**A Sin Too Heavy to Bear**
*”Good grief, what on earth is he thinking? He’s forty-six! That girl could be his daughter! Love, my foot—he’s smitten like a fool! I don’t understand it, and I don’t want to!”* Maureen fumed over her husband’s scandalous behaviour to her best friend, Emily.
*”Don’t jump to conclusions, Maureen. Things will sort themselves out. You’ve always had the perfect family,”* Emily soothed, though she—like their colleagues and neighbours—knew Maureen’s picture-perfect marriage was hanging by a thread.
Edward, her husband, had lost all sense of reason. He wasn’t himself anymore.
It had all started with a car accident—one that turned from a fleeting distraction into what he now called his last, fierce love.
Winter had brought icy roads, and Edward drove cautiously to his office in London. He slowed at a crossing, only for a young woman to dart out and collapse onto his bonnet. At first, he thought she’d thrown herself deliberately, but there was no time to dwell. He rushed to help her.
Groaning, she refused a trip to A&E but fancied a cup of tea. So, Edward took her to his office—plied her with tea and sandwiches, made polite conversation. Her name was Jessica. Pretty, with freckles and curly hair, wise beyond her years—and strangely magnetic. He found himself entranced by her voice, her presence, before shaking off the spell and escorting her out. Just a polite gesture, he told himself, handing her his business card.
*”Jessica, call if you need anything.”*
By evening, he’d forgotten the incident.
But two days later, she rang. Asked to meet. Something urgent, she insisted.
Still guilt-ridden, Edward agreed.
At her tiny flat, she greeted him with a bandaged wrist.
*”See, Edward? I tried hanging this painting. My hand hurts too much. Could you help?”*
Of course, he obliged. Soon, the painting was up—and a bottle of wine appeared.
*”Let’s celebrate! I’ve been meaning to hang that for ages,”* she said, pouring.
He couldn’t refuse. Poor girl, all alone.
They drank, talked for hours. The fruit lay untouched.
When he returned home—mystified, dazed—it was past midnight. His wife and daughter slept, used to his late hours.
Six months later, he announced he was leaving.
Maureen and their daughter, Sophie, were stunned. Of course, Maureen had noticed changes—he’d forgotten her birthday, the household budget had shrunk, his absences grew. But she dismissed suspicions, scoffing at the idea of a midlife crisis. She’d always trusted him implicitly.
Now, hysterical, she turned to Sophie.
*”Find out who she is. How serious this is!”*
Unbeknownst to Maureen, Sophie had already visited her father.
*”Mum… he’s in love. No doubt. She’s only five years older than me—twenty-six. Pretty, too. Oddly, she looks just like you when you were young.”*
Maureen paled. When Sophie showed her a photo, she reached for a sedative.
*”Good Lord… impossible!”*
But it was true.
Old sins cast long shadows—and this one had caught up.
Decades ago, Maureen had married her first husband at seventeen, swept up in his fervour. They lived with his mother, Margaret, a kind woman who doted on her. Soon, Maureen bore a daughter—Margaret’s greatest joy, having always wanted a girl. They named her Jessica.
But when Jessica was three, her father left—supposedly for work. He never returned.
Maureen later found a letter to Margaret, confessing he’d found new love. *”Explain to my wife,”* he’d written.
Devastated, Maureen confronted Margaret.
*”You knew! Your son is a cad! What am I supposed to do?”*
*”Maureen, listen—he’s had a child with her now. You’re young; you’ll find love again. But leave Jessica with me. I beg you.”*
Maureen agreed, starting anew.
She met Edward on a bus, where he stepped on her foot, apologising profusely. They married, and Maureen moved in—leaving Jessica behind with Margaret and a stuffed bear.
Visits dwindled. Then stopped entirely when Maureen had Sophie.
Years passed. Jessica faded from memory—until now.
Here she was, stealing Maureen’s husband.
Determined, Maureen visited Jessica’s flat while Edward was at work.
*”Hello… Mum. Come to fetch your husband?”* Jessica greeted venomously.
Maureen froze.
*”At fifteen, I vowed revenge. Nights plotting, festering. Fitting, isn’t it?”*
*”Revenge? For what?”*
*”Gran died when I was eleven. No one wanted me. The orphanage was hell after her love. So, I swore to take *your* happiness.”*
A sickening realisation dawned.
*”You—planned this?”*
*”At first. But then… I fell for Edward. Too late now.”*
Maureen faltered. *”Forgive me. But spare Edward and Sophie—they don’t know.”*
A year later, Jessica died in childbirth, leaving twins. With her last breath, she whispered:
*”Name the boy Eddie, the girl… Maureen. Go back to your family.”*
When Maureen arrived, Edward stood awkwardly, holding empty baby bottles.
*”They just ate. Fell asleep…”*
She took charge.
*”Edward, I’m sorry. But this is no life for you alone. Come home. They’re my flesh and blood too.”*
**Lesson Learnt:** The past never stays buried. Some debts demand payment—whether in sorrow, regret, or grace.
