The house was thick with silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Eleanor Whitmore, her face lined with years of quiet worry, watched as her son packed the last of his things into a canvas bag. Tomorrow, hed be off to the army.
“Tom, love, just tell mewhat do you see in that that flighty girl?” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “She doesnt give you a second thought! Walks around like shes too good for you, and yet youre besotted. There are plenty of nice girls in the villageEmma Lawson, for one. Bright, hardworking, sweet on you. But no, its only ever Lily, isnt it?”
Tom, broad-shouldered with a stubborn jaw, didnt turn around. His fingers tightened the knot on the bag.
“Dont need Emma, Mum. Made up my mind years ago. Loved Lily since we were kids. If she wont have me then I wont marry at all. No point arguing.”
“Shell break your heart, Tommy! I know it!” His mothers voice trembled. “Pretty, suredevil knows she isbut cold as ice. Shes meant for city lights, not our little village.”
Tom finally turned. His eyes were unreadable, set like stone. “Enough. Done talking.”
Meanwhile, in the house next door, the air was thick with cheap perfume and restless youth. Lily stood before her mirror, finishing her evening ritualdarkening her lashes, painting her lips. Her reflection was all defiance, all longing to be seen, to be swept away.
“Lily, wherere you off to all dolled up?” her mother called from the kitchen. “Dancing again? And then gallivanting till dawn? You ought to take Tom with you. Fine ladfinished college, got a trade. Hired builders to fix up that house with his dad, says its for his future wife. And hes only got eyes for you, love. Proper smitten.”
Lily scoffed, turning to admire herself. “Toms a bore, Mum. Building a housewhats the rush? Youths for living! He works like a dog, never goes out, never breathes. I wont waste mine. Dont want him. Not ever.”
And like a butterfly, she flitted out, leaving nothing but a cloud of perfume behind.
That autumn was golden and bitter. Tom graduated, and his conscription papers came. His parents threw a modest but warm farewell. Lily and her mother cameneighbours, after all.
Tom, stiff in an ill-fitting suit, found Lily lingering in the hallway. His heart hammered.
“Lil” His voice wavered. “Can I write to you? All the lads write to their girls. And I dont have one. Could you be mine? Just on paper?”
Lily looked at him like he was a puppy, sweet but tiresome. She sighed. “Fine. Write if you like. If Im in the mood, Ill answer. No promises.”
It was enough. His face lit up so brightly she had to look away, almost ashamed.
For a while, she replied to his letters, penned in careful soldiers script. But after school, she bolted for the city, chasing a teaching degree. The village, Toms lettersall left behind. The replies stopped.
Her mother sighed, hoping shed come to her senses, wait for Tom, settle down. But Lily wouldnt hear it.
“Ill graduate, marry a proper city man, and never set foot in that godforsaken village again!” she shrieked when her mother dared mention Tom.
Fate laughed cruelly. She failed her first examessay writing. The irony? No one to blame. Their village school had been understaffed. One teacher for English and FrenchMadame Duval, fluent in French but struggling with English. Lily, like her classmates, knew neither well.
But Lily didnt dwell. The citys glow beckoned, and she soon found solace in charming, cynical Edward. Eddie, a final-year law student, lived alone in a three-bed flat while his parents worked up north.
Lily moved in quickly. To avoid mooching, she took a job in a factory canteen, pushing a trolley of pastries, enduring the workers stares.
At Eddies, she played housescrubbing, cooking, stealing pastries. She imagined herself his wife. A home, a promising man. Maybe children. She loved him dizzyingly. He was everything shed dreamedthe city life made flesh.
She stayed nearly a year. Then one rainy evening, Eddie lounged on the sofa and said flatly, “Lil, were done. Over it. Youre boring me. Move out. Parents are back soon.”
Something inside her snapped. But pride kept her cool. She packed silently, left for a friends. Only then did the tears fall.
Weeks later, nausea struck. The doctors verdict was blunt: “Pregnant. Too late for an abortion.”
Lily didnt consider it. This was Eddies childa piece of him. Then came her mothers letter. Tom was home. Asked after her.
A desperate, vile plan formed. Rush home. Play the joyous fiancée. Marry Tom. If notat least have the baby near her mother.
Tom welcomed her like royalty. No questions, no demands. His love was blind, forgiving, exactly what she needed. That first night, blushing, he showed her the house hed built for hersolid, smelling of fresh wood and hope.
She barely had to tryhe was already hers. They wed in two weeks. Tom glowed. He missed nothingnot the neighbours whispers, not Emmas venomous smirks, not even his mothers frown at Lilys quickening belly.
“Strong lad, this one!” Tom boasted. “Growing by the hour!”
Lily gave birth in the city, bribing a doctor to claim the baby was premature. Fate relented. The boy was smalljust six pounds. The doctor took the envelope. “Seven months. Clear enough.”
“There is a God,” Lily thought, drifting under sedation, relief washing over her.
Max grew quiet, obedient. Tom adored himtook him to the farm, let him “drive” the tractor, taught him engines. Even Toms mother softened, spoiling him rotten.
Tom worked tirelessly. His farm thrived. He came home late, exhausted but content.
Lily kept house, raised Max. Outwardly, perfect. Inside, cold to Tom. She still loved Eddie, saw Tom as a dull but reliable provider. She played the doting wife but refused more childrenkeeping herself tethered to the past.
But secrets never stay buried.
Max was eight. A sunny day, playing in a friends yard. The friends father had dug a cellar, left a sharp rod jutting from the ground.
No one saw Max fall. No scream. Just sudden silence, then other boys shrieking.
Lily ran out, nearly losing her mind. Max lay at the bottom, a rusty rod piercing his small chest.
Chaos erupted. Someone called an ambulance. Tom arrived first, frantic, with a medic. They lowered themselves in. Tom carefully pulled the rod free, carried Max up, tears streaming down his face.
At the hospital, Max was rushed into surgery. Critical. Needed blood. Tests were taken.
Then the blow.
The doctor glared. “Why hide hes adopted? Your bloods incompatible. Hes AB negativerare. No donor, he dies. We dont have it.”
Lilys world shrank to the operating doors.
“His father” she sobbed. “His fathers someone else.”
Tom stood, aged in seconds.
In the corridor, Lily slumped against the wall, praying wildly.
Tom seized her shoulders, desperation burning. “Whos the father? Where? Name! Now! Our boys dying! Only he can save him! Ill beg if I have to!”
Lily gasped out Eddies details. Tom moved fastcalled an army buddy, now in the police. Within an hour, they had Eddies work number.
Eddie, now a lawyer, arrived pale, frantic. “Dont let my wife find out,” he begged.
Tom gritted his teeth. “We just need your blood. Nothing else.”
Max survived. No lasting damage.
And Lilyfor the first time, truly saw her husband. A man who, knowing the truth, hadnt rejected her. Who hadnt raged, hadnt demanded answers. Whod thought only of saving a childnot even his own.
The ice around her heart shattered. She saw himstrong, steadfast, real. Love, gratitude, shame flooded her. These tears were different.
That night, Tom confessed. “I knew, Lily. From the start. Max isnt mine. But Ill always love him. Hes my son.” He paused. “And Id never let you go. Youre mine. Always.”
A
