HE CAME… BECAUSE HE LOVED
Peter had moved to the village of Little Hollow from the neighbouring district. At first, he stayed in a cosy but slightly rundown cottage left to him by a distant aunt—just temporary, while his own house was being built. One evening, as he hammered the last few nails into the veranda, he spotted her—a slender, elegant woman with a distinctly city air about her, walking from the bus stop. Lydia. That was his neighbour’s name.
“Proper lovely… And what posture,” he thought. “A real lady.”
A couple of days later, he met her outside the village shop. No point beating around the bush.
“You’re Lydia, aren’t you? I asked around. I’m Peter. Fancy a proper introduction?”
She blushed but glowed inside—a man like him noticing *her*! Peter didn’t let up, and soon they were courting. A year later, he slid a little velvet box across the table with a ring inside…
…Years flew by. Lydia was now fifty-eight, Peter three years younger. They lived together in their snug home with its freshly painted veranda. Their son, all grown up, had long since moved to another county with his own family. Their pride and joy was their five-year-old granddaughter, Alice—utterly spoiled, naturally.
That evening, Lydia waited for Peter to come home from work. He’d been out in the fields—spring planting was nearly done. She’d made a hearty beef stew, set the table, and lingered by the window, lost in thought.
“Bit late today, my Peter… Said they’d finish up by now.”
Staring through the glass, her mind wandered back. Her childhood hadn’t been easy. The eldest of six in a cramped house—parents, Gran, and a rowdy brood of kids. Both parents worked dawn till dusk, so Lydia and Gran kept the home running.
When she told little Alice about it, the girl just blinked.
“Gran, what did you play with if you didn’t have toys?”
“Oh, bits and bobs, love… pebbles, sticks, rags…”
No use explaining further—some things were best left for when she was older.
Lydia’s father had been a carpenter—skilled hands, always in demand. Paid decently, too, but come evening, a bottle always appeared. Cheerful with a pint in him, her mum would grumble, but he was gentle with the kids, never raised a hand.
They never had Christmas trees at home. The first decorated one Lydia ever saw was at school. Magical, it was.
Her father died when she was just nine. Two months later, Gran followed. Mum was left with six children. The neighbours helped with the funeral, but after that, life was a grind.
“Mum… what do we do now?” Lydia had whispered.
“No idea, love. But we’ll manage. What choice is there?”
Childhood ended then and there. Lydia became a second mother—cooking, cleaning, minding the little ones. Dreams of friends and games faded. Summers were better, at least—gardening and chores, hard but familiar.
At ten, she fell off the shed reaching for hay. Her arm never quite healed right. Doctors did their best, but her fingers stayed stiff. School was a struggle, but she pushed through.
After secondary school, she went to college. Finally, a taste of happiness. Friends, respect, even praise—especially for her sewing.
“Lydia, you’re a star! Look how neat her stitches are!”
She even got to travel abroad once with the top students. Came home with gifts—clothes she’d sewn for her siblings. Rarely anything for herself.
Second year, she fell for Paul. Kind, funny, thoughtful. They courted, she dreamed of marriage. But her mother cut her short.
“Who’d want you with that hand of yours? You’ll be alone—mark my words.”
The words stuck like a knife. Slowly, things fizzled with Paul. After college, she found work, but got laid off a few years later. Back to the village she went.
Then *he* arrived—Peter. Tall, handsome, hardworking. Built a house, moved in next door. And noticed *her*…
And so it began—properly this time. He didn’t care about the age gap. Didn’t flinch at her scars, her stiff fingers. He just loved her.
Their son turned out well—kind, bright. And now little Alice was the apple of their eye.
That evening, as the stew cooled, Lydia spotted him through the window. Peter walked in, tired but grinning.
“Done, love! Planting’s all wrapped up. Just need a proper sit-down now,” he said, stepping inside.
She adjusted his collar, hugged him. And he looked at her—just like he had all those years ago. With love.
