Is it too late for happiness? No. Just right on time…
When Vera moved to a small village in Yorkshire, she never imagined it would mark the start of a new chapter in her life. The cottage had been left to her by a distant relative—old, with a crooked porch. But from the very first day, Vera decided she would make it her own. She dreamed of a warm home filled with laughter, the scent of shepherd’s pie, and the quiet comfort of peace.
One evening, while finishing an extension, she noticed a woman walking from the bus stop. Tall, elegant, with an unmistakable air of sophistication. “Now there’s a woman…” Vera thought. It was Olivia, her neighbour.
They bumped into each other later at the village shop.
“I heard you’re Vera?” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Olivia.”
And so their friendship began. Olivia charmed Vera effortlessly—clever, kind, composed. At first, they talked as neighbours, then more and more, until Vera admitted to herself one day: she was in love.
Olivia was three years older, already fifty-eight. She had lived a hard life—working, raising a son alone after things fell apart with his father. Her son had grown up, left for university, married, and now lived with his family in another county. Her granddaughter was five, but they rarely visited…
Olivia often sat by the window, lost in memories of her childhood. She came from a large family—six children, parents, and a grandmother. The house was tiny, money scarce. There were no toys. Her grandmother cooked, cleaned, and looked after the little ones while her parents toiled in the fields.
Her father was a carpenter, bringing in what money he could, though he’d often come home tipsy. Her mother argued with him, but he never hurt the children. When Vera was in Year 3, her father died suddenly. Not long after, her grandmother passed too. Her mother was left alone with six children.
From that day, Vera’s childhood ended. She became a nursemaid to her siblings—cooking, cleaning, scrubbing, with no time for friends or play. Once, at school, she fell from a barn and injured her arm. The doctors never fully fixed it. Since then, her left hand struggled. Housework became harder, but she never complained.
At boarding school after Year 8, Vera seemed to change. For the first time, she was praised. She made friends, felt wanted. She adored sewing—working one-handed, yet everything she made was neat and lovely. Her teachers couldn’t believe it; her classmates admired her. Twice a year, she brought home handmade gifts for her family.
In her second year, Vera fell for Andrew. He was kind, cheerful. She imagined marrying him… But when she told her mother, the reply was cold.
“What future do you have? With that bad arm. You’ll end up alone.”
The words cut deep. Slowly, Andrew drifted away. After graduation, Vera found work, but the company shut down. She had to return to the village. And that was when her real life began.
Her neighbour turned out to be John—a widower from another village. Tall, strong, with gentle eyes. He courted her patiently, never mentioning her arm, never pitying her.
A year later, he proposed. She cried with happiness—she hadn’t believed it possible. That someone could love her unconditionally.
Years passed. They built a cosy home, raised a son, weathered storms. Now, Vera often makes shepherd’s pie in the evenings, waiting for John to return from the fields.
That night, he walked through the gate, tired but smiling.
“Done with the planting. Now we can live for ourselves.”
She adjusted the tea towel on the stove and smiled back.
“I’ve always lived for you.”
