Time to Right a Wrong
Grace didn’t want to tell her mother what had happened at the lake. Slipping quietly into the house, she tried to sneak to her room, but her mother heard the rustling in the hallway and stepped out of the kitchen.
“What’s wrong? You look dreadful.” Her mother pressed her hands to her chest, studying Grace with alarm.
“It’s nothing. Just got a bit too much sun.” Grace brushed past her and shut herself in her room.
The next day, Oliver came by to check on Grace.
“Why would she be unwell?” her mother asked, puzzled.
“Well, she nearly drowned yesterday at the lake,” Oliver replied, oblivious.
“Don’t exaggerate, I just swallowed some water,” Grace shot him a pointed look.
“I… came to invite you to the cinema,” Oliver quickly corrected himself.
“Grace, of course, go! Why stay cooped up? It’s lovely out,” her mother said, smiling at Oliver with a hint of ingratiation.
The thing was, Oliver was the son of a well-known and rather wealthy man. His attention gave Grace’s mother hope for her daughter’s secure future.
From then on, Oliver visited often, taking Grace swimming, for motorcycle rides, or to cafés. She wasn’t madly in love with him, but it flattered her that he’d chosen her out of all the girls in town. Any of them would’ve given anything to go to the cinema or dances with him.
That evening, her mother scolded Grace for being indifferent to a man like Oliver.
“He’s from a good family, Grace. You’ll never want for anything. And look how devoted he is—reliable, stood by you in a tough moment. I’d trust him with the most precious thing I have—my only daughter. If he proposes, don’t be an ungrateful fool.”
“I don’t love him, Mum,” Grace tried to argue.
“Don’t lie to me—no girl wouldn’t fancy a lad like that. I married for grand, passionate love, and look where that got me.”
When Oliver proposed, Grace said yes. Her mother’s words had done their work. Amid the wedding chaos, Grace often felt like she was acting in a play, as if none of it were real. Meanwhile, her mother was over the moon.
Grace quickly realised Oliver’s mother and elder sister disliked her. She wondered how they’d even allowed him to marry her. Likely, Oliver was his mother’s golden boy—she wouldn’t risk losing him.
They didn’t live in the grand family home but in a flat Oliver had inherited from his grandfather, which suited Grace just fine. She was wary of her mother-in-law.
Everything might’ve been fine—except years passed, and Grace couldn’t conceive. Her mother-in-law blamed her, dragging her to the best specialists, who gave her a grim diagnosis. Grace felt guilty and crushed.
Oliver never openly blamed her, but she saw his disappointment. He withdrew, spending more time at his late father’s firm, left to him and his sister. His father had died three years earlier from a heart attack. Oliver visited his mother alone—which Grace didn’t mind. She could only guess what was said about her.
She suspected Oliver had other women, but no proof meant no scandal. He was always careful, protecting the family name.
Grace thought of moving back with her mother, but her mother dismissed her suspicions as nonsense. Oliver was handsome—women flirted. Harmless banter wasn’t infidelity. Once they had a child, all would be well. So Grace stayed.
Five years passed in a charade of wedded bliss.
Just as Grace was ready to demand a divorce, Oliver’s mother died. Turned out, she’d been ill for a long time—no one had bothered to tell Grace.
Oliver spent days arranging the funeral, coming home only to sleep.
***
Grace woke but lay still, listening to the shower running. She dozed off again.
“Why aren’t you up?” Oliver strode in, smelling of shower gel and aftershave.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go. Your mother never liked me—thought I wasn’t good enough for you. Maybe she was right.” Grace sat up, watching him.
“In what way?” Oliver tossed his robe onto the bed, rifling through the wardrobe.
Grace was used to his sculpted body; his charm had long worn off.
“That I was never meant for your world. Oliver, no one will even notice if I’m not there.”
“The whole family will be at the funeral. You *are* part of it. Get dressed—we’ll be late.” He pulled on his clothes, avoiding her gaze.
“I’ll never be part of your family. You know that. Besides, can you even be late to a funeral?” She sighed but got up.
The smell of fresh coffee hit her when she stepped into the kitchen.
“Drink up and get ready.” Oliver nudged a steaming mug toward her, glancing pointedly at his expensive watch.
In the car, Oliver played classical music, fitting Grace’s sombre mood. Neither spoke. She leaned back, pretending to doze. When they reached the stately home, several luxury cars were already parked outside.
She just had to get through the day. With her mother gone, Grace had one less enemy.
“You go ahead. I’ll tidy up.” She opened her purse, checking her reflection.
“Don’t take long—and lock the car,” Oliver said before walking off.
Grace knew all eyes would briefly turn to her, then forget her. Still, she touched up her makeup, tucking a handkerchief into her sleeve. She wouldn’t cry.
Stepping out, Grace spotted old Mrs. Whitmore, who lived down the lane. She was surprised the woman was still alive. Fifteen years ago, her husband and son had died in a crash—since then, people called her odd, almost mad.
“Hello,” Grace said as Mrs. Whitmore approached.
The old woman stopped, peering at her.
“I’m Grace, Oliver’s wife—”
“I’m not blind or senile. Here for the funeral?” Mrs. Whitmore nodded toward the house.
Grace followed her gaze. A curtain twitched in an upstairs window. She was being watched.
“Best not keep them waiting.” Grace shut the car door and hurried inside.
“You married the wrong man, girl. Fix your mistake, and children will come.” Grace froze at the words.
“What mistake? I don’t understand.” She turned, but Mrs. Whitmore was already walking away.
Baffled, Grace entered the house.
Oliver stood in the hall, speaking to a stranger. A few people whispered, making final arrangements. No one noticed Grace—just as she’d expected. Coming here had been a bad idea, just like marrying Oliver.
***
A friend had invited Grace to the lake with a group. It was hot. The lads drank beer and chatted; the girls sunbathed, stealing glances at Oliver—the handsomest of them all.
Her friend whispered that Emma had been chasing him for ages.
“Fancy a swim?” Her friend dashed toward the water. Grace and Emma followed reluctantly.
“Bet you can’t swim across,” Emma taunted, smirking.
Grace took the challenge. Midway, something brushed her leg. Too deep for weeds. Then again—a firmer touch.
Rumours said a drowned girl haunted the lake, dragging swimmers under. Most dismissed it as a tale to scare kids. Now, Grace remembered—and panicked. Thrashing, she went under.
She woke on the shore, Oliver hovering over her, frantic. Everyone fussed—except Emma, smirking from a distance.
Oliver took Grace home on his motorbike…
***
At the cemetery, Grace remained invisible. She stood apart, studying relatives she’d never met. An open space—no slipping away unnoticed.
Finally, the eulogies ended. A mountain of wreaths towered over the grave. Family filed out.
Grace trailed behind. Up ahead, Oliver guided his grieving sister. At the gates, cars lined up. He ushered his sister into his Jaguar, glancing back for Grace. She waved him off.
She hitched a ride with distant relatives. Passing a chemist, she asked to stop.
“Don’t wait—I’ll walk. Headache.” She feigned a wince and jumped out before they could protest.
Alone, she spotted a bus stop. Then realised—her handbag was in Oliver’s car.
She’d have to endure the wake.
“Grace?”
She startled. A car had pulled up. A man leaned out.
“James… James Hartley. Don’t you remember?” He smiled.
Grace shook her head. James had been the quietest in their group. Now, a handsome, polished man stood before her.
“Need a lift? Back to the Winstons’ or—?”
“Just home,” she gave her address.
“From the funeral? Couldn’t stomach the family?”
“How’d you guess?” Grace barely recognised him.
“No mystery. You were never their sort. I fancied you rotten back then. Nearly lost my mind when you married Oliver.”
“I can’t have children,” Grace blurted.
“You? Who told you that?Grace looked into James’s eyes and whispered, “Take me away from all this,” as the wind carried the last of her doubts away.
