Anna had always been the kind of woman who was cherished by everyone around her, yet her life unfolded in such a way that she found herself alone. In her youth, she immersed herself in books and knowledge, treasures particularly safeguarded by her parents, especially her mother. Anna grew up in a quaint town near Canterbury, surrounded by silence and the pages of old novels, far removed from the hustle and bustle of the world.
One day, a man came into her life—handsome, wealthy, and with an enchanting smile. His courting was passionate, and marriage seemed as inevitable as the dawn after night. However, fate dealt a cruel blow: the sudden death of her father and her mother’s serious illness shattered all plans. Anna stayed to care for her ill mother, and her fiancé, unable to withstand the trials, vanished from her life like a ghost, leaving only the bitter residue of betrayal.
Years later, after her mother’s passing, Anna suddenly felt the deep absence of warmth from another person. She watched as her friends found freedom after divorces, spreading their wings, yet she still yearned for closeness, for someone to share her solitude. Then fate introduced her to a widower named Edward. He was of her ilk—he loved 19th-century literature, quoting Dickens and Hardy, and their fireside conversations ignited a romance. Despite warnings from friends—”Why do this at your age? Live for yourself!”—Anna and Edward decided on marriage, believing that love could conquer all.
But reality proved cold and merciless. Their shared life turned out to be not idyllic, but a daily ordeal. Edward, with his habit of leaving things scattered and living amid chaos, became Anna’s true nightmare. Her world, where everything had its place, where every book was neatly on the shelf, and each cup knew its spot, crumbled under the onslaught of his disorder. Each day was a battle for patience, an effort to find a shred of harmony amidst the chaos.
She tried to talk to him, opened her heart, pleaded for shared responsibility in their home. But her words fell on deaf ears—Edward remained oblivious to her pleas, her pain. After yet another incident when she found her beloved books carelessly piled in a corner and the kitchen overrun with dirty dishes, Anna couldn’t take it anymore. Tears choked her as she said, “I need to leave. I need my peace back.” She longed for that quiet, solitary life, where no one invaded her world, where she was the master of her destiny.
But Edward, citing his own affairs, asked for time to “sort things out.” He stayed in her home, which only deepened her suffering. Every step he took, every sound of his presence, cut her heart like a knife. Nine months—that’s how long this agony lasted, this marriage that had become her prison. Finally, the divorce went through, and Anna broke free.
Returning to her solitude, she felt her lungs fill with air and her soul with a long-forgotten joy. The walls of her small flat once again became her sanctuary, her fortress. She sat with a cup of tea, watching the autumn rain through the window, and for the first time in a long while, she smiled—genuinely, from the heart. The freedom she reclaimed was worth more than any illusions of happiness with someone else. Anna realized: her life belonged to her alone, and she would never again let anyone disturb this fragile, yet precious peace.
