Love Knows No Boundaries

My grandmother narrowed her eyes knowingly. “You know, dear love, they say not every Rose is a London lady, nor every John hero of York. Saints are scarce in this world. So, don’t be quick to judge. Look inward. Were you truly such a dutiful wife to your Jamie?” she pressed.
“Nanny, Jamie’s run off with my best friend! Where’s the fairness? Should I say nothing?” I fumed.
“Not by racing to Jamie’s office and telling his bosses he’s a womaniser. You’ll just shame yourself be sure. We’ve seen it… Heartbroken wives weeping at the parish council. Love doesn’t bend to live life lessens or know any bounds. It won’t help, child. Accept it. Time will sort things,” she replied calmly. My news of Jamie’s betrayal and my friend’s treachery didn’t upset her; it seemed everyday gossip.
‘Accept it?’ Easier said than done. My friend Poppy – what a minx, a proper snake in the grass. Buried her own husband and started on mine. Well, she won’t succeed! I recall Jamie often eyed Poppy. Once we all visited the spa. Jamie couldn’t take his eyes off Poppy, gaping like a cat with cream. He mentally embraced her, wrapped in a white towel. I’d brushed off those subtle hints.
Poppy was undeniably beautiful, gentle, warm-hearted. So what? Jamie and I had sixteen years together, a son called Daniel. I firmly believed our family was unbreakable.
Poppy and George had no children. Poppy grieved deeply over it. George mostly stayed quiet, grieving in his own stoic way. Our families were close. We often picnicked, holidayed together, enjoying life. But trouble always loomed.
“Daisy, George collapsed! An ambulance took him. Oh god,” Poppy wept uncontrollably. “I kept telling him, ‘Let’s adopt!’ But he just grew silent and grim. Now, I don’t know…”
“Calm down, Poppy. He’ll pull through! George is strong,” I comforted her sincerely.
“Oh, Daisy! I can’t imagine life without him! He’s my rock. What am I alone?” Poppy sobbed.
“Don’t bury him yet, Poppy. Pull yourself together. Hair done, makeup, bright smile – off to the hospital! George will fall for you fresh and recover faster…” George did recover then.
Soon after, George and Poppy adopted little three-year-old Darcy. Their family seemed blissful.
“Now I can die without regret!” George blurted unexpectedly at a celebration.
“What? Now you must live, raise your girl!” we exclaimed at his odd words.
“I mean my life had purpose. I warmed one small soul. Poppy can manage our girl. She has my blessing to remarry if needed…” George spoke with a deep sadness in his eyes.
“Oh George, don’t talk nonsense! Friends, toast to family joy!” my Jamie declared.
We forgot George’s strange confession. Until…
Death, moving slow and sure, stops at every door. George couldn’t avoid it. A second massive heart attack offered no escape. George sleeps eternally.
Poppy was left with Darcy. She mourned appropriately, then bloomed again. Poppy was barely thirty. She dyed her blonde hair raven black, revamped her wardrobe, and smiled often. We still gathered for celebrations.
Jamie always eagerly awaited seeing Poppy. Around her, he sparkled with jokes, laughed awkwardly, tried to please the young widow. He doted on Darcy constantly.
I ignored his fawning, thinking he just supported his deceased friend’s wife. If only!
Poppy invited Jamie and me for Darcy’s tenth birthday party. We laughed, wishing Darcy well.
“Daddy, when are you coming to stay with us forever?” Darcy whispered… to Jamie.
Jamie kissed her cheek, whispering back, “Soon, sweetheart, soon…” so quietly.
I feigned deafness – no scene before the birthday girl.
At home, I asked Jamie carefully, “Jamie, are you leaving us?”
“Where’d that idea come from, sweetheart?” Jamie replied coolly.
“Sweethearts? You might get tangled!” I snapped, nerves fraying.
“Ah… that. Not sure what to say,” Jamie flushed, embarrassed.
“I won’t give you up! He pitied a widow! She has her path, we have ours! What about Daniel? How will he handle your double life? Had a think?” I despised him then.
…Six months later, Jamie left.
Our son Daniel cut contact. My home felt hollow. Since learning of the betrayal, I’d slowly detached. Those months were a bittersweet trial. Jamie remained, and I hoped sanity and loyalty would prevail he’d forget Poppy.
But my grandmother was right: love knows no bounds.
Poppy bore Jamie a son. I saw them once in the park. Darcy held the toddler’s hand, while Poppy and Jamie watched their children, unnoticing. Why disturb them? Let them have their peace.
Returning home, I called Daniel. “Son, don’t resent your father. Make peace. Don’t quarrel over me. Let him find happiness. Let it be a lesson. If you ever consider leaving your own wife, remember how your father’s departure felt. It might stay your hand.”
“Alright, Mum. I’ll make peace. But I won’t forget,” Daniel said firmly. “Mum, why not marry yourself? Spite them! Show Dad women like you don’t grow on trees.”
“Never act in spite, son. It backfires. Your father’s happy now. I see it… But I still love Jamie. I won’t disturb his family, hard as it is,” I sighed, resigned myself.
“Unfair. You should fight for your family,” Daniel insisted.
Me? Perhaps I wasn’t the perfect wife. I loved as best I knew. After Jamie left, I didn’t succumb to bitterness or seek dark magic. That’s wrong.
My soul feels peaceful, light. Acceptance found me. Part of me will always grieve the past, the shared years now lost. Yet, clinging to anger or scheming for revenge only poisons the keeper of the grudge. True peace comes not from what life denies us, but from embracing what remains with grace and carving out of life’s pieces a quiet contentment just for ourselves.