The Joy of Motherhood
The early morning was warm and quiet in the small village nestled along the forest edge by the river. The occasional lowing of cows—few remained in the village—and the lazy barks of dogs broke the stillness. Dark clouds gathered over the woods beyond the river.
Agatha loved rising early in the summer, treasuring the peaceful dawn. Though she kept no livestock save a few chickens, and her gentle dog, Bear, in the yard, she lived alone in the house left to her by her mother, who had passed away nearly a decade ago.
Agatha, a slender woman in her thirties, stood by the well, straining as she turned the crank with both hands to lift a full bucket. Heaving two heavy pails, she walked the dirt path toward her cottage.
Misfortune and Heartache
Agatha had been married to Zachary for just six months. Tall and sturdy, Zachary had been the local woodsman, feared by poachers who roared through the countryside in flashy cars. Likely, he had crossed paths with the wrong man—found murdered in the forest. A lengthy investigation turned up nothing, and Zachary was laid to rest.
Since then, Agatha lived alone. Suitors from neighbouring villages had come calling, but she refused to marry without love. Still, she fancied Gregory, the local mechanic—something in his quiet strength and warm glances reminded her faintly of Zachary. Often, she caught him looking her way and would quickly lower her eyes.
After burying her husband, Agatha grieved deeply.
“I wish I’d had Zachary’s child. A piece of him would still be with me. Now I’m just… alone.” The longing for motherhood ached within her, yet there was no child to care for.
The Farmer’s Son
In the village lived Danny—a brash, drunken troublemaker who often lurked near Agatha’s home when she returned from work. Once, he even confessed his love—rough and clumsy—before attempting to embrace her. She shoved him off, grabbing the shovel by her doorstep.
“Take another step, and I’ll crack your skull in half,” she snapped. His bravado fled at the steel in her voice, and he slunk away.
Danny lived with his father, a wealthy but cruel farmer who had buried his wife years ago. Villagers whispered he’d driven her to an early grave. Danny shared his father’s temper but none of his work ethic.
The local girls feared the drunken lout. Once, he’d beaten a lad bloody for defending his sweetheart, landing the boy in hospital. The constable came, fined Danny, and left it at that—just a bribe for silence. No one dared cross the well-off farmer.
Months later, the village awoke to an inferno—the farmer’s great house and barns ablaze, though the livestock had been freed. Investigators ruled it faulty wiring. The farmer never emerged. Danny, meanwhile, had been elsewhere that night.
Soon after, word spread Danny had vanished to the city, finding new drinking mates. Agatha breathed easy.
“Good riddance.”
An Unwelcome Guest
Time passed. One morning, Agatha hauled her buckets up the porch steps and paused—the door was ajar.
“Must’ve forgotten to latch it,” she muttered. Stepping inside, she froze. The scent of tobacco and whisky hit her. Setting down the pails, she crept in and spotted a man sprawled on her bed. Fear surged—until she recognised Danny.
“At least it’s not a thief,” she thought.
She shoved his shoulder hard. He cracked an eye open.
“Get out. Since when is this your home?” she hissed. “Up, or I’ll scream the place down.”
“Where’ve you been so early?” he slurred.
“Since when do I answer to you? Out!”
“Quiet, you’ll wake the lad,” he muttered, nodding toward the next room.
Peeking past the curtain, Agatha saw a small figure curled on the sofa—a sleeping boy.
“Whose child is that?” she whispered.
“Mine. Timmy.”
“Yours? Since when?” She couldn’t fathom this brute having a son.
Timmy
The boy was thin and filthy, like a stray pup.
“Aye, mine. His mum died. Only been with me a few months.”
“How old is he?”
“Five, maybe?”
“You don’t even know?”
“Let us stay a couple days,” Danny begged. “Got things to sort.”
“Never.”
A small voice piped up. “Miss, I’m thirsty.”
Agatha turned. The boy stood there, and her resolve melted.
“Come, love. Let’s get you a drink.”
“I’m not ‘love.’ I’m Timmy.”
“Alright, Timmy. Alright.”
She settled him with water, tucked him under a blanket, then returned to Danny, still slumped at the table.
“Agatha, I’ll beg if I must. Just a few days. I know you’re kind. I won’t trouble you,” he mumbled.
Against her judgment, she relented—for Timmy’s sake. The boy was quiet and wary, smiling only when playing with Bear. Danny kept to himself, splitting firewood and drawing water. Whatever business he had in the village, she didn’t ask.
“You’ve a flat in town, money,” she pressed later.
“Gone. Lost it all gambling. Maybe that’s why his mum died—weak heart.” He shrugged. “Let us stay. I’ll find work.”
She didn’t believe him. Whispers said he ran with city troublemakers, chasing easy coin. At first, he stayed sober—then the stench of whisky returned.
“What do I do?” Agatha realised she’d grown fond of Timmy. What future had he with such a father?
Her Son Now
Timmy warmed to her too, asking childish questions that made her laugh. Once, he curled against her, resting his head in her lap. Each day, she felt his need—and hers—to care for him. She bathed, fed, and read to him, even bought him new clothes.
Soon, the boy felt like hers. She took him to the dairy where she worked. Danny came and went, ignoring his son. Then one evening, she returned to find the house ransacked—her savings, her new coat, gone.
Tears fell unbidden. Timmy tugged her sleeve.
“Miss Agatha, don’t cry. Dad did this. He’s gone for good. Can I stay with you?” His earnest eyes met hers.
“Yes, Timmy. You’re mine now.”
“For always?”
“For always.”
The constable returned, but Agatha cared only for custody—school loomed, and she had just Timmy’s birth certificate. The father’s line was blank, thank God.
“Alright, Agatha,” the constable sighed. “If you’re set on this lad, I’ll help sort the papers.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, hugging Timmy close.
And so Timmy became hers—cherished, beloved. She poured all her unused love into him, her heart full at last. He called her “Mum,” and the house brightened with his laughter. He adored Bear, feeding him scraps while the dog wagged his tail wildly.
Happiness Finds Her
Months later, Gregory paused by her gate—perhaps on purpose. Timmy played with Bear in the yard.
“Tim, your mum home?”
“Inside. Want me to fetch her?”
“Tell her I’ve something to say.”
Timmy grinned. “Come in! Bear’s friendly.”
Agatha appeared on the step. “Gregory! Come in.”
He hesitated, then blurted, “Agatha, we’ve danced around this long enough. I see it in your eyes—you feel it too. I wanted to speak sooner, but with Timmy… Well, I admire you for taking him in. Let’s raise him together. He needs a good dad. Maybe more little ones later…” He trailed off.
“Took you long enough,” she teased. “But yes.”
She loved his steady kindness, the laughter in his gaze. When Timmy heard, he flung himself at Gregory, sensing safety in his arms.
A village wedding followed. Now Timmy had true parents. A year later, a baby brother arrived, and his joy was complete.
As for Danny—he vanished into the shadows. No one missed him.
And Agatha, once lonely, found her life overflowing—with love.
