**Tuesday, 9th May**
I sat knitting, the rhythmic click of needles normally soothing. Gran peered at me over her spectacles, a knowing glint in her faded blue eyes. “Ducks, as they say, not every Sophie hails from Chelsea, not every David is a knight. Saints are rare and sinners aplenty. Cast not the first stone, eh? Look within. Were you truly the perfect wife to your David?” Her words hung heavy, implying she already knew the answer.
“Gran, David’s left me! For Sophie, my own friend! Where’s the fairness? Should I just swallow it?” Anger crackled in my voice.
“Fair or not, love, don’t go charging down to David’s office wailing about his roving eye to his manager. You’ll only shame yourself. Seen it, oh, back in the day… Heartsick wives running to the union committee, tears and snot. But love follows no rule, knows no bounds. Won’t do a lick of good, duck. Accept it. Time sorts the wheat from the chaff.” Her calm was infuriating. My bombshell about David’s affair and Sophie’s treachery seemed to barely ripple her composure. Like it was just another Tuesday teatime.
Accept it? Easy for her to say. Sophie, that supposed friend, turned out to be a right piece of work. Buried one husband, sets her sights straight on mine. Not a chance; he’s mine! David *had* always looked at her differently. I recall that trip with the lads and lasses to the spa. Couldn’t take his eyes off Sophie, wrapped in a fluffy towel. Like the cat that got the cream, he was. Gazing, practically undressing her with his eyes. I dismissed it then, little hints meaning nothing. Sophie’s beautiful, soft, undeniably kind. So what? David and I shared sixteen years, a son, Benjamin. I genuinely thought our family unbreakable.
Sophie and Edward never had children. I knew Sophie grieved it deeply. Edward? He mostly just clammed up. Probably hurting in that stubborn manly way. We were such close families – weekends in the New Forest, holidays together in Devon. Lived it up. Well, all things end. Trouble was lurking, smirking on the doorstep.
“Grace, ambulance took Edward! Heart attack. Oh, Lord, I told him: ‘Let’s adopt!’ But no, silence, just that grim face. Now, I just don’t know…” Sophie sobbed, distraught.
“Easy now, Sophie. He’ll pull through! You’ll see. Edward’s strong,” I soothed her properly.
“Oh, Grace! How can I live without him? He was my rock! My comfort. What am I alone?” Her tears were gut-wrenching.
“Don’t bury him yet, Sophie. Pull yourself together. Chin up. Full face on, hair done, smartest outfit. Smile bright and march into that hospital! He’ll fall for you all over again, feel better quicker…” That time, it ended well. Edward recovered. Life resumed.
Soon after, Edward and Sophie adopted a little girl, three-year-old Daisy. Bliss reigned.
“Could die happy now!” Edward suddenly declared one Christmas dinner.
“Edward! Don’t talk rot! You’ve got Daisy to raise!” We were stunned at his odd words.
“Just saying… my life meant something, warmed one little soul. Relies on Sophie, my wife. She’ll manage Daisy. Permits her to marry if… well…” His eyes held a strange, deep sorrow. Cryptic.
“Oh, stop it, Edward! Come on, everyone, raise a glass to family happiness!” David gave the toast. And we moved on, forgetting his odd confession. For a while.
Death knocks on every door. Edward didn’t see the next blow. A second, massive heart attack gave him no chance. Edward sleeps for eternity.
Sophie was left with Daisy. She mourned the proper time, then emerged. Changed. Only thirty, she transformed completely. Blonde locks vanished, replaced by raven black. Wardrobe updated, smiles became frequent. We still gathered socially.
David could barely contain himself waiting to see Sophie each time. Around her, he sparkled with terrible jokes, laughed too loudly, fell over himself to please the young widow. Daisy was constantly in his arms. I brushed it off. Thought he was just being supportive, helping his friend’s widow. Silly me.
Sophie invited David and me for Daisy’s tenth birthday. The party buzzed with laughter and good wishes for the birthday girl.
“Daddy, when are you coming to live with us?” Daisy whispered… to David.
David kissed her cheek, whispering back: “Soon, sweet pea, soon…”
I pretended deafness. Couldn’t make a scene before the child, especially on her day. Not her fault adults play cruel games.
Home later, I broached it gently. “David, are you leaving us?”
“Where’d you get that idea, sweet pea?” His denial was cool, shameless.
“Sweet peas all over the place now. Mixed messages?” My nerves frayed.
“Ah… that. Honestly, I don’t know what to say…” He flushed, stammered.
“He’s *mine*! You hear? Helping the widow now? Sophie’s got her path; we have ours! Forgot Benjamin? What’ll he think of bigamy? Feel clever now?” Hatred and contempt for him burned in me then.
…
Six months later, David made good on it. Benjamin cut all ties with his father. My house echoed its emptiness. The moment I learned of the affair, I began slowly unweaving David from my soul. Agony and resignation intertwined those six months. He was still physically present; hope died hard that he’d regain his senses, forget Sophie. But Gran was right: love knows no bounds.
Sophie bore David a son. Once, I saw them in Regent’s Park. Daisy held the baby’s hand; Sophie and David walked slightly ahead, admiring their brood. Unseen. And rightly so? Why shatter their cloudless sky?
Back home, I called Benjamin over.
“Son, don’t hold your father’s grudge forever. Reconcile. Don’t fall out over me. Let him find happiness. Learn from it. If you ever think of leaving your wife, remember how you felt when your dad walked out. Might make you think twice about setting up shop elsewhere,” I counselled my grown son.
“Alright, Mum. I’ll talk to him. Won’t forget, though,” he promised, then added unexpectedly: “Mum, spite them. Find someone new. Show Dad he let go of someone special.”
“Son, spite helps no one. You lose more. Your dad *is* happy in his new life. Plain to see… But I still love David. Won’t ruin their domestic bliss, however it hurts.” My sigh felt pulled from deep within.
“You’re wrong. You fight for your family!” Benjamin was firm.
And me? Maybe I wasn’t the best wife. Loved him as I knew how. After he left, I didn’t turn bitter, didn’t wallow. Steered clear of fortune-tellers and their dark promises. Sin, that is.
Peace settles within me, surprising and warm. Light still. Acceptance… finally.
