; it just squeezed her insides tight. Kate had overheard—the pictures flashed: every time she’d been belted for making noise, every time she’d been thrown outside. Colin never defended her, just watched and smirked. On her final year, Kate worked at the hospital, supporting herself. She stopped going home—her mother drank, looked rough, just scraping by. From a timid girl, Kate blossomed into a capable nurse, kind to patients. She earned respect, and people even praised Anna as a mother—but Kate only smiled. “What upbringing?” she thought. “It was all Tatiana—her protection, care, and encouragement gave me everything, especially my beloved job.” Anna filled her house with drinking friends, and even on Kate’s rare visits, she was appalled by her mother’s decline. Anna had lost her job ages ago. Kate had no words left: nothing would change her. She only wished she could clear out the house, renovate, start fresh, reconnect. But Anna refused, sinking further. Kate held back tears of resentment After graduating, she returned home. Anna sat alone, glaring coldly. “What brings you here? Not staying, are you? There’s no food; fridge’s off. Give me money; my head hurts.” A lump rose in Kate’s throat, but she blinked away the tears. “I’m not staying, don’t worry… I passed with distinction, moving to the county now, working in the hospital. Won’t visit much, but I’ll send some money. Goodbye, Mum.” Anna barely registered the words—she just wanted a drink, demanded money. “Just give me the cash. Can’t you spare some for your own mother… What kind of daughter are you?” Kate placed a small sum on the table, closed the door gently, lingered, hoping Anna might call out and embrace her. Nobody came. She walked slowly to Tatiana’s. Tatiana beamed, sat her at the kitchen table. “Join us, Kate! We’re just about to eat. Oh, I have a present for you—it’s for earning top marks, and a little money for a start.” Kate sobbed with thanks. “Auntie Tanya, why is it like this? Why does my mum treat me as if I’m not hers?” “Don’t cry, Kate,” Tatiana hugged her, “don’t cry. There’s nothing you could change… Anna’s just that way. Maybe you came at the wrong time—but you’re smart, beautiful, and you will be loved and happy.” Kate moved to the regional city, took a post as a surgical nurse. There she met her future—Paul, a young surgeon, fell head over heels. Soon they married, with Tatiana by Kate’s side instead of Anna. Anna received money from her daughter and boasted to her drinking mates: “I raised a daughter like that—she sends money, thanks me. I taught her well. Shame she shut me out of her wedding, never visits, never even showed me the grandkids. Never met her husband, not once.” Not long after, Tatiana found Anna dead on her kitchen floor. How long she’d lain there in silence, no one knew—Tatiana had grown concerned when the yard grew eerily quiet. Kate and her husband paid for the funeral, sold the house soon after, and only visited Tatiana now and then.

Is the Orchid to Blame? “Polly, please take this orchid or I’ll just throw it out,” Kate said, handing me the transparent pot with its wilting bloom from her windowsill. “Oh, thanks, love! But what’s wrong with this orchid? It seems fine to me,” I wondered, glancing at her other three thriving orchids. “That flower was a wedding gift for my son,” Kate sighed heavily. “And you know what happened in the end…” “I do: your Dan got divorced after less than a year. I won’t ask why, I can guess it was serious. After all, Dan adored Tanya,” I tried not to stir old wounds for my friend. “One day, I’ll tell you the real reason, Polly, but not now—it still hurts to talk about.” Kate’s voice wavered, and her eyes filled with tears. I brought the “rejected” orchid home. My husband looked at the sad plant with pity. “Why bother with that poor thing? Even I can tell there’s no life left in it.” “I want to bring it back to life,” I replied. “I’ll give it a bit of love and care. I promise, you’ll end up admiring this orchid.” He just winked and teased, “Who could refuse a bit of love?” A week later, Kate called. “Polly, can I come over? I can’t keep this all bottled up—I need to talk about Dan’s failed marriage.” “Of course, Kate, come any time,” I replied. Kate had always supported me—through my first painful divorce, and the second marriage that also fell apart. We’d been friends for ages. Within an hour, she arrived. We settled in the kitchen with a glass of wine, a fresh coffee, and some dark chocolate, and she began her long story. “I never imagined my former daughter-in-law could be so heartless. Dan and Tanya were together for seven years before they married. Dan left Annie for her, and I really liked Annie; she was so homely and sweet, I used to call her my daughter. “But Tanya—gorgeous, like a model—completely bewitched Dan. He doted on her, followed her everywhere, hovered like a bee around honey. Their love seemed so intense. There were no children in all those years together—I suppose Dan wanted to do things properly, get married, then start a family. He never talked much about personal matters, and we never pried. “One day, Dan simply announced: ‘Mum, Dad, I’m marrying Tanya. We’ve booked the registry office. No expense spared.’ We were over the moon—he was thirty, time to settle down. “But the wedding date had to be moved twice: Dan was poorly, then I got back late from a work trip. I had a bad feeling about it, but Dan was so happy, I kept quiet. He even wanted to have a church blessing, but the vicar was away for months. Nothing seemed to go smoothly—there were warning signs everywhere. “Anyway, we finally had the wedding—big party and all. Look at this photo, Polly: see how lush that orchid was? Standing tall, full of bloom. Now it’s just ragged leaves. “Dan and Tanya planned a honeymoon in Paris, but right at the airport, Tanya was stopped over some massive unpaid fine. Dan just brushed off all the bad luck; he was head in the clouds, dreaming of family life. “Then Dan fell seriously ill—hospitalised, very grim. Doctors were stumped. “Tanya visited for a week, then told him, ‘Sorry, but I can’t be married to an invalid. I’ve filed for divorce.’ “Can you imagine, Polly, what my Dan felt, powerless in his hospital bed? Still, all he said was, ‘I understand, Tanya. I won’t make this difficult.’ “They split. But Dan pulled through—we found a brilliant doctor who got him back on his feet in six months. The doctor had a lovely young daughter, Maddy. At first, Dan was utterly uninterested—‘Too short, not even that pretty.’ “‘Give her a chance, son. Looks aren’t everything. Your ex-wife was beautiful, but happiness matters more than appearances.’ “Dan couldn’t forget Tanya, but Maddy fell for him completely, always calling, never giving up. We tried to bring them together—took them on an outing. Dan was silent, miserable, immune to even Maddy’s hopeful glances. “I told my husband, ‘A mistake, this matchmaking. Dan still loves Tanya. She’s a thorn he can’t shake.’ “Three or four months later, Dan showed up at home with the notorious orchid. ‘Here, Mum, leftovers from past happiness. Do what you like with it—I don’t need it anymore.’ “I took the orchid without enthusiasm, almost resenting it, as if it were to blame for his misfortune. Shoehorned it at the back, never watered it. “Then a neighbour said, ‘Kate, I saw your Dan with that little Thumbelina girl. His ex was far more glamorous, though.’ “I couldn’t believe it—Dan and Maddy really an item? “Soon after, Dan arrived, holding Maddy’s hand and said, ‘Meet my wife.’ “‘But what about the wedding, the party?’ “‘No need for a fuss. Been there, done that. We had a quiet registry office wedding, then the vicar blessed us. Maddy and I belong together now.’ “I asked, ‘Do you love her, son? Or is this revenge on Tanya?’ “‘No, Mum, I’m not out to get Tanya. I’ve moved on. Maddy and I just fit—simple as that.’ “That’s the story, Polly,” Kate finished, pouring out her heart. Years passed. Life swept us along, so we didn’t see much of one another. But the orchid I rescued has come alive, flowering as never before. Plants know how to say thank you for care. Then, one day, I saw Kate at the hospital. “Hi, Polly! What brings you here?” “Maddy’s just had twins—they’re being discharged today,” Kate beamed. Over by the entrance, Dan and Kate’s husband waited with red roses. Maddy appeared, pale but happy, with a nurse cradling the sleeping bundles. And there, following, my own daughter with my newborn granddaughter. Tanya wanted Dan back, called, begged forgiveness, pleaded for a second chance. …You can glue a broken cup together, but it will never hold tea the same way again…

ARE YOU MY HAPPINESS? Honestly, I never planned on getting married. If it hadn’t been for my future husband’s persistent courtship, I’d still be living like a free spirit. Arthur was like a lovesick butterfly, fluttering around me, never letting me out of his sight, eager to please, treating me like I was made of glass… In short, I caved. We got married. Arthur instantly became a homebody—a familiar, warm soul. Life with him was easy, comfortable, like slipping into your favourite slippers. A year later, our son, Steven, was born. Arthur worked in another city, only coming home once a week, always bringing us delicious treats. One time when he was home, as usual, I got ready to wash his clothes and checked all the pockets, just in case. (Once I’d already washed his driving licence!) After that, I always double-checked before laundry. This time, a piece of paper fell out of his trousers—folded four times. I opened it. It was a long list of school supplies (it was August), with a child’s handwriting at the end: “Dad, please come home soon.” So, that’s how my husband spends his time away! A two-timer! I didn’t kick off a tantrum, didn’t pack my bag, grab Steven (not even three years old) by the hand, and head off to my mum’s house—indefinitely. Mum gave us a room: “Stay here until you sort things out.” I started thinking about revenge on my thankless husband. I remembered an old schoolmate, Rob. Now Rob, he was always chasing me—back in school, and even after. So I called him. “Hi, Rob! You married yet?” I asked playfully. “Nadine? Hey! What does it matter—married, divorced… Maybe we should meet up?” Rob perked up. And so began my impromptu fling. It lasted six months. Arthur paid child support, handing it over to my mum each month before leaving silently. I learned Arthur was living with Katie Evans—she had a daughter from her first marriage. Katie insisted her daughter call Arthur “Dad.” They all lived in Arthur’s flat. As soon as Katie heard I’d left, she and her daughter moved straight in from out of town. Katie worshipped Arthur—knitted him woolly socks and warm jumpers, cooked hearty meals… I only learned all this later. I’ll always bring up Katie Evans when my husband’s around. Back then, though, I thought our marriage was over, a complete disaster… …But, meeting over coffee to discuss divorce, Arthur and I were suddenly swamped with fond memories. Arthur confessed his undying love, repented, admitted he didn’t know how to get rid of clingy Katie. I couldn’t help but pity him. We reunited. And Arthur never found out about Rob. Katie and her daughter left town for good. …Seven happy years passed. Then Arthur was in a terrible car accident. Operations, rehab, walking with a stick—it took two years. The ordeal wore him down. Arthur began drinking heavily, losing all sense of himself, shutting out the world. It was agony, watching him destroy himself and wear us down. Pleas didn’t help. He refused all support. At work, I found a shoulder to cry on—Paul. He’d listen to me during smoke breaks, stroll after work, comfort and encourage. Paul was married; his wife was expecting their second child. To this day, I’m not sure how Paul and I ended up in bed together—madness! He was a head shorter than me, nothing like my type! Suddenly, Paul swept me off to galleries, concerts, ballets. When his wife had their daughter, the fun stopped. Paul quit our company and took another job. Maybe he thought: out of sight, out of mind? I didn’t hold it against him and let him go back to his family. For me, he was just a bandage for my soul. I never wanted to break up his marriage. Meanwhile, Arthur kept drinking. …Five years later, I bumped into Paul. He earnestly proposed to me. I had to laugh. My Arthur did manage to pull himself together—for a bit. He went to work in Prague. I played the devoted wife and caring mum, focused on family. Arthur came back after half a year. We renovated the flat, bought gadgets, fixed up his car. Life should have been great. But no—instead, Arthur relapsed and drank even more. Hell started all over again. His mates carried him home—he couldn’t walk, only crawl. I’d rush around our neighbourhood looking for my out-of-it husband, dragging him home from park benches, empty-pocketed… Anything could happen. …Then, one spring afternoon, I was standing sadly at a bus stop. Birds chirping, the sun glowing—April in full bloom, but I didn’t care. Someone whispered softly in my ear: “Maybe I can help with your troubles?” I turned around. My, what a handsome, well-groomed man! And here I am, 45! Am I going to be ‘ripe fruit’ again? I blushed like a schoolgirl. Thankfully, my bus arrived—I jumped on quickly, away from temptation. The man waved me off. All day, I daydreamed about him at work. Sure, I played hard to get for a couple of weeks… But Igor (that was his name) was relentless, like a tank. He’d wait for me every morning at the bus stop. I didn’t dare be late—would peek ahead to see if my heartthrob was waiting. Igor would flash me a smile and send flying kisses. One morning, he brought a bunch of red tulips. “What am I supposed to do with flowers at work?” I snorted. “The girls’ll figure me out and I’ll be in trouble for nothing.” Igor grinned, handed the bouquet to a little old lady watching our drama. The lady absolutely beamed! “Thank you, love! Wishing you a passionate lover!” I blushed at her words—at least she didn’t wish me a younger one! Igor turned to me: “Nadine, let’s be ‘in trouble’ together! Trust me, you won’t regret it.” Honestly, his offer was tempting and very timely. Arthur and I were on different planets then—most days, he was a lifeless plank, lost to drink. Igor didn’t smoke or drink, used to be an athlete (he was 57), and a brilliant talker—divorced, with a magnetic charm. I plunged headlong into a whirlwind affair! It was a pool of wild passion. For three years, I was torn between home and Igor, utterly muddled inside. I couldn’t stop—even when I wanted to. As they say, “a girl drives away the lad, but he doesn’t go.” Igor had total control over my body and soul! When he stood near, I couldn’t breathe. Pure madness! But deep down, I knew this couldn’t end well—I didn’t love Igor. After every steamy encounter, I wanted nothing more than to snuggle up to my husband—drunk, reeking, yet familiar and dear! Your own crust is tastier than someone else’s cake, I thought. Passion comes from ‘suffering’—I was ready to be done with Igor and come home, instead of foolishly chasing pleasure. That was my logic. My body, though, kept falling headfirst. My son knew about Igor. Once he spotted us at a restaurant, out with his girlfriend. I had to introduce them. They shook hands, exchanged glances. At dinner, Steven watched me, waiting for answers. I joked it off—“just a colleague, talking about a new project.” “In a restaurant, Mum?” he smirked. Steven didn’t judge—he just begged me not to divorce Dad: “Maybe Dad will come round.” I felt like a lost sheep. My divorced friend kept urging me, “Drop those useless lovers and calm down.” I listened; she had plenty of practice (on her third husband). But in the end, I only stopped with Igor when he tried to raise a hand against me. That was the final straw. My friend used to say: “It’s all calm till you step off the shore…” The fog lifted—I’d been stuck in darkness three years! Freedom at last! Igor kept chasing me, pleading at every chance—even on his knees, in public… But I stood firm. My friend kissed me in congratulations and gave me a mug with “You’re Right!” on it. As for Arthur, he knew all about my affair—Igor had called and told him everything. Igor was convinced I’d leave my marriage. Arthur later told me: “When I heard your admirer’s serenades, I just wanted to die quietly. It was all my fault—I lost my wife to the bottle. Idiot. What could I possibly say?” …Ten years have passed since. Arthur and I have two granddaughters. One day, sitting together over lunch, sipping coffee, I gazed out the window. Arthur took my hand gently: “Nadine, don’t go looking elsewhere. I am your happiness! Do you believe it?” “Of course, I do, my one and only…”

📌 Useful Social Services & Contacts in the U.S.

Stay informed and get help when you need it. Below are key national services with direct contacts that may support you or your loved ones:
🏥 Health & Mental Support

SAMHSA – Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

What they do: Free and confidential help with substance use and mental health disorders.

Hotline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – 24/7, anonymous support

Website: samhsa.gov

🧒 Support for Children & Families

WIC – Women, Infants, and Children Program

What they do: Nutritional and healthcare support for pregnant women, new mothers, and young children.

Federal Info Line: 1-800-522-5006

Find local WIC office: fns.usda.gov/wic