Love Came Knocking…
Lucy left her village for the city and enrolled in university. After the quiet rhythms of village life, studying was a struggle, but she buried herself in books all day, determined to pass her exams and keep her scholarship. Her mother could only help with food parcels.
Once Lucy started working, she sent money home. Every holiday, she returned to the village. She dreamed of the seaside, of course, but always insisted, “Why go south when we have fresh air, woods, and a river right here?”
“Lucy dear, when will you marry? Surely there’s someone you fancy? I fear I’ll never see grandchildren,” her mother sighed.
“Don’t worry, Mum, I’ll marry eventually,” Lucy brushed her off, though the endless questions about marriage wore thin. Every villager asked the same thing.
She’d had suitors, even love, but none had proposed.
She worked at a newspaper office. One evening, as her shift ended, a storm raged outside. The rain eased briefly, so she threw on her coat and readied her umbrella, hurrying out—only for the downpour to return with a vengeance. She huddled under the building’s awning, watching cars splash through puddles.
Cold droplets struck her shoes. Shivering, she pressed closer to the wall. Then a 4×4 slowed, avoiding a puddle that would’ve drenched her—then stopped entirely.
“Need a lift? Even if the rain stops, the roads are lakes—you’ll need to swim home,” a man called through the open window.
She climbed in. Six months later, her rescuer proposed. She wasn’t madly in love, but it felt time, and Edward was steady, reliable. They moved into his mother’s spacious city-centre flat.
His mother took an instant dislike to Lucy.
“Don’t think you’ll inherit this flat, dear. That won’t work,” she warned.
“Pyjamas all day? Disgraceful. Only for the bathroom. What if guests come? Change at once!” she commanded.
So Lucy changed. Cleaning and cooking in smart dresses was impractical, but Margaret herself dressed like a duchess.
They clashed endlessly. Once, Lucy overheard Margaret urging Edward to divorce while they were childless. In tears, Lucy agreed—maybe they should part. She packed her things.
Edward wouldn’t let her go. The next day, he rented a flat, and they left. Life improved. Perhaps Margaret still nagged him by phone, but she stayed away, and Edward spared Lucy the details. They saved diligently, dreaming of their own home.
One Sunday, they went lakeside with friends—fishing, barbecue. Driving back after dark, their friends sped ahead. Edward accelerated to catch up.
Lucy never saw it coming. A 4×4 swerved into their lane—whether the driver dozed or lost control, the crash was unavoidable.
Edward died instantly. Lucy spent four months in hospital. Pale, limping, she returned to their rented flat—only to find strangers living there. A small bag of her belongings was handed over. Edward’s mother had taken his things and voided the lease.
Lucy went to Margaret’s. The door opened, but she wasn’t invited in.
“Margaret, may I stay until I find a place?”
“Out of the question. You got my Eddie killed. Didn’t even come to the funeral. Go!” The door slammed.
“I wasn’t to blame! I was in hospital!” Lucy cried, pounding the wood.
“Leave, or I’ll call the police!” Margaret hissed. Lucy gave up. She didn’t dare ask for their shared savings.
Alone on the street, where could she go? Edward’s friends, who’d been at the lake, were his friends—not hers. Who knew what lies Margaret had spread?
She returned to her mother’s village in the clothes she wore. But worse news waited: her mother had died two months prior, while Lucy was hospitalised. Her phone had shattered in the crash; no one could reach her.
The house looked untouched, as if her mother had just stepped out—would any moment exclaim and bustle by the stove… Lucy’s eyes burned.
“Mum, how could you? I need you now…” She sank onto the bed, clutching her mother’s cardigan, inhaling remnants of her scent. Sobs wracked her until exhaustion dragged her under, still clinging to the fabric.
A knocking startled her awake. “Mum’s back!” she gasped—but the voice outside was Edward’s. “Lu, open up. It’s me…” She flung the door open. Edward stood there, face bloodied—
She woke screaming, heart hammering. The knocking continued. Was she still dreaming?
“Hello? You all right?” A stranger’s voice.
Trembling, she opened the door. A tall, bearded man stood there, sharp-eyed and wary.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”
“I… I came to see Mum. This is my house,” she managed.
“You missed the funeral. We called—”
“I was in hospital. My husband died too.”
His gaze softened. “Sorry. I’m the local handyman. Police are miles off, folks leave houses empty… I’m two doors down if you need help.”
“Samuel?” she asked—though this man was decades too young. Her childhood friend Samuel had died long ago, her mother once said…
“I’m Richard. Served with Samuel. He saved my life.” He stepped back. “I’ll go.”
*Samuel was shorter*, she thought, shutting the door. *A soldier, gone years…*
She fetched water from the pump. Tea, a wash—small routines to anchor herself.
Next day, old Thomas visited.
“So Lucy’s back? My Doris said, but I didn’t believe it. Alone, then? Heard you married rich. Why skip your mum’s funeral?”
She explained.
“Well, well… Money can’t buy life,” he mused.
“He wasn’t rich.”
“Your mum said—flat, car…”
“To her, city folk are all rich,” Lucy sighed.
“Good you’re home. Country air heals. City’s all noise and cheats. Pretty lass like you? You’ll remarry quick.”
The talk unnerved her.
“What, proposing? You’ve got Doris,” she teased.
“Maybe I want a harem! I’ve still got spark!”
She laughed—until Doris appeared, scolding Thomas away.
At the shop next day, whispers followed her. The bread she wanted was “reserved for locals.”
Richard entered. The clerk simpered, batted lashes under blue eyeshadow.
“No bread for me?” Lucy said pointedly.
“Not enough to share,” the clerk sniffed.
Richard bought extra, handing half to Lucy. “She’s local,” he chided.
They walked back. “Why’d you leave the city?” he asked.
She told him.
“I’m here on borrowed time too,” he said. “After the army, my wife left me. Came to Samuel’s mum—owed him my life. She died last year. Now I fix roofs, ward off troublemakers…”
A week later, Lucy packed for the city.
“Leaving?” Richard asked.
“Work calls. Need a flat…”
“House just sitting empty?”
“Dunno. Want to buy it?”
“Can’t afford it. You’ll visit?”
She nodded. “Autumn, for the harvest. Though what’ll I do with it?”
“Keep some, sell the rest. Need help?”
She left him her number.
Months passed. He never called. She nearly dialled him—but feared seeming clingy. Maybe he’d forgotten her.
Then, one autumn day, as sleet replaced rain, the office security called: a visitor waited.
A clean-shaven, well-dressed man stood there.
“Richard?!” she gasped. “Your beard!”
He grinned. “Waited till I sorted my life. Divorce, flat exchange—my ex fought it. Now I’m head of security.”
He’d sold her harvest, saved the money.
A month later, she moved in with him. Mornings, she’d wake and marvel—*not a dream*. This love outshone anything she’d known.
“Thank your ex-mother-in-law,” she told Richard one Sunday. “Without her, I’d never have found you.”
They visited the village in February, braving icy roads. At the cemetery, Richard said, “We should get a headstone.”
“A cross. Mum believed,” Lucy agreed.
Driving home, sleet pelting the windscreen, she flinched at oncoming headlights—memories of the crash haunting her. But Richard drove steadily.
*That night in the village, it wasn’t Edward knocking—it was love*, she realised.
How safe she felt, nestled against him, his quiet strength warding off the dark.
THE END.
