Time to Right the Wrong
Veronica didn’t want to tell her mother what had happened at the lake. She tried to slip quietly into her room when she got home, but her mother heard the rustling in the hallway and stepped out of the kitchen.
“What’s wrong? You’re as pale as a ghost.” Her mother pressed her hands to her chest, staring at her daughter with wide-eyed fear.
“It’s nothing. Just swam too much.” Veronica brushed past her and shut herself in her room.
The next day, Anthony came by to check on her.
“Why on earth wouldn’t she be fine?” her mother asked, surprised.
“Well, she nearly drowned in the lake yesterday,” Anthony replied, oblivious.
“Don’t exaggerate. I just swallowed some water,” Veronica shot him a sharp look.
“I… came to ask you to the cinema.” Anthony caught on quickly, scrambling to cover his blunder.
“Veronica, of course, go. No sense moping indoors—it’s a lovely day,” her mother said, flashing him a slightly fawning smile.
The truth was, Anthony was the son of a rather wealthy man. His attention stoked her mother’s hopes for a comfortable future.
From then on, Anthony dropped by often, taking Veronica swimming, for motorbike rides, or to cafés. Not that she was madly in love—but the fact he’d chosen her above all the other girls flattered her. Any of them would’ve killed for his attention.
That evening, her mother scolded her for playing hard to get.
“He’s from good stock. You’ll never want for anything. And the way he looks at you—steady, reliable. I’d trust him with my only daughter. If he proposes, don’t be a fool and throw it away.”
“But I don’t love him, Mum,” Veronica tried to argue.
“Don’t lie—a handsome lad like that? I married for passion, and where did that get me?”
When Anthony proposed, Veronica said yes. Her mother’s words had done their work. Amid the wedding chaos, she sometimes felt like she was acting in a play, none of it real. Her mother, meanwhile, was over the moon.
Veronica quickly realised Anthony’s mother and sister despised her. She wondered why they’d even allowed the marriage. Maybe his mother adored her youngest son too much to oppose him.
They lived in a flat left to Anthony by his grandfather, not the family estate—a relief, since his mother intimidated her.
Years passed, but Veronica couldn’t conceive. Anthony’s mother blamed her, dragging her to the best doctors, who delivered grim news. Veronica felt crushed with guilt.
Anthony never said it outright, but she saw his silent suffering. He withdrew, burying himself in his father’s firm—inherited after his death three years prior. He visited his mother alone now, sparing Veronica the ordeal. She could only guess what they said about her.
She suspected he had affairs. But no proof meant no betrayal—and Anthony was always careful. Reputation mattered.
She thought of moving back with her mother, but was dismissed.
“Nonsense. A handsome man like him? Women will flirt. It doesn’t mean anything. Once you have a child, things will settle.”
So they pretended for five years—the picture-perfect couple.
When Veronica finally mustered the courage to demand a divorce, Anthony’s mother died. Turned out, she’d been ill for years. No one had bothered to tell her.
Anthony spent days arranging the funeral, coming home only to sleep.
***
Veronica woke but lingered in bed, listening to the shower. She dozed off again.
“Why aren’t you up?” Anthony strode in, the scent of aftershave clinging to him.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go. Your mother never liked me. Thought I wasn’t good enough for you. Maybe she was right.” She met his eyes, unflinching.
“Right about what?” He tossed his robe aside, rifling through the wardrobe.
His naked form no longer dazzled her.
“That I don’t belong in your world. No one will miss me if I’m not there.” She sat up.
“The whole family will be there. You *are* family. Get dressed. We’ll be late.”
“I’ll never be family. You know it. Since when do funerals run on schedule?” She sighed but stood.
The smell of fresh coffee hit her when she left the bathroom.
“Drink. Hurry up.” He slid a steaming cup toward her, glancing pointedly at his Rolex.
In the car, classical music filled the silence, matching her sombre mood. She pretended to nap, staring out the window.
At the sprawling estate, luxury cars lined the drive.
*Just get through today. One less enemy in the world.*
“Go ahead. I’ll freshen up,” she said, fishing out her compact.
“Don’t dawdle. Lock the car.”
She knew she’d be invisible the moment they arrived. But she touched up her makeup anyway, tucking a handkerchief in her pocket—for show. She wouldn’t cry.
Outside, she spotted an elderly woman—Agatha—still alive despite the tragedy that had taken her husband and son years ago. The neighbourhood called her odd, half-mad.
“Hello,” Veronica greeted as Agatha neared.
The old woman studied her face.
“Veronica. Anthony’s wife—”
“I’m blind, not senile. Here for the funeral?” Agatha nodded toward the house.
“Yes.”
A curtain twitched upstairs. Watchers. She couldn’t linger.
“You married the wrong man. You’ve been deceived. Time to right the wrong. Do that, and children will come.”
Veronica froze.
“What wrong? How was I deceived?”
Agatha walked away without a glance.
Inside, Anthony was deep in conversation. No one noticed her.
***
Years earlier, friends had dragged her to the lake on a sweltering day. The boys drank beer; the girls sunbathed, stealing glances at Anthony—the handsomest of them all.
Her friend whispered that *Emma* had chased him forever.
“Race you across?” Emma taunted, smirking before diving in.
Veronica followed. Midway, something brushed her leg—too deep for weeds. Then again.
Local lore claimed a drowned girl haunted the lake, dragging swimmers under. A silly tale—until now.
Panic seized her. Thrashing, she sank, choking on water—
She woke onshore, Anthony hovering over her, fear in his eyes. Everyone fussed—except Emma, smirking from afar.
Anthony drove her home on his motorbike…
***
At the graveside, Veronica stood apart, studying relatives she’d never met.
When it ended, Anthony led his grieving sister away, leaving Veronica to hitch a ride with distant kin. Passing a chemist, she feigned a headache and bolted.
But her purse was in Anthony’s car.
“Veronica?”
She startled. A man leaned from a car window—*Daniel*. Once the quietest in their group, now handsome, assured.
“Need a lift?”
She gave her address.
“Skipping the wake? Family never accepted you, did they?”
“How’d you guess?”
“Obvious. You don’t belong with them. I was in love with you. Crushed when you married Anthony.”
“I can’t have children.” The words spilled out.
“You? Who said? Anthony?” He almost laughed.
“What?”
“*He’s* the infertile one. Childhood illness. His mother covered it up. Easier to blame you.”
Her breath caught. *Agatha’s words—the deception.*
“Shocked? Sorry.”
“No… she told me today. ‘Right the wrong, and children will come.’ I thought she was mad.”
“Mad? She’s sharper than most. Grief marked her, that’s all.”
“Why tell me this now?”
“Anthony’s free without his mother. He’s been with Emma for years. His mum blocked the divorce—family pride. Emma’s dad had a shady past.”
Veronica sat stunned. They’d reached her flat without her noticing.
“Sorry—”
“No. You couldn’t have timed it better.” She grabbed her suitcase.
*Where? Not Mum’s. Anywhere but here.*
Daniel waited outside.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“I know a place. Quiet. Miles from anyone. You can decide there.”
For the first time in years, she smiled. Wind rushed through the open window as she stretched out her hand, laughing.
“Drive on! I’m free!”
Daniel grinned, eyes full of love.
