ARE YOU MY HAPPINESS?
To be honest, I never planned on getting married. If it hadnt been for my future husbands persistent wooing, Id probably still be a carefree bachelor. William, like a determined moth, fluttered around me, never losing sight, eager to please at every turnhe practically dusted the cobwebs off me. In the end, I surrendered. We got married.
William quickly became my home, my comfort, my closest companion. Life with him was easy, familiarlike slipping into a pair of old slippers.
A year later, our son Edward was born. Williams job was in Manchester, so hed come home to London only once a week. Hed always bring us treatscakes, crisps, sometimes a lovely pork pie. One evening, as usual, I began preparing to wash his clothes, checking pockets for forgotten bits and bobsa habit ever since I accidentally washed his driving license years ago.
This time, a crumpled paper tumbled from his trousers. Unfolded, it revealed a long list of school supplies (it was August). At the bottom, written in a childish scrawl: Dad, come home soon.
So that’s what my husband had been up to on the side! A double life!
I didnt throw a fit or march off dramatically. Instead, I packed a bag, held Edwards little handhe hadnt even turned threeand went to stay with my mum for a while. Mum set us up in the spare room: Stay here till you two patch things up.
Vengeful thoughts brewed in my mind. I remembered Tom from school. Always fancied me, never let up, not even years later. So I rang him.
Hey Tom, have you tied the knot yet? I asked slyly.
Lucy! Hello! Married, divorcedwhat does it matter? Fancy a meet-up? Tom chimed in, perky as ever.
That rebound lasted half a year. William brought Edward his monthly maintenance moneyhanded it to my mum and left in silence.
Word was William was living with Kate Evans, who had a little girl from her first marriage. Kate made her daughter call William Dad. They all lived in Williams flat. Once Kate got wind that Id gone, she and her daughter moved from Birmingham to London to be with him. Kate adored William. She knitted him woolly socks and thick jumpers, fed him hearty stews and Sunday roasts. I only learned all this later, but Ill forever remind my husband of Kate Evans. At that time, though, I thought our marriage was done for, collapsed entirely.
One day, over coffee discussing the impending divorce, William and I got swept up in a flood of fond memories. William confessed his undying love, begged forgiveness. He admitted he didnt know how to get rid of the insistent Kate.
I felt awfully sorry for him. We reunited. For the record, William never found out about Tom. Kate and her daughter moved away from London for good.
Seven years of happy family life followed. Then William was involved in a nasty car accident. Surgeries on his leg; months of rehab and walking with a stick. Recovery took two years. The ordeal wore William down. He started drinking heavily and lost himselfbecame a shadow. He was unreachable, hurting himself and us. No amount of coaxing helped. He refused every attempt at support.
Meanwhile, at work I found a shoulder to cry onPaul. Hed listen to me on a cigarette break inside the courtyard, join me on long walks after hours, cheer me up, console me. Paul was married, his wife expecting their second child. To this day, I cant fathom how we ended up in bed togetherlunacy, really. Paul was a head shorter than me, rather slight and entirely not my type!
And so it beganPaul dragging me to galleries, concerts, ballets. But once his wife gave birth to a daughter, all that stopped. He left our firm, found other work. Perhaps, in his mind, out of sight, out of mind? I didnt lay claim; I let Paul return to his family. He merely silenced my pain for a while. I never intended to break up a home.
Williams drinking continued.
Five years later, fate threw Paul and me together. He seriously proposed marriage. I just laughed.
William pulled himself togetherfleetingly. He went off to work in Prague. Meanwhile, I was the model wife and loving mother. My thoughts revolved around the family.
William returned after six months. We renovated the flat, bought new appliances. William finally fixed up his car. All seemed well. But before long, William relapsed. Hell returned. His mates would drag him home, as he could barely walk, sometimes only crawl. Often, Id be dashing around Clapham looking for my unsteady husband, usually finding him snoring on a park bench, pockets turned out and emptied, carrying him home myself. We went through the wringer.
One spring morning, I stood at a bus stop, feeling low. The birds chirped; sunlight warmed my cheeks, but I felt none of the April joy. Suddenly, someone whispered gently near my ear:
Perhaps I can help with your troubles.
I turned. Oh, goodness! What a charming mana delight to behold. And here I was, forty-five! Was I really ready to be a berry again? I blushed like a schoolgirl. Thank heavens, the bus arrived, I hopped on and left before anything could happen. He waved after me. I spent the day thinking only about him.
I played coy a few weeks, just for the sake of it.
But Georgethat was his namebroke through all my defences. Every morning he waited for me at the stop. I made sure not to be late, peered down the street to see if my gallant man was there. Spotting me, George would send air-kisses with a grin.
One day he handed me bunches of red tulips. I protested: How will I explain flowers at work? The ladies there will have a field day!
George smiled. Sorry, never thought of the dire consequences.
And right there, he handed the bouquet to an old lady whod been watching us. She perked right up: Cheers, love! Hope you get a passionate girlfriend! I blushed scarlet. Good thing she didnt wish him a younger lassId have died of embarrassment.
George turned back to me. Lucy, lets both be guilty! You wont regret it.
Honestly, it was a tempting proposition at just the right time. My marriage was deadWilliam spent his days sprawled, insensible from drink.
George turned out to be a non-smoking, teetotal, former athlete (he was fifty-seven) and a brilliant conversationalist. Divorced. He had a magnetic pull.
I dove headlong into that romanceit was a whirlpool of passion. For three years I flitted between home and George. It was chaos inside me.
I couldnt, didnt want to stop. I tried when I finally wanted out, but didnt have the strength. As they say, you can chase a man away but he wont leave. George possessed me completely, mind and body. You know the saying: Once youre smitten, reason flies out the window. When he was beside me, Id forget to breathe! Pure madness. I knew deep down this wild passion would lead nowhere good. I never loved George.
After those urgent trysts, Id come home, longing to snuggle with William, my owndrunk, dishevelled, but so familiar and dear. Better dry bread with ones own than fancy pies with a stranger. That, I thought, was the truth of life. As for passionit comes from pain. I wanted to suffer out George, heal, and return to my family, not drift in self-indulgence. My mind was clear, but my body raced to the edge of sweet ruin. I was still prisoner to that overwhelming passion.
My son knew about George. Hed spotted us at a restaurant when he came in with his own girlfriend. I had no choice but to introduce them. They shook hands, exchanged pleasantries. Later, at dinner, Edward gave me a questioning look. He wanted answers. I joked, A colleague invited me to discuss a project. In a restaurant, eh? Edward nodded knowingly. He didn’t judgehe only asked me not to divorce dad. He hoped William might come around, find his senses.
I felt like a lost sheep, strayed from the flock. My divorced friend strongly urged me to ditch all these rotten lovers and calm down. I took her advice seriously. Shed worn through three husbands and had the experience to back it up. Still, these were logical thoughts; the heart lagged far behind. I could only stop when George tried to raise a hand against me.
That was the line.
My friend had warned me: The seas calm until you step in. The scales fell away. The world was bright againthree years of torment lifted! Free at last; only peace remained.
George kept pursuing me for ages afterwards. Waiting round corners, begging forgiveness publicly on bended kneebut I never budged. My friend, the advisor, kissed me and gave me a mug that read Youre doing the right thing!
As for William, he knew all about my shameful escapadeGeorge called him and spilled everything. My lover was certain Id leave my family for him. William said to me:
When I listened to him ramble, I just wanted to fade away. Its all my fault. I lost you. Traded a wife for the demon drink. What could I say in my defence?
Ten years have passed since then. William and I have two granddaughters. We sit sometimes at the dining table, sipping coffee. I glance out the window. William gently takes my hand:
Lucy, dont look elsewhere. I am your happiness. Do you believe me?
Of course I do, my one and onlyI paused, searching Williams face for the man Id once surrendered tothe moth that fluttered so faithfully. His eyes, tired yet kind, hadnt lost their old spark. All the years of storms seemed distant, a backdrop to this quiet morning. I squeezed his hand, letting go of the ghosts and regrets that had wandered through my heart. Happiness, I realized, wasnt the wild rush or the dizzying whirlwind; it was the warmth of worn slippers, the everyday comfort of shared laughter, simple forgiveness.
Yes, William, I whispered, my voice steady as the dawn, You are my happiness. You always were.
He smileda smile that chased away years of shadows. In that moment, I knew: love doesnt promise perfection. It offers shelter, second chances, and the gentle persistence that holds a family together. I looked at our granddaughters playing in the garden, their laughter floating through the open window, and felt whole for the first time in ages.
Whatever came nextwhatever storms life brewedI was certain Id face them holding Williams hand, grateful for the quiet, ordinary joy wed built, side by side.
And with that, I finally stopped searching.
