**Diary Entry**
It dawned on me—my happiness is endless.
This weekend, I decided to visit my ageing mother and sister back in my home village. I live in the city now, working as a cardiologist at the hospital, so trips home are rare.
I’m forty-five, reasonably attractive, divorced long ago after seven years of marriage—too different, we agreed. Our daughter, Emily, finished university, married her classmate, and moved to his hometown.
“Lucky to have three days off,” I thought, swinging by the supermarket for Mum and Lucy, my sister.
I grew up in a fading village called *Joyfield*. The name felt ironic—nothing joyful about it. Most young people left, work vanished, and only the elderly remained. Autumn and winter were bleak. Spring at least brought life—green fields and sunshine made *Joyfield* almost live up to its name.
Now it was mid-June. The bus rolled through the countryside, greenery flashing past. I hadn’t seen them in two months. “Thank goodness Lucy lives with Mum,” I mused. “Otherwise, I’d have to visit more—three hours by bus isn’t exactly close.”
Lucy never left. Married a local lad, Thomas, who rebuilt their house—even added a separate wing for his family so they wouldn’t crowd Mum. They had twin boys, both gone off to college now.
“Lucy always loved village life,” I once told my friend Victoria. “Me? I couldn’t wait to escape.” Victoria had visited once, dazzled by the fresh air and scenery.
“Of course you’re charmed,” I laughed. “You’re a city girl. Try living here when it’s autumn mud or spring floods—see how much you’d adore it then.”
This time, the journey passed quickly—I dozed off and woke just as we passed the last large town. Soon, the sign for *Joyfield* appeared, the bus rattling along the dirt track.
Stepping off, I inhaled deeply. The air was sweet, birds singing—home.
“Hello, love,” came a creaky voice. Old Mrs. Wilkins, Mum’s neighbour, shuffled over. “Come to see your mum?”
“Hello, Mrs. Wilkins. Yes, missed her.”
“She’s been waiting. Off to the shop myself—just got my pension.”
“Are you well?”
“As well as old bones can be,” she chuckled before hobbling away.
The house was quiet when I arrived, except for our tabby cat, Oliver, weaving around my legs.
“Hello, my chubby lad,” I cooed, scratching his head.
“Fat as a barrel now!” Lucy laughed, emerging from the kitchen. “Hello, traveller! Hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Inside or out?”
“Outside—when do I ever get meals in the sun back home?”
“Thought so. I’ll set the table. Mum’s in the garden—ah, there she is, bringing you strawberries. Spoiling you, as usual.”
“Hello, Mum!” I took the bowl and hugged her. “Missed you.”
“Hello, my girl,” she beamed. “Both my girls here—let’s eat in the garden.”
Over lunch, I caught up on village news—mostly sad. The elders I grew up with were slipping away one by one.
“Where’s Thomas?”
“On a work rotation. Two weeks away, two weeks home. Pays well—that’s how we got the car.”
“Good man. You got lucky—unlike me.”
“You married a city bloke,” Lucy smirked. “Should’ve picked a local, like me.” Mum nodded in agreement.
Just then, the postwoman, Hannah, dropped off a notice for Lucy.
“Something you ordered?”
“Ta, Hannah. Join us for tea?”
“Can’t—busy day.”
“Can I collect it for her?” I asked.
Hannah hesitated, then smiled. “Fine—I’ll ring the post office. They know you.”
“Why d’you want to go?” Lucy frowned.
“You’re busy, and I fancy a walk. Post office is at the other end.”
“Take my bike then—relive your youth!” She pointed to her trusty old Raleigh.
“Brilliant idea.” I changed into jeans and set off, the breeze in my hair.
The post office was in a weather-beaten cottage. Inside, my old classmate, Sarah, greeted me.
“Look at you, city slicker! Hannah called—come on, then.”
We chatted about school days until I left, cycling back. Distracted by Mrs. Higgins’ roses, I nearly crashed into another bike.
“Careful!” a voice called.
A tall, handsome man in a white T-shirt grinned. “Bit of a pothole there.”
I flushed. *What must he think of me?*
“I haven’t seen you around.”
“Visiting Mum and Lucy. You?”
“Here for my aunt—Anna. Her son’s Danny.”
“Danny Fowler? We were in school together!”
“His cousin, James. I’m a surgeon—work in the city, same as you.”
Turns out, we had mutual friends. Forty-nine, divorced three years ago—his wife ran off with a younger man to Cornwall, but it didn’t last.
“How long are you staying?” he asked.
“Leaving tomorrow evening.”
“Take my car Monday instead—we’ll go together. More time to explore.”
He picked me a wildflower bouquet, honey and thyme sweet in the air. Sunset painted the sky as we cycled back.
“Where’ve you been?” Lucy gasped, eyeing the flowers. “You left your phone!”
“Out… exploring.”
“Who gave you these?”
“Oh, just someone.”
Lucy grinned. “Not local, then?”
“James Fowler—Danny’s cousin.”
“Ah! Good man. Rarely visits, but I’ve heard of him. Well, well.”
We met again the next day—walking, laughing, an undeniable spark between us. I felt like a girl again, certain he was my happiness.
We left together in his car, the boot stuffed with Mum’s jams and vegetables. Both women beamed—they’d never seen me so radiant, and James couldn’t take his eyes off me.
We didn’t wait long to marry. We’d known, back in *Joyfield*, that we’d found each other for good. And now, every day is joy.
