In September, a new girl named Lucy joined the class. She was so delicate and slender, it seemed a strong gust of wind might snap her in two. She always wore a warm jumper over her bony shoulders, her thin blonde hair braided into wispy pigtails tied with oversized pink bows. Her big eyes, set in a pale, triangular face, always looked sad and startled.
To tall, sporty Matthew, she looked like a fairy-tale princess in need of protection—and so, with great enthusiasm, he took up the role. The other girls, however, took an instant dislike to the new girl.
“Nothing to look at, yet she acts like she’s something special,” they whispered bitterly at break. “Skin and bones, but she’s bagged the best boy in school!”
Lucy never ate in the canteen—school food made her queasy. Instead, she brought a large apple every day, nibbling tiny bites so slowly she never finished it in time. The girls snorted whenever they spotted the half-eaten core in the bin. Matthew, meanwhile, wolfed down his lunch and rushed to her side, ever the gallant protector.
He carried her bag, walked her home, and none of the lads dared tease him—not unless they fancied a black eye, given Matthew’s reputation for strength. Soon, everyone got used to seeing them together everywhere.
After school, Matthew fought a tough battle with his parents—instead of heading off to university in the city, he enrolled at the local college. Where he studied didn’t matter, so long as he didn’t have to leave Lucy. Her parents adored him and trusted him completely with their daughter. Lucy did well in her studies but barely scraped through exams—she grew faint at every one. Further education was out of the question.
Lucy was their late-in-life child, and her parents fussed over her constantly, terrified she might fall ill or overexert herself. Though, truth be told, she wasn’t sick all that often.
At a family meeting, it was decided that for a young woman, marriage mattered more than degrees—and on that front, things were perfect. Matthew was the ideal match. Lucy’s mother, a doctor, secured her a job as the clinic secretary. So there Lucy sat, typing away in reception and answering calls.
Only Matthew’s parents weren’t thrilled. She wasn’t the daughter-in-law they’d imagined for their son. They warned him he didn’t know what he was getting into—she’d never be his support, might never even bear children…
But Matthew didn’t care. He just liked looking after his delicate girl. It made him feel even stronger beside her. He loved how different she was from other girls, and the way her big grey eyes fixed on him. Still, his parents’ nagging wore him down, so one day—he proposed.
Lucy’s parents were overjoyed. Their daughter had landed a proper catch—they could rest easy now; she’d never want for anything. True, Lucy wasn’t much of a homemaker. So they agreed the newlyweds would live with them until they settled into married life. Their house was bigger, after all.
Matthew’s parents weren’t thrilled, but at least they knew he’d be well-fed.
The young couple lived quietly and happily. There was nothing to fight over. When Lucy fell pregnant, no one believed it at first—even late into the term, her bump was tiny. And as for passion? None of the parents ever heard so much as a squeak from their room at night.
Lucy wasn’t even allowed to lift a book, lest she strain herself carrying the baby. Eventually, the parents banned the couple from sharing a bed altogether—Matthew was moved to a sofa in the living room.
He hated it. Soon, he started sleeping at his parents’ instead. Everyone was fine with this—except his parents, who never stopped griping about how he’d shackled himself to that waif. He’d spend his life waiting on her hand and foot!
Their nagging wore him down. One night, angry, he stormed out to see his mates.
And that’s when he met Samantha—a curvy, dark-haired bombshell who looked like she’d walked straight out of a pin-up calendar. The attraction was instant, reckless. They threw themselves at each other like starving dogs on a steak. The heat between them grew with every meeting.
His parents scolded him for straying when his wife needed him, but Lucy seemed untroubled. She was absorbed in the life growing inside her. The baby kicked fiercely, giving her ravenous hunger—he only calmed in fresh air, so Lucy spent hours on the balcony reading.
Maybe the baby took after his father’s fiery spirit, or maybe he was just sick of the cramped quarters—either way, he came early. Small but sturdy, he was the spitting image of Matthew. Even Lucy’s parents admitted it, delighted.
Matthew, meanwhile, was with Samantha. His mother rang him at work the next day to break the news—he was a father. He raced to the hospital, standing under the window, staring up at his exhausted wife, who looked even thinner than before.
When Lucy and the baby were discharged, Matthew carried his son the whole way home—Lucy was too weak. It was a miracle she’d given birth at all. She was flat-chested as a teenager, yet milk flowed like a river. The boy fed, grew stronger, and within a month, he was a chubby, healthy lad with a set of lungs and an appetite to match.
Lucy’s parents took over most of the baby duties. All she was trusted with was pushing the pram. She’d gaze at her sleeping son, struggling to believe he was hers—he looked nothing like her, all his father.
At first, Matthew rushed home after work to his family. But soon, the evenings with Samantha called him back. Still, he always came home to Lucy at night.
Both sets of parents sighed, understanding things weren’t easy for him with Lucy. He’d settle down eventually.
But Samantha wasn’t having it. She grew jealous, demanding he leave his wife.
“Why stick with that dried-up twig?” she pressed. “Useless at home, useless in bed. Time to make a choice.”
Their rows wore Matthew down. Meanwhile, Lucy never scolded or demanded a thing. When he came home, she’d smile, update him on their son. The moment he held the boy, his heart melted with love. But still—Samantha pulled at him like gravity.
Then, one day, it ended. After a nasty fight, Matthew stayed away for days. When he finally returned, a neighbor handed him a letter—Samantha had found someone else, left town.
Matthew got blind drunk for the first time in his life. He staggered to his parents’ place and collapsed at the door. When he sobered up, he went home to Lucy. She asked no questions, just smiled as he settled back into family life. Their son, Charlie, clung to him like glue—only Daddy could toss him in the air, play horsey on all fours.
Matthew found comfort in his wife and boy. Evenings were now for father and son. Charlie adored him, obeyed without question. Both lively, both so alike. Lucy knew she was the odd one out and didn’t mind—Matthew was the better parent anyway.
When Charlie was in Year 5, Lucy’s father died. Her mother followed a year and a half later, heartbroken. Suddenly, Lucy had to learn to keep house. Matthew and Charlie helped—tidying, shopping. With his mum’s coaching, she even learned to cook.
Charlie, taking after his dad, took on the heavy chores when Matthew was at work. The neighbors cooed whenever they saw them together—Charlie almost as tall as his father now, Lucy like a reed beside them.
“How’d she land such luck?” grumbled one neighbor. “A gorgeous husband, and a son even better! My girl’s breaking her back for a useless drunk, while this one gets everything handed to her.”
Matthew’s mother died of cancer just as Charlie finished school. His father faded soon after. Lucy tried to cheer him, but grief took him within a year.
Charlie went off to university, married a vivacious beauty named Emily. Meanwhile, Matthew and Lucy settled into quiet companionship.
Then Matthew’s heart began acting up. Gone were the days of push-up contests with Charlie—now there was a paunch, thinning hair. Even Lucy had streaks of silver, though she stayed as slender as ever—time hardly touching her.
After one particularly bad spell, Matthew lay in hospital. Every day, Lucy brought fresh juices and broth, chattering away while he listened, still seeing the same girl who’d walked into his classroom years ago.
“Forgive me,” he murmured one day.
“Don’t be silly. I’m the one who’s sorry. You deserved a proper wife.” She pressed his hand to her lips.
Months later, Matthew died in his sleep. A blood clot, the doctors said. At the funeral, Charlie brought his eldest boy. Lucy took one look at her son and wept—he was Matthew all over again.
“Come live with us, Mum,” Charlie urged afterward. “No point you being alone.”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. When your boy’s older, send him to me. Cleaner air, better schools—and youAnd so, when her time finally came, she closed her eyes with a smile, knowing she’d see him again.
