Shades of Happiness
“Oh, hello there, old chap,” said Edward, welcoming his childhood friend Isaac into his home. Isaac had moved to the city years ago but had returned to the village for a visit.
“Good to see you,” Isaac replied, embracing him. “It’s been ages. Four months since my grandmother’s funeral—I meant to come sooner, but life got in the way. Finally took some leave to relax here in the countryside.”
“Brilliant idea,” Edward said, grinning. “We’ll go fishing at the woodland lake, maybe even the river, remember how we used to?”
They had been inseparable as boys—racing through the village lanes, swimming in the river, dreaming up all sorts of mischief. Isaac had always been the quick-witted one, full of wild ideas, while Edward was the steady hand, ever loyal.
“Where’s your wife, then? You alone?” Isaac asked.
“Popped to the shops, she’ll be back soon. Proper homemaker, she is—cooks like a dream, feeds me till I’m fit to burst,” Edward boasted.
They’d married six years ago, but children hadn’t come. They’d visited the local clinic, but the doctors said everything was fine—just a matter of time. Edward doted on his wife, carrying her burdens, shielding her from strain. The village women whispered, some in admiration, others in envy.
“Lucky Daphne, that one. Edward treats her like porcelain. Doesn’t drink, adores her.”
Daphne lived contentedly, tending the house, changing her dresses with the seasons. Only when she saw the neighbour’s children did a shadow cross her heart. She worked as an accountant for the parish council.
They seldom spoke of children, though Edward often wondered—”A baby would bring us closer.” Sometimes he felt an invisible chill from her.
Daphne knew her husband loved her fiercely—too fiercely, at times. His devotion could feel stifling.
“Hello,” came Daphne’s soft voice as she stepped inside, a shopping bag in hand. Edward sprang up to take it from her, whisking it to the kitchen.
“Hello,” Isaac said cheerfully, his gaze lingering on Daphne’s slender frame, her honey-blonde curls. “I’m Isaac—Edward’s old friend.”
“I don’t recall him mentioning you,” she said, glancing at her husband.
“He’s been in London. His grandmother passed a few months back—lived down the lane. Remember old Mrs. Whitmore? You’re not from here, so you wouldn’t know him.”
“Oh, right. So you’re her grandson. Isaac the city boy—left right after school.”
“Spot on,” Isaac confirmed with a grin.
“Right, Daphne, we’ll take a stroll while you whip up supper,” Edward said, and they stepped out.
It was early September, autumn painting the world in gold and russet. They dined in the garden, the air crisp with falling leaves.
“I’m chuffed you’re back, mate. Finally, a proper fishing trip! You ought to visit more. Remember herding cows with my grandad? Scrumping apples from old Thompson’s orchard? Now you’re all posh and metropolitan.”
“Come off it—I was born here. This’ll always be home,” Isaac clapped him on the shoulder.
Daphne watched the two men, laughing over old stories, and marvelled at their bond. She fetched a pie from the oven, slicing it warm.
“Bloody delicious! Never tasted anything like it,” Isaac enthused.
“Oh, my wife’s a marvel,” Edward bragged. “Look how she’s fattened me up!”
They drank wine late into the night, the lanterns flickering as dusk settled. Daphne studied Isaac—too handsome, too smooth.
*Probably has women queuing in London. No wonder he’s single. Flits from one to the next.*
Isaac left late. Over the next days, he visited often—Edward was at work, but evenings were theirs. One weekend, they fished under a bright September sky, the catch sizzling over a firepit, old friends joining in.
At one gathering, Daphne caught Isaac’s gaze—warm, intent. She knew that look.
After dark, she slipped out to lock the shed. Turning, she collided with Isaac.
“Blimey! What are you doing here?”
“Admiring the moon. You?”
“Hardly. Just shutting up for the night. You nipped out for a smoke?”
“No. I followed you,” he said plainly. “I fancy you, Daphne. Fell for you the moment I saw you. Surely you’ve noticed?”
“Isaac, you’ve had one too many,” she flushed, grateful for the dark.
“Not a drop. Dead serious. Two weeks I’ve thought of nothing but you—”
“Daph?” Edward’s voice cut through. She stepped back.
“Just locking up. Don’t want the hens wandering at dawn.”
“You here too?” Edward frowned at Isaac.
“Ah, just asking Daphne where a bloke might… you know.” He chuckled. Daphne gestured vaguely toward the fence.
She played the dutiful wife but reeled from Isaac’s words. That night, sleep wouldn’t come.
*Why am I thinking of him? Probably a rake. Doesn’t care I’m married.*
Next afternoon, Isaac turned up—knowing Edward was at work.
“Hello,” he smiled, stepping inside. “Just popped by.”
“Edward’s not here.”
“I know, Daph,” he murmured, eyes crinkling. “Missed you. Can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Isaac, I thought we were joking last night.”
“Joking? I’m in love. My life’s changed.”
Daphne wavered. His hands found hers. She wanted to feel wanted.
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, lips at her ear, arms tightening.
She hadn’t expected to yield. Afterward, cheeks burning, she watched him devour her pie at the table.
“Always wanted a wife like you. A proper homemaker. Beautiful, too.”
“Right. Well, best be off.”
Isaac’s words left her giddy. Even the melancholy autumn seemed radiant.
*Should’ve waited. Maybe he’s my destiny.*
When Edward returned, reality crashed down.
Their secret trysts continued. Isaac whispered pretty words, and Daphne’s head spun.
“My leave’s nearly up. I’ll have to go back,” he said one day at his cottage.
“Couldn’t you stay? Commute to London?”
“You’d want that?”
“Yes. I can’t bear you leaving.”
“I’ll be back in two weeks. Promise.”
“What about Edward?”
“Doesn’t matter. Not when I’m with you.”
Isaac left. Daphne ached. Her holiday ended. Resolved, she packed a bag and fled to her friend Rita’s.
“Daph, are you sure? What did you tell Edward?”
“Left a note: *‘We’ve had six years. It’s over. I’ve fallen for someone else.’* Isaac’s coming back. We’ll live here.”
Edward didn’t come after her. Weeks passed. Rain replaced sunshine. Still, she waited—realising too late she’d never taken Isaac’s number.
Then, one evening, light glowed in his window. Heart pounding, she ran to him.
“I left Edward! I’m free!”
“Why’d you do that?” he asked coldly.
“What? To be with you! You said—”
“I never said I’d marry you. I’ve a fiancée in London. Edward’s a good man—where’d you find another like him? And why would I want you? You dropped him the moment I crooked a finger.”
He spoke calmly, smirking. She left, numb.
Rita took one look and understood.
“He said I was unfaithful. That he’s engaged… He’s right, Rita.”
Two weeks later, rummaging through her bag, Daphne found the unsent note.
“Rita—I never gave it to him! He doesn’t know!”
That evening, she bumped into Edward outside the grocer’s.
“Hello,” he said softly. “How’ve you been?”
“Getting by.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Daph, come home. Rita said you’ve been poorly. Let’s get you some apples—vitamins, eh?” He offered his arm, like old times.
They walked back in the twilight. Home again, she exhaled.
*He’s forgiven me.*
Edward had always known Isaac’s games. He’d waited, watched her enter that cottage, seen her flee.
Later, he found Isaac packing his car. One punch sent him sprawling. Edward walked away—never kick a man when he’s down.
Now, though guilt lingers, their son—little Charlie—lights their home. Edward never speaks of the past. Happiness has returned, in shades deeper than before.
