A Time to Mend the Mistake
Lydia didn’t want to tell her mother what had happened at the lake. When she got home, she tried to slip quietly into her room, but her mother heard the rustling in the hallway and came out from the kitchen.
“What’s happened? You look awful,” her mother said, pressing her hands to her chest as she studied her daughter’s pale face.
“It’s nothing. I just swam too much,” Lydia replied, brushing past her mother and shutting herself in her room.
The next day, James came by to see how Lydia was feeling.
“Why would she be unwell?” her mother asked, puzzled.
“Well, she nearly drowned yesterday at the lake,” James answered, unaware of the storm he’d just stirred.
“Don’t exaggerate—I just swallowed some water,” Lydia shot him a pointed look.
“I—I came to ask if you’d like to go to the cinema,” James quickly corrected himself, scrambling to smooth things over.
“Of course, Lydia should go! Why sit indoors on such a lovely day?” her mother said, smiling at James with a hint of eagerness.
The truth was, James was the son of a well-known and rather wealthy man. His attention gave Lydia’s mother hope for her daughter’s comfortable future.
After that day, James often dropped by, whisking Lydia off to swim, ride his motorbike, or visit cafés. She wasn’t madly in love with him, but she was flattered—out of all the girls, he’d chosen her. Any of them would have counted it a blessing to go dancing or to the pictures with him.
That evening, her mother scolded her. “A lad like that fancies you, and you act as if you’re not even pleased! He’s from money—you’ll never want for anything. And the way he looks at you? Steady, dependable. I’d trust him with the most precious thing I have—my only daughter. If he asks for your hand, don’t be a fool and throw it away.”
“But I don’t love him, Mum,” Lydia protested weakly.
“I won’t believe for a second that a handsome lad like him doesn’t stir your heart. I married for grand, passionate love—where’s that got me now?”
When James proposed, Lydia said yes. Her mother’s words had done their work. In the whirl of wedding preparations, Lydia sometimes felt as if she were acting in a play—none of it was real, and soon the curtain would fall. But her mother was over the moon.
Lydia quickly realised that neither James’s mother nor his older sister approved of her. She wondered why they’d allowed the marriage at all. Perhaps to his mother, James was the golden boy—her youngest, her favourite—so she bit her tongue to avoid losing him.
They didn’t live in the grand family estate but in a flat James had inherited from his grandfather—a fact for which Lydia was silently grateful. She was wary of her mother-in-law.
Everything might have been fine, but as the years passed, Lydia couldn’t conceive. Her mother-in-law blamed her, dragging her from one specialist to another, until the doctors delivered their grim verdict. Lydia was devastated, weighed down by guilt.
James never openly reproached her, but she saw his silent suffering. He withdrew, spending long hours at his father’s firm, inherited after his death. When he visited his mother, he went alone—something that suited Lydia just fine. She could only imagine what her mother-in-law said about her behind closed doors.
She suspected James had other women. But suspicion wasn’t proof, and James was always careful—protecting the family name from gossip.
When Lydia tried to move back with her mother, she was dismissed. “Don’t be ridiculous. So he’s handsome—women will flirt. That’s not infidelity. Once you have a child, everything will settle.” And with that, her mother sent her back.
So for five years, Lydia and James played their parts—the picture-perfect couple.
When her patience finally snapped, and she steeled herself to ask for a divorce, James’s mother died. No one had thought to tell Lydia she’d been seriously ill for months.
James spent days arranging the funeral, returning home only to sleep.
***
Lydia woke but lay still for a while, listening to the shower running. She dozed off again.
“Why aren’t you up?” James strode in, the scent of shower gel and aftershave trailing behind him.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go. Your mother never liked me. Thought I wasn’t good enough for you. She was right,” Lydia said, opening her eyes to meet his.
“Right about what?” James tossed his robe onto the bed and rifled through the wardrobe for clothes.
Lydia was long immune to the charms of his well-toned body.
“That I don’t belong in your world. James, no one will even notice I’m not there.” She sat up.
“The whole family will be there. And like it or not, you’re part of it. Get dressed—we’ll be late.” He didn’t look at her as he buttoned his shirt.
“I’ll never be part of your family. You know that. Can you really be late to a funeral?” She sighed but rose anyway.
The sharp scent of coffee hit her when she stepped out of the bathroom.
“Drink up and hurry,” James nudged a steaming cup toward her, glancing pointedly at his expensive wristwatch.
In the car, James played classical music—fittingly sombre for Lydia’s mood. She slumped against the window, pretending to doze as they pulled up to the grand estate where several luxury cars were already parked.
Just get through today. One less enemy in the world.
“Go ahead. I’ll fix my hair,” she said, fishing out a compact mirror.
“Don’t dawdle—and lock the car.” James strode off.
Lydia knew all eyes would briefly flicker her way before dismissing her entirely. She touched up her makeup and tucked a handkerchief in her pocket—for decorum, not tears.
As she stepped out, she spotted an elderly woman from down the street. She hadn’t seen her in years—not since losing her husband and son in an accident long ago. Most called her odd, half-mad.
“Hello,” Lydia said as the woman neared.
The old woman stopped, peering at her.
“I’m Lydia—James’s wife—”
“I know who you are. Here for the funeral?” She nodded toward the house.
“Yes.”
A curtain twitched in an upstairs window—someone watching. Lydia hurried toward the house.
“Married the wrong one, you did. Living a lie. Time to mend the mistake. Do that, and the children’ll come.” The words stopped Lydia in her tracks.
“What mistake? What lie?” She turned, but the woman was already walking away.
Lydia entered the house unnoticed. James was deep in conversation with a stranger. No one spared her a glance—just as expected. Coming here had been a mistake. Just like marrying James.
***
Years earlier, a friend had coaxed Lydia to the lake with a group. The boys drank lager and talked among themselves while the girls sunbathed, stealing glances—mostly at James, the handsomest of them all.
Her friend whispered that Sarah had chased him forever with no luck.
“Race you across the lake?” Sarah taunted, eyes mocking. Before Lydia could reply, Sarah plunged in. Lydia followed but soon realised she couldn’t keep up.
Midway, something brushed her leg. Too deep for weeds. Then again—firmer this time.
Old rumours spoke of a drowned girl who dragged swimmers under. Lydia thrashed, swallowing water, panicking—until darkness took her.
She woke onshore with James hovering over her, all concern. Everyone fussed—except Sarah, smirking in the background.
James drove her home on his motorbike…
***
At the graveside, Lydia remained invisible. She lingered at the back, studying relatives she’d never met. Tradition done, flowers laid, the procession drifted toward the cars.
James escorted his weeping sister, leaving Lydia to trail behind.
At the gates, he bundled his sister into the car and scanned for Lydia. She waved him off—Don’t wait.
She hitched a ride with distant relatives, hopping out near a chemist’s. “Don’t wait—I’ll walk. Headache,” she lied, escaping before they could argue.
Alone, she headed for the bus stop—then froze. Her handbag was still in James’s car.
“Lydia!”
She startled. A car had pulled up, a man leaning out.
“Daniel. Don’t you remember?” He smiled.
Lydia blinked. Daniel had been the quiet one in their group. Now he stood before her—grown, confident.
“Need a lift?”
“Home. Please.”
“Running from the wake? Family never accepted you, did they?”
“How did you guess?”
“You were never one of them.” He paused. “I was in love with you. Went spare when you married James.”
“I can’t have children,” she blurted.
Daniel’s expression darkened as he said quietly, “It’s not you—it’s James; he was told he couldn’t father children after that childhood illness, but his mother lied to everyone, blaming you instead.”
