There Will Be No Forgiveness — Have you ever thought about finding your mother? The question caught Vicky so off guard that she flinched. She was laying out papers from work on the kitchen table — the pile looked ready to tumble, and she carefully steadied it with her palm. Now she froze, slowly let her hands drop, and looked up at Alex. There was genuine bewilderment in her eyes: where on earth did he get such an idea? Why on earth would she want to track down the woman who’d carelessly shattered almost her entire life? — Of course not, — Vicky replied, trying to keep her voice flat. — What a ridiculous idea. Why would I ever do that? Alex looked a bit awkward. He ran a hand through his hair, as if struggling to gather his thoughts, and managed a small, slightly forced smile, already seeming to regret his question. — Well… — he hesitated, searching for words. — I just know that lots of kids from foster care or children’s homes dream about tracking down their birth parents. So I thought… If you ever wanted to, I’d help. Really. Vicky shook her head. Her chest tightened as if some unseen hand had gripped her ribs. She took a deep breath, calming an unexpected surge of irritation, and looked at Alex again. — Thank you for offering, but I don’t need that, — she said firmly, raising her voice just a touch. — I will never go looking for her! That woman hasn’t existed for me for years. I’ll never forgive her! Yes, it sounded harsh — but what else could she say? Otherwise she’d have to dredge up too many bad memories and lay her soul bare for her fiancé. No, she loved him, she really did, but there are some things you never want to share, even with those closest to you. So she reached for her paperwork again, adopting a busy air. Alex frowned, but didn’t push it. He was clearly troubled by Vicky’s sharpness. Deep down, he couldn’t grasp her attitude! To him, a mother was an almost sacred figure — whether she’d raised him or not. Simply carrying a child for nine months and bringing it into the world made a woman practically angelic in his eyes. He truly believed in that special, unbreakable bond between mother and child that neither time nor circumstances could destroy. Vicky not only didn’t share those beliefs — she rejected them outright, without the slightest doubt. For her, it was painfully simple: how could you possibly want to meet someone who’d treated you so cruelly? Her so-called “mum” hadn’t just dumped her in care — it was worse, far more painful… Years ago, as a teenager, Vicky had finally asked the question that had tormented her for years. She approached the head of the children’s home, Mrs Thompson — a strict but fair woman all the children respected. — Why am I here? — Vicky asked, quiet but resolute. — Did my mum die? Or did she lose her rights? Something really serious must have happened, right? Mrs Thompson froze in the act of sorting her paperwork, then slowly put the papers aside. She was silent for a few seconds, weighing her words, then sighed and nodded for Vicky to sit. Vicky sat, fingers twisting the edge of the chair. Anxiety was churning inside — she could sense that this answer would change everything. — She was stripped of parental rights and faced prosecution, — Mrs Thompson began slowly and carefully. Calm as ever, but in her eyes, worry: she had to tell a twelve-year-old the plain, ugly truth most would want to shield. She could have softened it, she thought, but no — Vicky had the right to know it all. Better reality than ignorance. She paused to gather her thoughts, then continued. — You came to us when you were four and a half. Some concerned passers-by spotted you — a small child, alone, wandering the streets. Later it turned out a woman had abandoned you on a bench at the train station, then boarded the commuter train and left. It was autumn, cold and damp, and you wore only a light coat and wellies. Several hours outside landed you in hospital. You were really unwell and wound up needing a long stay. Vicky sat stock still, as if turned to stone. Her fingers clenched into fists, but her face stayed blank — only her eyes darkened, like storm clouds. She said nothing, but Mrs Thompson knew the girl was absorbing every brutal word. — Did they find her? What did she say for herself? — Vicky whispered, fists still clenched. — They did, and she stood trial. As for her justification… — Mrs Thompson paused, then gave a bitter half-smile. — She claimed she’d run out of money and found a job — only her new boss banned children onsite. You got in her way. It was at a guest house or somewhere. She decided it was easier just to abandon you and start afresh. Vicky didn’t move. The tension in her fists slowly eased, her hands dropped to her knees. She stared straight ahead, as if seeing nothing — her thoughts far away, in that autumn morning she didn’t even remember. — I see… — she said at last, her voice flat, almost lifeless. Then she looked up at Mrs Thompson. — Thank you for telling me the truth. That was the moment Vicky realised, finally and absolutely: she would never search for her mother. Not ever. The idle curiosity that had sometimes flickered at the back of her mind — the thought that one day she might just want to look her in the eyes and ask “why?” — vanished, never to return. Leaving a child alone in the street. She simply couldn’t grasp it! How could anyone possibly do such a thing? Did the woman who gave birth to her really have no conscience, no compassion? Anything could have happened to a little kid. “That’s not a mother, that’s an animal!” Vicky told herself, the old pain twisting inside her. She tried, honestly tried, to find some excuse. Maybe her mother was desperate. Maybe she really had no options. Maybe she thought Vicky would be better off. But every time her reasoning crumbled on the rocks of cold reality: why not just sign the forms? Why not hand her in safely? Why leave a four-year-old alone in the cold autumn air? No answer fit. None eased the pain or turned betrayal into necessity. She could only see it as what it was — deliberate, heartless rejection. With each turn of these thoughts, her resolve hardened. No. She would not seek this woman. She would not ask questions. She would not try to understand. Because no understanding could erase what had been done. And forgiveness — that was beyond her power. And with that decision came an odd, near-physical relief… ******************** — I’ve got a surprise for you! — Alex was almost glowing with excitement, bouncing on the spot in the hallway as if he’d won the lottery. “You’re going to love this! Come on — we can’t keep someone waiting!” Vicky stopped at the bedroom door, mug of cold tea in hand. She looked at Alex in puzzlement, set the mug down, wariness prickling inside her despite his cheerful tone. What was this surprise? And why did she feel a thread of tension, ready to snap? — Where are we going? — She managed to keep her tone conversational. — You’ll see! – Alex’s grin widened even more; he grabbed her hand and led her toward the front door. — Trust me, it’s worth it. Vicky followed, outwardly calm, anxiety coiling inside as they left for the park. She racked her brain — tickets to a concert? Meeting an old friend? Nothing seemed to fit. As they entered the park, Vicky spotted a middle-aged woman alone on a bench: simple but neat — dark coat, scarf, a small handbag on her knees. Her face seemed vaguely familiar, but Vicky couldn’t place it. A relative of Alex’s? A colleague? Alex strode over to the bench; Vicky trailed, still trying to knit the puzzle pieces. As they approached, the woman looked up, a slight smile on her face. Suddenly, inside, something shifted — Vicky realised where she’d seen this face before. In the mirror. Add thirty or forty years. — Vicky, — Alex’s voice was grand, as if announcing a winner, — I’ve found your mum after all these years. Aren’t you happy? The world froze. How dare he? She had told him so clearly she never wanted to see this woman! — Darling! You’ve grown so beautiful! — The woman jumped up, arms out for an embrace. Her voice shook with emotion, eyes shining as if she genuinely wanted this reunion. But Vicky recoiled, stepping away, cold and unmoving. — It’s me, your mum! — the woman pressed on, ignoring (or not registering) the reception. — I’ve searched for you for so long! I always thought about you, always worried… — It wasn’t easy! — Alex added proudly from behind. — I called in favours, made a dozen calls, tracked down the records… But I did it! His triumph was cut short by a sharp slap. Vicky’s hand flew up with no hesitation, her eyes shining with tears of rage and pain. She glared at him, hurt and bewildered — how could he? After all the times she’d said she wanted nothing to do with her mother, that chapter was forever closed! — Are you mad?! — Alex gasped, clutching his cheek, thoroughly shocked. — I did it for you! I was trying to help, to do something good… Vicky said nothing. Inside, everything seethed with pain and anger. A person she’d trusted had broken the most sacred rule: never touch her past. Her most guarded memories had been laid bare, all for his “good intentions.” The woman looked lost, glancing between Vicky and Alex, uncertain. She tried to speak but stopped as she registered the look on Vicky’s face. — I didn’t ask you to find her, — Vicky managed quietly. Her voice was steady despite trembling inside. — I made it clear I didn’t want this! You still went behind my back! Alex lowered his hand, speechless, searching her face for any sign she’d forgive him, that her anger would fade. He found only steely resolve. — I said I never wanted to even hear about her! — Vicky’s whole body shook. She glared at Alex, eyes betraying not only anger but deep, old pain. — This “mother” abandoned me at four years old! Alone! At a train station! In just a thin coat! You think I can forgive that? Alex went pale but stood his ground. He straightened as if to make his argument unassailable. — She’s still your mum. That’s what matters — she’s your mother! The woman, outnumbered, stepped forward timidly. Her voice was small, apologetic, as though seeking forgiveness she didn’t truly believe she deserved: — You kept getting sick, I had no money for the doctor — I had a chance to earn, at last! I would have collected you, you know? It all could have worked out, we’d be together… Vicky spun on her, not a trace of sympathy — only long-honed bitterness: — Collected me? From a cemetery? — Her words were as cold and sharp as winter wind. — You could have asked social services for help, declared yourself temporarily unfit! Left me in hospital if I was so fragile! But not on the street! Not alone, not in the cold! Alex, desperate to defuse things, tried to take her hand. She pulled away, not even glancing at him. — The past is in the past, we need to live for today, — he insisted, as if convincing himself. — You said you wanted your own family at the wedding. Well, I’ve made your wish come true… Vicky finally looked at him, such disappointment in her gaze that Alex physically recoiled. — I invited Mrs Thompson, the head of the children’s home, and Mrs Lewis, my foster carer, — her voice was quiet now but unshakable. — They are my real mothers! They were there when it hurt! They taught me, supported me, cared. They’re my family. With that, Vicky tore her hand away from Alex and stormed out of the park. Her legs carried her far from that bench, from the conversation, from the man she had trusted more than anyone. There was a storm raging inside, making it hard even to breathe. Such betrayal from her fiancé — she would never have expected it. She hadn’t kept secrets from him. On the contrary: she’d been honest about her childhood, with no sugar-coating. She’d told him about those first days in care, still hoping her mum would come back. Alex had listened, nodded, claimed he understood. He had still gone and found her mother. Still brought her here. “Doesn’t matter, she’s your mother,” his words echoed in her head, stirring up more bitterness. “Never!” Vicky resolved. She would never let that woman into her life, never pretend nothing had happened. She didn’t stop once as she left the park and wandered down the street, barely registering her way. Her mother’s face — older now, fraught with anxious hope — kept flashing up in her mind’s eye. Vicky forced the image away. All she wanted now was to put as much distance as possible between herself and all of this. She didn’t even return to Alex’s place for her things — luckily, she had only a couple of bags there. The proper move-in was set for after the wedding, so most of her things were still in the council flat. That made things easier. Most important was not to go back there now, while the pain was so raw. Her phone buzzed and buzzed — Alex calling, over and over. She stared at the screen, saw his name, and didn’t answer. If she picked up now, she’d probably say things she’d regret. Better to wait out the first wave of hurt. Alex didn’t give up. In addition to calls, a few voice messages came through, his voice edged with irritation: — Vicky, you’re behaving like a child! I tried to do the right thing, and you — you’re just ungrateful! This is just drama, pure drama! A second message, harsher still: — I’ve decided. Linda will be at the wedding. End of. I’m not going to change my mind because of your whims. We’re going to maintain proper family ties. Our children will call her Granny. That’s normal, that’s right! Vicky stood at the bus stop, listening as he ranted, feeling the last strands of her strength fray. She switched off her phone, pocketed it, and looked up at the sky. Her whole world had cracked. She didn’t know how to put it back together. Vicky scrolled through the last messages, still hearing Alex’s unyielding, final words: “Linda will be at the wedding. End of.” That sentence etched itself into her soul. She opened her texts and typed a message, reading it through a few times. A simple line, clear and without ambiguity: “There will be no wedding. I don’t want to see either of you — not you, not her.” She sent it. Watched for the tick to show it had gone through, then put the phone down. Almost instantly her phone lit up — Alex trying to call again. Vicky didn’t move. More messages followed, but she ignored them. Instead, she opened her contacts, found her now ex-fiancé, and blocked his number without hesitation. Silence settled over her like a blanket, bringing a strange sense of relief. Maybe later she’d regret it. Maybe. But for now, it was the only step she could take. She felt the storm inside her give way to weary clarity. It was right. She had no future with someone capable of this… There Will Be No Forgiveness

No Forgiveness Shall Come

Have you ever wondered about finding your mother?

The question materialised from nowhere, so unexpectedly that Victoria jolted as if a faint bell had chimed in another room. She was in the kitchen, tenderly steadying a toppling heap of paperwork shed taken home from the officea delicate stack that threatened to scatter with the least provocation. Now, Victorias hands hovered uncertainly above the table, coming to rest as she lifted her gaze to Alex. Her eyes were round, startled; what sort of idea had lodged itself in his head? Why dredge up the past? Why search for the woman who, in a casual gesture, had left her life warped and unfinished?

Absolutely not, replied Victoria, voice tight but level. Why would I want to do that? Its a peculiar idea. Theres no point, none at all.

Alex, sheepish, ran a hand through his hair as if to comb out his own awkwardness, offering a thin, faltering smilethe attempt to make light of his blunder near visible.

Well, he fumbled, grasping for charity, I always hear about people from childrens homes wanting to trace their real parents. I thought if you fancied it, I could help. Id do it gladly, honestly.

Victoria shook her head, her chest constricting as though an invisible hand had cinched her ribs. Taking a silent, steadying breath beneath the prickle of unwelcome emotion, she regarded him coldly.

Thank you, but no, she said, her tone firm and higher than before. I will never look for her! She stopped being my mother a long time ago. I wont ever forgive her!

The words landed with an icy finality, brittle yet absolute. Anything less and she would have to trespass through bitter memory and bare her innermost wounds to her fiancé. She loved himreally, she didbut some hurts belonged in locked rooms, even from those closest to ones heart. She reached for her papers again, feigning focus, busying herself with trivial tidying.

Alexs brow furrowed. Hed clearly not expected Victorias answernot with such severity. For him, the role of mother was almost hallowed: never mind her presence or absence, the fact that a woman could carry life inside her, birth a childthat alone lifted her, in his eyes, nearly to the divine. He clung to the belief that the bond between a mother and her child could not be broken by time or circumstances.

But Victoria had jettisoned those beliefs, cut through them, dispatched them absolutely. For her, the facts were stark. How could one long to meet someone who had shown such thorough-hearted cruelty? Her so-called mum hadnt just sent her to carethe reality was far worse.

Once, as a girl, emboldened by years of gnawing uncertainty, Victoria had summoned herself to ask Mrs Harding, the headmistress at her childrens homea stern but honourable woman held in quiet reverence by all the childrenabout her beginnings.

Why am I here? Victoria asked softly but clearly. Did my mother die? Or was she made to leave me? Was it something serious?

Mrs Harding paused, her hands settling over her paperwork, considering her answer as if it weighed ounces and stones. She sighed deeply and nodded for Victoria to sit.

Clutching the chairs edge, Victoria waited in the dense hush as dread swelled within her. Shed always suspected she was about to learn something that would chisel her sense of self into a different shape.

She lost her rights as a parent and was taken to court, Mrs Harding said, each word carefully set down. Her eyes, steady but grave, betrayed a flicker of uneasethe difficult truth must come out, no matter its weight. Thered be no fables here, no gentle fabrications. Victoria deserved to know it all.

A beat. Then:

You came to us at four and a half. Someone found youa little child walking alone down the street. They reported you, alarmed. Later it became clear: a woman abandoned you on a bench at Kings Cross Station, then leapt onto a fast train and vanished. It was autumn, raw and wet. You had on only a thin mac and wellingtons. You waited alone there for hours until someone found you and took you to hospital. You became dreadfully ill and were there weeks before coming to us.

Victoria turned rigid, hands balled upon her knees. Her face remained inscrutable, but her eyes were dark and stormy. She listened, silent, absorbing every syllablethe words felt sharp and final.

Was she found? What did she sayabout any of it? Victoria breathed, not loosening her fists.

She was found and sentenced, said Mrs Harding, pausing with a wry, defeated smile. Her reason? She claimed she was penniless but had a job lined upand the employer wouldnt allow children on the premises. You, she said, were in the way. So abandoning you there, alone, was simpler, she thought. She could begin again. Alone.

Victorias hands slackened, falling limp to her lap. She stared aheadpast the room, past the worldher thoughts spinning back to a memory she didnt consciously possess: a cold, sodden morning, lost to time.

I see she said at last, monotone, drained. Then she gazed at Mrs Harding and added, Thank you for telling me the truth.

In that instant, resolve crystallised inside her: she would never seek her mother, not ever. A half-imagined curiosityjust to look her in the eye and ask why?abruptly and utterly vanished.

To leave a child on the streeta four-year-old? The mind could not, would not, accept it. Had her birth mother not one glimmer of conscience, not a shade of pity or shame? Anything might have happened on that bench; she could have vanished in a hundred ways.

This wasnt a human act but a beasts! Victoria thought, bitterness spiking behind her ribs. She had tried, honestly tried, to imagine an excuseperhaps desperation, perhaps no other path, perhaps belief that this was for the best. But such flimsy justifications shattered against the pitiless facts. Why not simply sign her away, or put her in the care system directly, or hand her to hospital staff? Why risk fate, leaving a small child alone in Londons chilly dawn?

No explanation fitted, nothing softened the wound, nothing made the betrayal necessary or forgivable. What had been donehad been done with clear-eyed, deliberate intent. Like discarding a worn-out umbrella at the bus stop and never looking back.

With every swirling thought, Victorias conviction grew impenetrable. No, she would not search for the woman. No, she would not ask. No, she would not try to understand. Nothing could unmake what was done. And to forgive? That was impossible.

With her decision came a strange sensation of unbuttoned relief, almost as if a band had been loosened from her breast.

********************

Ive got a surprise for you! Alex lit up, glimmering from foot to foot in the hallway as if hed found the golden ticket in a packet of custard creams. He could barely contain himselfhis joy so sharp and bright. Youre going to love it! Come on, quickly now, dont keep a person waiting, eh!

Victoria stood at her bedroom doorway, a cooling cup of tea cradled in her hands. She gave Alex a puzzled look, then set the cup aside. What was this surprise? Why did his cheer make her uneasy, jangling at the edge of foreboding? Within her, a taut thread threatened to snap.

Where are we going? she asked, quietly.

Youll see! Promise itll be worth it, he grinned, gently tugging her towards the front door.

Victoria complied, but an odd numbness pressed at her. She fumbled on her coat and boots, following him outside and down the pavements, through ribbons of drizzle and swirling leaves. She wondered if hed bought tickets for the theatre, or arranged a meeting with her old mates. The guesses flitted by, none quite right.

As they entered Regents Park, she spotted a woman perched on a bench along the avenue. Dressed simplya dark woollen coat, scarf over her neck, a modest handbag balanced on her knees. Her face itched at Victorias memory, but she couldnt place it. Perhaps a distant relative of Alexs, or a colleague?

Alex strode directly to the bench, Victoria trailing, piecing fragments that refused to fit. As they got closer, the woman looked up, managing a hesitant smile. At that moment a sensation thundered through Victoria: she recognised the faceher own gaze reflected back, aged by decades.

Victoria, Alex said ceremoniously, as if pronouncing a kings name, Ive found your mum after all these years! Arent you overjoyed?

Victoria stood frozen, the world hanging suspended for half a second. How dare he? Shed been so clearshe wanted nothing to do with that woman.

My darling girl! Youve grown up so beautiful! The woman lurched to her feet, arms outstretched as if to enfold her. Her voice trembled, her eyes shining with true longing.

Victoria recoiled, taking a step back, increasing the distance, her features carved cold.

Its meyour mother! The woman pressed on, ignoring Victorias stony stillness. Ive never stopped searching for you, worrying over you all these years

It wasnt easy! Alex broke in, beaming with pride and idiotic cheer. Took a lot of effortold school friends, phone calls to the council, you name it. But I did it!

His words were abruptly cut off by the sharp sound of a slap. Victorias hand had flown, almost independent of her will, stinging into his cheek. Her eyes blurred with tearshumiliation and rage. She stared at Alex, bewildered: how could he violate her trust this way?

What are you doing? Alex gasped, hand to his face. The question echoed outright shock. I only wanted to help, to do something good

Victoria spoke not a word. Inside, a tempest raged. Alex, whom she had cherished and relied on, had kicked out the foundation beneath her feet, upending her deepest rule: never stir her past. What she had worked so carefully to bury had now been dragged naked into the sun, all for his well-meaning plans.

The woman, uncertain, flickered her gaze between her daughter and Alex, at a loss. She opened her mouth but faltered at the expression on Victorias face.

I never asked you to find her, Victoria finally said, quietly. Her voice was a faint wire, vibrating. I told youit wasnt for me. But you did it anyway.

Alex brought his hand away from his cheek, speechless. He considered Victoria, searching for a flicker of forgiveness, but all he found was her glacial resolve.

I said I didnt even want to hear about her! Victorias anger trembled out loud. This mother of mine left me on a bench at Kings Cross when I was four! Alone! Surrounded by goodness-knows-what! Wearing nothing but a mac! And you expect me to forgive that?

Alex paled, but stood firm, drawing himself taller.

Shes your mother. Doesnt matter what happenedshes your mother!

At that, the woman inched forward, her voice barely above a whisper, plaintive and threadbare, desperate for understanding.

You were always ill, and I couldnt afford medicine I had a job at last, and I really thought I could come back and get youhonestly. Everything would be bettertogether again.

Victoria spun to face her, eyes devoid of mercy, only worn, aged sorrow.

From where? The graveyard? Her voice was sharp, nearly cruel, but words had become unstoppable. If you were desperate, theres social services, theres hospital, there are papers to file. But not the cold, not the street, not like that!

Alex, fumbling, reached for Victorias hand, encircling her wrist. She twisted away instantly, not meeting his eyes.

Thats the past; you should live the present, he insisted, as if pleading with both her and himself. I thought youd want your family there for your wedding. Ive made that dream come true

Victoria glanced at hima look so full of disappointment he staggered as if hit.

I invited Mrs Harding, the head of the childrens home, and Miss Knight, my carer. They are my real mums, she said, quiet but immovable. They were there for me, cared for me, loved me. Thats my family!

She yanked her wrist free and, without another word or backwards glance, dashed from the park. Her feet propelled her along the paths, through teeming flowerbeds and grey-wet avenues, wanting only to get away from that conversation, those peoplethe man who had once been her haven. Inside, a storm raged so fierce she felt she could barely breathe, felt betrayed beyond measure.

She had been honest with Alextold him everything about her life, every raw, unsweetened detail. The months in care, the empty hope that her mother might come back. Alex had nodded, swearing understanding. And still, he found her. Still, he brought her along. No matter what, shes your motherthose words echoed in her ears, fanning new hurt.

Never! Victoria resolved. She would not accept that womannot ever, not for anything. She would not pretend her childhood belonged to another.

She did not pause, walking out onto the main road, heedless of the route beneath her. Her thoughts tangled; her minds eye conjured the face shed seen todayolder, pinched, laden with a rueful, uncertain smile. She clenched her fists, trying to banish the vision. All she wanted now was distance.

She didnt go back for her things at Alexs flat. There wasnt muchjust a few bits of clothing, a handful of books. The big move had been planned for after the wedding, so most of her possessions sat in her council flat. Goodshe had no reason to go back now, not while every object reminded her of Alex.

Her phone throbbed with message after messageAlex trying, and failing, to reach her. She eyed his name flashing up, resistingknowing that if she answered she might say something impossible to unsay. Best to let things settle, to let the first tide of pain ebb quietly.

But Alex didnt let up. After his calls came the voicemailshis voice turned sharp and affronted.

Victoria, youre being childish! I was trying to do something nice, and this is how you thank me? Honestly, youre being hysterical!

And then, curt and harder still:

Ive decided. Margaret will be at the wedding. End of story. I wont back down because of your tantrums. Well have a proper family, and our children will call her Grandma. Thats normal, thats right!

Standing at the bus stop, Victoria listened, her insides twisting tight. She turned off the phone, stuffed it in her pocket, and gazed up at the rainy London sky. Her world, so recently whole, now had a crack running right through it, and she hadnt the faintest idea how to mend it.

For a while she stared dully at the last messages. The words hung before her: fixed, uncompromising. Margaret will be at the wedding. End of story. They dug deep.

She opened her messages, typed out a replyconcise and frightfully clear, stripped of any ambiguity: There will be no wedding. I dont want to see youeither of you.

Send.

She waited as the little tick appeared, confirming it was delivered. Placing the phone down, she noticed immediately the screen lighting upAlex calling again, messages trickling in. She ignored them, went into her contacts, called up his number, andsteadfastblocked it.

Silence finally wrapped around her like a warm blanket, a hush shed almost forgotten.

Perhaps shed regret it in the lonely weeks to come. Perhaps. But right now, in this moment, it was the only thing that felt righta thin, weary clarity rising in the aftermath of a storm.

This was the only way. She could not share a future with someone capable of such trespass.