Lucy had always been the other woman. Marriage just hadn’t worked out for her, and by thirty, she’d resigned herself to spinsterhood—until she decided to finally find herself a man.
At first, she didn’t know Paul was married. But once he realized she was smitten, he stopped hiding it. Oddly enough, Lucy never blamed him—just herself for getting tangled up in it. She felt like a failure, as if time had slipped through her fingers while everyone else found happiness. Not that she was a lost cause—Lucy was pleasant-looking, a bit plump perhaps, which might’ve added a year or two. Still, the whole thing was going nowhere. Being the mistress wasn’t what she wanted, yet leaving Paul terrified her. The thought of being alone was worse.
One afternoon, her cousin Dave dropped by on his way through London for a work trip. They hadn’t seen each other in ages, so they sat at the kitchen table, chatting idly over tea like they used to as kids. Eventually, Lucy poured her heart out about Paul—the whole messy truth—and shed a few tears.
Just then, her neighbour popped in, eager to show off some new shopping finds. Lucy slipped out for twenty minutes, leaving the door unlocked. That’s when the doorbell rang. Dave, assuming Lucy had forgotten her keys, opened it—only to find Paul standing there, bewildered at the sight of a bloke in joggers and a vest, mid-bite into a ham sandwich.
“Er—is Lucy home?” Paul managed.
“She’s in the shower,” Dave lied smoothly.
“Right… and you are?”
“Her fiancé. For now.” Dave stepped closer, grabbing Paul by the collar. “You wouldn’t happen to be that married bloke she’s been moaning about, would you? Listen here—if I catch you near her again, I’ll toss you down these stairs myself. Got it?”
Paul didn’t need telling twice. He bolted before Dave could say another word.
When Lucy returned, Dave filled her in.
“What did you do? Who asked you to interfere?” she wailed, collapsing onto the sofa. “He won’t come back now.”
“Good riddance,” Dave said. “Enough moping. I’ve got a proper bloke in mind for you—a widower back in our village. Women have been throwing themselves at him since his wife passed, but he’s not interested. Reckon he just wants some peace.” He grinned. “I’ll swing by after my trip, and we’ll go see him. Proper introduction.”
“What? No, Dave, I can’t just—some stranger? That’s mortifying!”
“Mortifying is shacking up with a married man, not meeting a free one. No one’s dragging you to bed. Besides, it’s my wife’s birthday—you’ll come.”
Days later, Lucy found herself in the village. Dave’s wife, Maggie, had set up a garden party by the shed. Neighbours, friends, and Dave’s mate—the widower, Alfie—showed up. Lucy had known the locals for years, but Alfie was new.
After a warm evening of chatter, Lucy headed back to London, quietly noting how quiet and gentle Alfie was. “Still grieving, poor man,” she thought. “Not many like him left.”
A week later, her doorbell rang unexpectedly. She opened it to find Alfie standing there, clutching a bag.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he stammered. “Was in town for shopping. Thought since we’d met, I’d… pop by.”
Lucy, baffled but polite, invited him in for tea, sensing this wasn’t just a coincidence.
“Got everything you needed?” she asked.
“Yep, all in the car. These are for you.” He pulled a small bouquet of daffodils from the bag.
Her eyes lit up as she took them. They chatted over tea—weather, market prices—until Alfie finally stood to leave. But at the door, he hesitated, then turned.
“If I go now without saying it, I’ll regret it,” he admitted. “Lucy, I haven’t stopped thinking about you all week. Swear down. Drove straight here the first chance I got. Got your address from Dave…”
Lucy flushed.
“We hardly know each other,” she murmured.
“Doesn’t matter. Just—am I alright? Can we drop the ‘you’? I know I’m no prize. Got a little girl, too—eight years old. She’s at her gran’s.”
His hands trembled slightly.
“A daughter? That’s lovely,” Lucy said dreamily. “Always wanted one.”
Encouraged, Alfie took her hands, pulled her close, and kissed her.
When they parted, tears glistened in her eyes.
“Did I… upset you?”
“Opposite,” she whispered. “Didn’t expect to feel like this. Sweet. Safe. No one’s wife to steal from anymore…”
They met every weekend after that. Two months later, they married and settled in the village. Lucy got a job at the nursery, and within a year, she had her own little girl. The house brimmed with love—enough for both daughters. And with each passing year, Lucy and Alfie only grew happier, their bond deepening like a well-aged whisky.
At family gatherings, Dave would nudge Lucy with a wink.
“Not bad, eh? Told you I’d sort you out. Look at you—glowing! Never doubt your cousin.”
