Grace had always been the other woman. Marriage had eluded her—she lingered in spinsterhood until thirty before deciding to find a man at last.
At first, she didn’t know Paul was married, but once he saw how deeply she cared, he stopped hiding it. Yet Grace never blamed him. Instead, she scolded herself for falling into the affair, for her own weakness. She felt flawed, as if time had slipped through her fingers while others found love.
And yet—she wasn’t unattractive. Not a beauty, but pleasant, softly rounded in a way that might have added years. The relationship led nowhere. She didn’t want to remain a mistress, but leaving terrified her. The thought of loneliness gnawed at her bones.
One evening, her cousin Simon dropped by, passing through on business. They sat at the kitchen table, chatting over tea like children, swapping stories of life as it was now. Grace confessed everything—the tears came, quiet and wretched.
Then the neighbour knocked, asking Grace to admire her new curtains. She slipped out for twenty minutes.
A knock at the door. Simon answered, expecting Grace—why lock it?—but instead found Paul on the step. The man froze, staring at the broad-shouldered stranger in joggers and a T-shirt, mid-bite of a ham sandwich.
“Grace in?” Paul managed.
“Having a wash,” Simon lied smoothly.
“And you are?”
“Her husband. Civil partnership, for now.” Simon stepped closer, gripping Paul’s collar. “You’re the married dandy she’s been mooning over, aren’t you? Listen sharp—if I catch you here again, I’ll toss you down the stairs. Understood?”
Paul wrenched free and fled.
When Grace returned, Simon told her.
“What have you done?” she cried. “He’ll never come back now.” She sank onto the sofa, hands pressed to her face.
“Good,” Simon said. “Enough blubbering. I’ve got a proper bloke in mind for you—widower in our village. Women swarm him since his wife passed, but he’s not having it. Reckon he’s still grieving. Once I’m back from this trip, we’ll go. You’ll meet him.”
Grace blinked. “Just like that? No, Si, I can’t. What if he’s awful? And turning up like some desperate—”
“Desperate’s shagging a married man, not meeting a free one. No one’s dragging you to bed. Come on, it’s Lucy’s birthday anyway.”
Days later, they were in the village. Simon’s wife, Lucy, had set a long table in the garden by the shed. Neighbours, friends—and Simon’s mate, the widower Alfie—all gathered. Grace knew the others, but Alfie was new.
After the laughter and ale, Grace went home, turning Alfie over in her mind. So quiet. So gentle. “Still mourning, poor man. Few like him left.”
A week later, her doorbell rang. No one was expected.
Alfie stood there, clutching a bag. “Just passing through,” he mumbled. “Had errands in town. Thought I’d… pop in.”
She ushered him in, pulse quickening. Tea was poured, chatter about rain and market prices filling the kitchen.
When the cups were empty, Alfie lingered at the door, fumbling with his coat. Then, abruptly, he turned.
“If I leave without saying this, I’ll hate myself.” His voice shook. “Grace, I’ve thought of nothing but you all week. Swear it. Drove straight here today. Got your address from Simon.”
Grace flushed.
“We barely know each other,” she murmured.
“Doesn’t matter. If—if I’m not revolting to you? And… can we drop the ‘Miss’? I know I’m no prize. Got a little girl, too. Eight years old. She’s with her gran just now.”
Grace’s face softened. “A daughter’s a blessing. I’ve always wanted one.”
Heartened, Alfie took her hands, drew her close—and kissed her.
When he pulled back, her eyes shone.
“Did I upset you?”
“No. The opposite. I never thought… It’s sweet. Safe. Not stolen from anyone.”
They met every weekend after. Two months later, they married, settling in the village. Grace found work at the nursery. Within a year, a daughter was born—two girls now, both cherished, both theirs. Love stretched far enough for all.
Alfie and Grace grew younger with joy, their bond deepening like aged wine.
At gatherings, Simon would nudge Grace, grinning.
“Not bad, eh, Gracie? Told you I’d find you a proper one. Look at you—glowing. Should listen to your cousin more often.”
