Is It Too Late for Happiness? No. Just in Time…
When Vera moved to a small village in the Cotswolds, she never imagined it would mark the beginning of a new chapter in her life. The cottage had been left to her by a distant relative—old, with a sagging porch. But from the very first day, Vera decided she would rebuild, starting fresh. She dreamed of a warm home filled with laughter, the smell of shepherd’s pie, and a peaceful, cozy haven.
One day, while working on an extension, she spotted a woman walking from the bus stop—tall, elegant, with an unmistakable air of sophistication. “What a woman…” Vera thought. It was Olivia, her neighbor.
Later, they happened to meet at the village shop.
“I heard you’re Vera? I’m Olivia,” she said, offering her hand.
That was how their friendship began. Olivia quickly charmed Vera—she was clever, kind, and calm. At first, they talked as neighbors, then more and more, until one day Vera admitted to herself: she was in love.
Olivia was three years older. At the time, she was fifty-eight. She had lived a difficult life—raising her son alone after things fell apart with the father. Her son had grown up, moved away to study, married, and now lived with his family in another county. Her granddaughter was already five but visited rarely…
Olivia often sat by the window, reminiscing about her childhood. Hers had been a large family—six children, parents, and a grandmother. Their cottage was tiny, money scarce. Toys were unheard of. Her grandmother cooked, cleaned, and cared for the younger ones while her parents toiled in the fields.
Her father was a carpenter, bringing home money but often returning tipsy. Her mother argued with him, but he never laid a hand on the children. When Vera was in Year Three, her father died suddenly. Her grandmother followed soon after. Her mother was left alone with six children.
From that day, Vera’s childhood ended. She became a second mother—cooking, cleaning, and looking after her siblings, with no time for friends or play. Once, she fell from a shed at school and injured her arm. Doctors couldn’t fully restore it, leaving her with limited movement. Housework became harder, but she never complained.
At the boarding school she attended after Year Eight, Vera felt like a new person. For the first time, she was praised. She made friends and felt needed. She especially loved sewing—working with one hand, yet everything she made was neat and beautiful. Teachers marveled, classmates admired. Twice a year, she returned home with handmade gifts for her family.
In her second year, Vera fell for Andrew. He was attentive, cheerful. She imagined marrying him… but when she told her mother, the response was cold:
“What future do you have? With your bad arm, you’ll end up alone.”
The words cut deep. Slowly, Andrew drifted away. After graduation, Vera found work, but the company soon closed. She had to return to the village. And that was when her real life began.
Her neighbor was John—a widower who’d moved from another village. Tall, sturdy, with kind eyes. He courted her patiently, never mentioning her arm, never looking at her with pity.
A year later, he proposed. She wept with joy—she hadn’t believed love like this was possible, that someone could cherish her unconditionally.
Years passed. They built a cozy home, raised a son, weathered life’s storms. Now, Vera often cooks shepherd’s pie in the evenings, waiting for John to return from the fields.
That evening, he walked through the gate tired but smiling.
“Done with the planting. Now we can live for ourselves.”
She adjusted the towel on the stove and softly replied,
“I’ve always lived for you.”
Happiness isn’t about timing—it’s about finding the love that makes every moment worth the wait.
