Her Mother’s Sigh
Lucy’s mother could only sigh heavily as she watched her beautiful daughter. Emily had tried countless times to convince Lucy that waiting for a prince on a white horse was foolish—it would never happen.
“Lucy, you’re living in a fairytale. Look around—there are so many lovely lads right here. Tom and James from your class are decent boys, always lingering outside our house. Why won’t you take a stroll with them? You might find that ordinary lads have beautiful souls.”
“Mum, I don’t care about souls. I want a man who’s handsome as a film star, and in our village, there isn’t one good enough for me. Just look at me! Is there a single lad here who matches me?” Lucy straightened her posture, her slender figure becoming even more striking.
Her mother shook her head.
“Sweetheart, beauty fades—happiness lasts. That old saying didn’t come from nowhere.”
Lucy had heard those words since childhood but never given them much thought. The older she grew, the more certain she became that beauty meant happiness. She’d spent her life being adored—her big blue eyes, her perfect smile. In nursery, she was the princess in every play. In school, the girls envied her, wishing they could be as lovely. Lucy never considered how vanity might betray her—though Emily often worried.
Now grown, Lucy knew her worth—and refused to settle for anything less than a man just as striking as she was. The boys who lingered, offering companionship, were met with mocking smirks.
“Do they even see the difference between us?” she wondered.
Emily tried to warn her—handsome men rarely made good husbands. But Lucy was certain otherwise. She’d barely scraped through school and only managed to get into college. Even there, no man met her standards.
“Mum, I don’t want some plain Dave or Jack. I’ll wait for my happiness,” she’d say whenever Emily mentioned marriage.
Men flocked to her even after college, where she worked at the local council. But in time, the village lads gave up—realising Lucy was out of their league. Friends married, had children—while she remained alone.
“I’m moving to London,” she announced one day. “Nothing for me in this village. My happiness is out there—none of these country boys are good enough.”
Emily said nothing. She was tired of arguing.
At thirty, Lucy was still single—no man had ever met her high standards. Then, at thirty-seven, luck struck. She landed a job at a prestigious firm—and met the director, Daniel. He was everything she’d dreamed of: charming, refined, with a dimpled chin and sharp jawline.
Daniel was married with two children—but that didn’t matter. Lucy wanted a beautiful child, a legacy of her own looks. Winning him over was easy.
“I’ve never met a woman as stunning as you,” he admitted over dinner. “Shame we didn’t meet sooner—I can’t leave my family. But I’d love to see you now and then.”
“Don’t worry, Daniel. This is just fun—I won’t disrupt your life,” Lucy assured him, though secretly she had other plans.
Soon, she was pregnant. Daniel helped financially, and for the first time, Lucy felt true happiness—not in romance, but in motherhood. Her son, Oliver, became her world.
Oliver grew up handsome—but also clever. Top of his class, a star athlete, effortless in everything. Lucy swelled with pride.
But Oliver, though aware of his looks, never chased girls. Lucy worried—was he repeating her mistake?
At twenty-nine, Oliver called excitedly:
“Mum, I’ve met the one! We’re coming to visit—you’ll love Sophie.”
Lucy prepared champagne, set the table, waited eagerly.
But when Sophie walked in, Lucy’s smile faded. She was plain—pretty, but ordinary. Polite, kind, but nothing extraordinary.
At dinner, Lucy barely spoke. Later, she confronted Oliver.
“There are so many beautiful girls—why choose her?”
“Because I love her,” he said firmly. “She’s kind, smart—perfect for me.”
Lucy never warmed to Sophie, even as the years passed. Sophie blossomed after motherhood, built a career—but Lucy still saw her as unworthy.
Then age caught up. Forgetful, frail, Lucy could no longer care for herself.
Oliver brought her home.
Sophie quit her job to tend to her, enduring sharp words, harsh looks. Over time, Lucy softened—but never thanked her.
One evening, after a rare moment of clarity, Lucy took Sophie’s hand.
“Forgive me, dear,” she whispered.
Sophie hugged her. “It’s alright. We love you.”
That night, Lucy passed—a faint smile on her lips.
In the end, she learned too late: beauty fades, but kindness endures.
