Sunshine After the Rain…
“Liz, come here. I was down in the shed and got you some potatoes.”
Elizabeth turned toward her neighbour’s yard.
“Oh, thank you, Aunt Margaret. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
“Don’t be daft, love. Pay me back? As if. Should’ve thought about that before having so many kids.”
Liz swallowed the hurtful words. She knew payday was still a week away, and milk alone wouldn’t keep them going. It wasn’t just her—three little ones were waiting at home. The “Pete” her neighbour was muttering about had been her husband—now ex—ever since he’d stormed out last year, furious that the government wouldn’t hand them a house or a car just for having three children. He’d packed his things and announced he refused to live in poverty. Liz had been washing dishes at the time, and she’d dropped a plate.
“Pete, what are you saying? You’re a grown man. Get a proper job if you want more money. These are *your* children. You always said you wanted a big family!”
“I did, but I didn’t realise the system would screw us over. What’s the point of working if it’s for nothing?”
Liz’s hands fell limp.
“Pete… what about us? How am I supposed to manage alone?”
“Liz, I dunno. And honestly, why didn’t *you* put your foot down? One kid would’ve been enough. You’re the one who should’ve known better.”
She didn’t get another word in. Pete bolted out the door and sprinted to the bus stop. Tears pricked her eyes—until she saw three pairs watching her. Tommy, the eldest, was starting school this year. Little Ben was five, and their star, Daisy, was just two. Liz forced a smile.
“Right then, who’s up for pancakes?”
The kids squealed with delight—though later that night, Tommy whispered, “Mum… is Dad really not coming back?”
Liz hesitated, then simply said, “No, love.”
Tommy sniffled before replying, “S’alright. We’ll manage. I’ll help you.”
By the time Liz got back from the dairy that evening, the little ones were fed and tucked in. She couldn’t believe how quickly her boy had grown up.
***
After thanking Margaret for the potatoes, Liz trudged home. *”Blimey, when’s this winter ending? Worst one in years.”* The potatoes would’ve lasted, but a sudden frost had ruined half the village’s stores. Folk pitied them—the village was full of kind souls—but never missed a chance to remind her what a fool she’d been. A fool? Maybe. But now she couldn’t imagine life without any of her children. They scraped by. New clothes and toys would’ve been nice, but the kids never asked. They knew Mum would get them when she could. This year, Tommy had even drawn up plans for a big greenhouse—just plastic sheeting for now, but they’d worked out how many more jars of tomatoes and cucumbers they could preserve.
As Liz shifted the bucket to her other hand, she spotted a small crowd—well, a crowd for their village at this time of year. Three people huddled near her fence.
“Big lad, that one. Must’ve been in a fight.”
“Looks like a boar got him. He’s not long for this world.”
Liz gasped when she saw what they were staring at. “What’re you all standing around for? He needs help!”
The neighbours turned. Old Mr. Harris scoffed, “Don’t be daft, Liz. Look at those teeth! Who’d dare go near him? Besides, it’s too late.”
“Too late? He came to *us* for help!”
A huge dog lay bleeding in the snow—maybe a hunting breed, maybe not. Liz didn’t know dogs, but she saw the pain in his eyes. The villagers chuckled and wandered off. No one wanted trouble.
Liz gently stroked between his ears. “Hold on, just a bit longer. I’ll fetch a blanket, and we’ll get you home.”
A rustle came from behind. “Mum, I brought a blanket. And we can use the old fridge shelf as a stretcher.”
She spun around. Tommy stood there, eyes wet. The dog whimpered, gripping the blanket in his teeth before going still—passed out from the pain. The younger two watched wide-eyed from the sofa.
“Mum… is he gonna make it?”
Tommy patted the dog’s head as his cloudy eyes fluttered open. “He *has* to. We’ll look after him.”
***
The next morning, the dairy workers cornered Liz.
“Liz, what were you *thinking*? Bringing some strange beast into your house—with kids?”
“Exactly! As if feeding three isn’t hard enough. And for what? He’ll die anyway—or worse, turn on them!”
Liz raised her voice. “Don’t you lot have enough gossip of your own? Jen, didn’t Kate threaten to scalp you over her husband sneaking through your back garden? And Tina—sort your own house out before judging mine. Your boy’s already drinking behind the shops at fourteen!”
The women fell silent, even stepped back. Liz had never snapped like that before. She grabbed the milk pail. *”Need extra for Jack. Maybe he’ll drink it.”*
Tommy had named the dog Jack. He barely left his side—gently adjusting his head, fetching water, tucking an old boot under him for comfort. That night, Jack lapped up a little milk.
“There’s a good boy. You’ll pull through…”
And he did. Liz fed him like one of her own, even skipping meals to do it. By week three, he was wobbling around the house. The kids petted him carefully, still wary of his size. Jack claimed a spot by Tommy’s bed. The village still gossiped, but Liz ignored them. Let them talk.
***
Spring arrived overnight. Liz and Tommy rushed to cover a garden bed, eager to warm the soil. Since taking in Jack, the villagers had stopped helping. *”Fair enough,”* Liz thought. *”If I can feed a dog, I can feed us.”*
She didn’t blame them. She’d chosen to have her kids, chosen to save Jack. And no one forced her to neglect the shed insulation before the frost.
While they worked, Jack played with Ben and Daisy in the sun-dried grass. Their laughter drew neighbours to the fence.
“Rex!”
The dog froze, then yelped and *leaped* clean over the fence, barrelling into a stranger. He whined, licking the man’s face as they tumbled into a hug. Liz and the kids gaped. Villagers edged closer.
Fifteen minutes later, the man finally looked up. “You must be the missus. I’ve searched six months for him. Thought he’d died in that fight.”
Tommy sniffled. “Mum nursed him. Stayed up nights bandaging him.”
The man—*James*—glanced at the kids. Ben’s lip trembled; Daisy welled up.
“Hey now, none of that. I’m not taking him yet. Fancy a cuppa?”
Liz blinked. “Oh! Yes, come in.”
James hesitated. “My car’s parked down the lane. I’ll fetch it. Rex might not understand if I leave again.” He met Tommy’s eyes. “Fancy coming?”
Normally, Liz would’ve said no. But Jack—*Rex*—wouldn’t adore a bad man.
They returned fast. Liz stared at the gleaming Range Rover. The villagers stared harder. James was an artist, a businessman, a hunter—and, it turned out, a good man. That day in the woods, they hadn’t even been hunting. A wild boar had charged out of nowhere. They’d searched for Rex until dark, then snow buried the tracks. James had driven to every nearby village. Ours was the last.
Tommy begged him to stay a few days. To Liz’s shock, James agreed.
“Been ages since I did proper manual work. Fence needs mending, and Tommy mentioned a greenhouse.”
Liz flushed. “Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Don’t even say it. You saved Rex. Went without food for him. You think I don’t see that?”
After a week, it felt like James had always been there. The kids adored him. He fixed everything, knew everything. Liz couldn’t fathom how they’d managed without him.
But she *needed* him to leave. She liked him too much—more than liked. The way his hand brushed hers sent sparks up her arm. And worse, she saw the same in his eyes.
One night, after the kids were asleep, she found him in the yard.
“James… I need you to go.”
He nodded slowly. “You’re right. But hear me first. You probably think I’m
