Love Knows No Boundaries

June 14th
Grandmother peered at me knowingly today. “Lizzie, love,” she said with that familiar, shrewd look, “not every Jenny bears the grace of London, not every John carries the honour of Kensington. Saints are rare on this earth. So, judge not, but look within yourself. Were you truly the most attentive wife to your John?” Her gaze held the answer she clearly already knew.
“Gran, John’s left me for my best friend! Where’s the justice? Should I say nothing?” I protested, my outrage boiling over.
“Not by racing to John’s work and telling tales to his superiors,” she replied calmly. “Calling him a philanderer? You’d only shame yourself. We’ve seen it… Wives betrayed, weeping in the offices, pleading. But love recognizes no restrictions, no boundaries. It won’t help, dear. Accept it. Time reveals all.” My shocking news about my cheating husband and treacherous friend seemed ordinary to her, completely unmoving.
“Accept it”? Easy to say. That Katie proved a real snake in the grass. Buried her husband Thomas and set her sights on mine. Over my dead body!
John *had* looked at Katie differently. I remember our swimming outings last summer. John couldn’t drag his eyes away from Katie, wrapped in her white towel. He gaped like a cat eyeing cream, visually embracing and kissing my friend. I dismissed those half-hints back then. Katie’s undoubtedly beautiful, gentle, and kindhearted. So what? John and I shared sixteen years, raised a son, William. I was absolutely certain my family was unbreakable, invulnerable to any unholy force.
Katie and Thomas never had children. I know Katie grieved deeply over it. Thomas? He mostly stayed silent, likely wrestling with it privately, like men do. Our families were inseparable. We often picnicked, spent holidays together anywhere but home. Laughed as hard as we could manage. But, as they say, nothing gold can stay. Trouble smirked, right on the threshold.
“Elizabeth, the ambulance took Thomas! A heart attack! Oh God, I told him,” Katie had sobbed uncontrollably back then. “Let’s adopt! He just grew silent and grim. Now… I don’t know what to expect. Will he pull through?”
“Calm down, Katie. He’ll be fine! You’ll see. Thomas is strong,” I’d reassured her, genuinely.
“Oh, Elizabeth! Life without Thomas… unthinkable! He’s the light of my life. Comforts me, cheers me. What am I alone?” she’d wept.
“Don’t bury him early, Katie. Get a minute for yourself. Compose yourself. Freshen up – makeup, hair, nails… Put on a smile and visit your man in hospital! Thomas will fall for you all over again and heal quicker…”
Thankfully, that crisis passed. Thomas recovered. Life resumed.
Soon after, Thomas and Katie adopted a three-year-old girl, Sophie. Their family seemed at the peak of happiness.
“Now it wouldn’t be so awful to die!” Thomas suddenly announced at our celebratory dinner.
“Thomas! Now you have to live, and raise your daughter!” we chorused, surprised by his gloomy words.
“I mean, my life meant something. I brought warmth and shelter to one little soul at least. Rely on my wife, Katie. She’ll manage with our girl. She has my blessing to remarry, if needed…” He spoke with an inexplicable, deep sadness in his eyes.
“Oh, Thomas, stop it!” I’d chided him. “Everyone, a toast! To our family happiness!” my John declared, raising his glass.
We forgot Thomas’s odd confession. For a time.
The angel of death, like a lame donkey, pauses at every door. Thomas didn’t take care. A second massive heart attack offered no second chance. Thomas sleeps the eternal sleep now.
Katie remained with adopted Sophie. She mourned Thomas appropriately, then emerged reborn. She was barely thirty. My friend transformed utterly. Gone was the blonde; a striking brunette emerged. Her wardrobe refreshed, smiles became frequent. We still gathered for celebrations.
My John visibly ached for each meeting with Katie. Around her, he crackled with jokes, laughed too loudly, tripped over himself to please the young widow. He doted on Sophie, barely setting her down.
I dismissed my husband’s attentions. Just being supportive, I thought, helping the wife of his dead friend stand strong. Oh, the folly…
Katie invited us for Sophie’s tenth birthday party.
Amid laughter and toasts to the birthday girl –
“Daddy, when are you coming to live with us forever?” Sophie whispered… straight into John’s ear.
John kissed the girl’s cheek and whispered back: “Soon, bunny, soon…”
I pretended deafness. Couldn’t make a scene before Sophie on her special day. It wasn’t the child’s fault adults play cruel games.
Home later, I cautiously asked John: “John… are you leaving us?”
“Where did that come from, bunny?” he answered shamelessly, icy calm.
“Something of a ‘bunny’ mania with you. Won’t you get confused?” I started fraying.
“Ah… that. Honestly, I don’t know what to say…” John flushed deeply, flustered.
“I won’t surrender you to anyone! Understand? He pitied the widow! Katie has her path, and we have ours! Forgotten William? How will he view your bigamy? Thought through that, ‘benefactor’?” Hatred and contempt engulfed me then.
…Six months later, John finally walked out.
Our son William stopped speaking to him. My house hollowed out. From the moment I discovered John’s betrayal, I began a slow weaning-off process. Those six months were blessed agony. John was still physically present, and I nursed hope he’d see sense and forget Katie. But Gran was right: “love recognizes no restrictions.”
Katie bore John a son. I glimpsed them once in the park. Sophie held the toddler’s hand. Katie and John strolled behind, adoring their children. They didn’t notice me. Why should they? Shatter their cloudless joy? Pointless.
I came home, called William over.
“Son, don’t resent your father. Make peace. Don’t quarrel over me. Let him find happiness. Let this be your lesson. If tempted to leave your wife, recall how your father’s desertion felt. Perhaps you’ll rethink starting a second family,” I instructed my grown son.
“Alright, Mum. I’ll mend things. But I won’t forget what he did,” William promised. “Mum… meet someone yourself. Spite that pair. Let Dad realise women like you aren’t found lying about,” he suggested suddenly.
“Son, never act from spite. It rebounds painfully. Your father’s content in his new marriage. I see that… But my love for John remains. I won’t intrude on their happiness, hard as it is,” I sighed, a sound heavy with resignation.
“That’s wrong. You fight for your own happiness, for your family,” William held his ground.
And me? Perhaps I wasn’t the perfect wife. I loved him as best I knew. Since John’s departure, I haven’t embraced bitterness or self-destruction. I steered clear of fortune-tellers,
The garden outside needed tending, its roses battling through the chill spring rain, a quiet reminder that life persists, and though my own path is solitary now, a deep, unexpected contentment blooms within, a peace I finally understand began within me all along.