It was all because of you…
The heat in July was unbearable, the air thick and heavy with humidity and dust. Jessica breathed heavily, nostrils flaring. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, begging for rest and cool relief.
Her mother-in-law’s birthday was on Saturday, and she and her husband would drive to the countryside. Jessica missed her son terribly, but he was far better off in the fresh air of the cottage than in the stifling city. She imagined sitting under the sprawling apple trees, sipping cool water from the spring, breathing deeply—but first, she had to survive until Saturday. The heat mocked them, refusing to relent. You waited for summer? Dreamed of sunshine? Well, here it is—now stop complaining.
The buses at rush hour were packed with sweaty, sticky bodies, the cramped space above them like a ticking bomb—one spark away from explosion. Walking was no better, but at least she could duck into shops along the way, cooling off under the air conditioning before mustering the strength for the next stretch home.
A shopping centre loomed ahead, and Jessica quickened her pace, desperate to reach the chilled air inside. Finally stepping through the doors, she inhaled deeply. Her heart steadied gratefully.
She wandered slowly between the shops, occasionally stopping to browse for a gift. Her mother-in-law always insisted she didn’t need presents—“Just your company is enough.” But Jessica had seen the pleased glint in her eye whenever she brought something unusual.
Finding nothing, Jessica turned to leave when she spotted a small open stall selling trinkets—pens, hair clips, even gold jewellery. She paused, prolonging her moment of cool comfort before facing the scorching street again. Her gaze skimmed over the trays of costume jewellery and landed on a peculiar vase with a long, narrow neck, its surface a mosaic of muted colours. She had never seen anything like it.
“Could I see that, please?” she asked the young girl behind the counter.
The vase was surprisingly heavy, made of metal, its surface divided by thick, asymmetrical bands filled with enamel, dulled as if dusted with age. Among the garish knick-knacks, it stood out—strange, elegant, expensive.
“How much is it?” Jessica’s eyes widened at the answer.
“Handmade. There’s nothing else like it,” the girl said proudly.
“Is it part of a collection? Where’s it from?”
“A disabled man makes them. Beautiful, but pricey—doesn’t sell much.”
“I’ll take it,” Jessica said on impulse. She imagined a long-stemmed rose inside it, how striking it would look. Her mother-in-law loved unique pieces—she’d appreciate this.
“Could you wrap it nicely?”
The girl rummaged under the counter. As Jessica waited, she scanned the stall’s wares. A woman with a gaunt, pale face approached—though in this heat, many looked the same.
“Hello, Emily. Sold the vase, I see?”
“Yeah.” The girl straightened, shooting Jessica a glance. The woman didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll transfer the money when I finish up,” the girl said.
“Good. I’ll bring more tomorrow.” The woman nodded and walked off.
Jessica frowned. She *knew* her—not just vaguely, but *knew* her. That face tugged at her memory. *Claire… Claire!*
“Will this do?” The girl held up a beautifully wrapped parcel with a red bow. “Extra two quid for the packaging.”
Jessica tapped her card, grabbed the gift, and without waiting for the receipt, hurried after the woman.
Claire walked slowly, head down, lost in thought.
“Claire!” Jessica called.
She turned. For a moment, they just stared.
“You don’t recognise me? It’s Jessica.”
“Of course I do,” Claire said flatly. “You haven’t changed. Unlike me.” She gave a bitter smile. “Bought the vase?” She nodded at the parcel.
“Yes. It’s stunning. My mother-in-law’s birthday’s on Saturday. The girl said a disabled man makes them.”
“My husband,” Claire replied.
They walked together, Jessica matching Claire’s slow pace.
“I thought it was an antique. Is your husband an artist?”
“Among other things. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard—did you fall from the moon? You always were in your own world. It’s Alex’s work.”
“Alex? But the girl said—”
“He *is* disabled. After the accident, he’ll never walk again. At least this pays for bread. We have to live somehow.” She sighed. “Let’s sit. I don’t want to go outside yet.”
They found a café by the exit, the only free table near the door. Everyone else had the same idea—resting in the cool before braving the heat again. A waitress handed them menus.
“Green tea and vanilla ice cream to share,” Claire said before she could ask.
The waitress left, and Claire stared past Jessica. “Funny—I’ve been thinking about you lately. And now here you are, buying Alex’s vase.”
“You recognised me? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Claire shrugged. “What’s there to say? My life’s nothing to boast about. You, though—look at you, spending on pretty trinkets. Husband makes good money?” Her tone was sharp.
“It’s not a trinket. It’s art.”
“Art.” Claire scoffed. “Our flat’s a workshop. He tinkers all day—clay, paint, dust. I’m sick of cleaning. But better that than drinking. After the accident, some bloke in hospital taught him. At first, it was rubbish. Now it sells. Barely.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“’Sorry’ doesn’t cover it. I’m his maid, nurse, cook—everything. I don’t want to live anymore. And it’s all *your* fault.” Claire’s glare burned.
“How is it my fault?”
“Still so naïve. I used to think you pretended. Then I realised—you *literally* only see good in people. All the girls were mad for Alex. And he chose *you*.”
Claire exhaled sharply. “I envy you. Always did. Thought you were plain, nothing special, yet you *got* him. So I made sure you wouldn’t.”
She leaned closer. “Remember when you went home that weekend? He came to the dorm. I got him drunk, took him to bed. Then I got pregnant. Lost the baby.”
She laughed bitterly. “Stole him from you, but got no happiness. No love, no children. Just punishment.”
Jessica sat frozen. The tea cooled, the ice cream melted—neither touched it. Claire needed to confess; Jessica was too stunned to speak.
“If he’d married *you*, the accident wouldn’t have happened. I’d have found some ordinary bloke, had babies, been happy. But no. Now he’s mine—crippled, dependent. No one else would want him.”
Jessica reached for Claire’s hand. Claire jerked away.
“Don’t pity me. I *won*.”
“Claire, maybe I can help. My husband’s a doctor—”
Claire stood abruptly, chair screeching. Heads turned.
“Live your life. Stay out of mine. Or *do* come—see what’s left of the man whose voice made you *shiver*. Maybe I’ll even let you have him back. You’d make a good nurse.”
“Why are you like this?”
“Get lost, Jessica.” Claire stormed out.
Jessica paid for the untouched order and left, nearly forgetting the vase.
She walked home numb, the heat unnoticed, lost in memories of university—her and Claire sharing a dorm room, Alex with his guitar…
***
The vase was a hit. Her mother-in-law turned it in her hands, amazed a disabled man had made it. But Jessica couldn’t shake the encounter.
On Monday, during lunch, she returned to the stall.
“I bought a vase here recently. Could you give me the maker’s address? You send him the money, right? I’d like to order more.”
The girl hesitated. “I promised not to.”
“Then take my number. When that woman brings more, call me. I’ll buy them. Just don’t tell her it’s me.”
The girl agreed. “We get a cut anyway. These don’t sell often.”
Jessica bought every piece Alex made, gifting them to friends. Her husband humoured her—if helping an old friend made her happy, so be it.
She pitied Alex and Claire. If Claire hadn’t interfered, perhaps the accident never would’ve happened. But that was another life.
Jessica was happy—loved her husband, adored her son, couldn’t imagine things differently.
Some things aren’t worth stealing. What glitters isn’t always gold.
