**Diary Entry**
Hannah was a mistress. Marriage hadn’t been kind to her—she’d waited until thirty to find a man, and then she picked the wrong one.
At first, she didn’t know James was married. But soon enough, he stopped hiding it, especially once he realized she’d fallen for him. Hannah never blamed him—only herself for the affair, for her weakness. She felt worthless, as if her time had run out. And yet, she wasn’t unattractive—not a beauty, but pleasant, slightly plump, which may have added years to her appearance. The relationship led nowhere. Staying as a mistress wasn’t what she wanted, but leaving James terrified her. Being alone was worse.
One day, her cousin Will dropped by. He was in town for work, just passing through, and stopped for a quick visit. Over lunch in the kitchen, they chatted like old times—gossip, life, the usual. Eventually, Hannah confided in him, tears and all.
Then the neighbour knocked, asking Hannah to come see her new purchases. She slipped out for twenty minutes. That’s when the doorbell rang. Will answered, expecting her—but it was James. The moment he saw a burly bloke in joggers and a vest munching a ham sandwich, he froze.
“Hannah home?” James managed.
“She’s in the shower,” Will shot back without hesitation.
“Erm… who are you?” James stammered.
“Her husband. Common-law. For now.” Will stepped closer, grabbing James by the collar. “You’d be that married tosser she mentioned, yeah? Listen—if I see you here again, I’ll toss you down the stairs. Clear?”
James wriggled free and bolted.
When Hannah returned, Will told her.
“What’ve you done?” she cried. “He’ll never come back now.” She sank onto the sofa, face in her hands.
“Good riddance. Now stop moping. Got a proper bloke for you—widower in our village. Women chase him, but he’s not interested… yet. When I’m back, we’ll visit. You’ll meet him.”
“But—what? No, Will, I can’t! Some stranger? It’s embarrassing!”
“Embarrassing is sleeping with a married man, not meeting a free one. No one’s forcing you into bed. Come on—it’s Lucy’s birthday. No excuses.”
A few days later, they were in the village. Will’s wife, Lucy, had set up a garden party by the shed. Neighbours, friends—and the widower, Tom—were there. Hannah had never met Tom before.
After the gathering, she returned to London, quietly noting how quiet and kind Tom seemed. *Poor man, still grieving. So rare, a heart like that.*
A week later, the doorbell rang. No one was expected. She opened it—and there stood Tom, holding a bag.
“Hope I’m not intruding,” he said, awkwardly rehearsed. “Was in town shopping. Thought I’d drop by.”
She invited him in, baffled but polite, making tea while sensing this wasn’t casual.
“Get everything you needed?” she asked.
“Aye. But these are for you.” He pulled out a small bouquet of daffodils.
Her eyes lit up. Over tea, they skirted around the weather and prices. Finally, as he stood to leave, he lingered by the door, then turned suddenly.
“If I walk out now without saying it, I’ll regret it. Hannah—I’ve thought of nothing but you all week. Swear it. Couldn’t wait to see you again.”
She flushed.
“We barely know each other…”
“Doesn’t matter. Just—am I revolting to you? Can we drop the formality? I’m no prize. Got a little lass, eight years old. She’s with her gran now.” His hands trembled.
“A daughter’s lovely,” she murmured. “Always wanted one.”
Encouraged, Tom took her hands, pulled her close, and kissed her. When he pulled back, her eyes were wet.
“Did I offend you?”
“No. The opposite. Never expected… it’s sweet. Safe. Not stealing from anyone.”
After that, they met every weekend. Two months later, they married and moved to the village. Hannah found work at the nursery, and within a year, they had a daughter. Two girls grew up in that house—both adored, both loved equally. And with time, Tom and Hannah only grew younger, their love deepening like aged whisky.
At gatherings, Will would wink at her.
“See, Han? Told you I’d pick a good one. You’re glowing. Should listen to your cousin more often.”
**Lesson learned: Sometimes the right path isn’t the easiest—but it’s the one that leads you home.**
