Dear Diary,
We’d been together seven years, Tom and I – Eva, that is. From school days, really. Never apart. Kids just hadn’t happened for us. Tom’s beloved Nan kept insisting:
“Make it official, dears! A proper marriage! Then God’s grace might bless you. Providence might grant you children.”
For Tom, his Nan was the final word. So, he soon made it official, proposing to me, his common-law wife.
We had a big do. Exchanged rings. Got the stamps in our passports. Though when they brought the champagne flutes to toast, tradition demanded we drain them (for a tear-free future) and smash them. Tom’s glass shattered instantly. Mine? Didn’t crack. Just rolled away.
Guests whispered, loud enough for everyone:
“Oh dear, bad omen that! They’ll not have an easy life.”
Tom and I just laughed. “Absolute nonsense!” The party rolled on.
After the wedding hullabaloo settled, it was time for married life. But… I changed. Became… demanding. Victoria now. Nothing Tom did was right. Nagged about petty things. Then finally declared:
“No point, Tom. We never should’ve married. Chalk and cheese. Best we part.”
…Tom blamed my Mum entirely. To him, she was the old woman forever wanting more – attention, money, space in our two-bed flat. And now her son-in-law lived in *her* “hard-earned” place? Mum never stopped nagging him, lecturing him on earning millions instead of pennies. Tom endured Mum and me for a year. Then came the word:
“Go.”
He checked with me: “Eva, is this *yours* and Mum’s final word?”
“Yes! My Mum’s not involved!” I snapped. Tom packed slowly, glancing at me hopefully. *Perhaps she’ll relent.*
I didn’t blink.
“Goodbye, Eva. Apologies if I’ve wronged you,” Tom sighed.
“Goodbye!” I slammed the door shut behind him.
Tom left the hearth. But he wasn’t lonely for long.
He was a catch – tall, sporty, proper bloke. Lucy, a colleague, had secretly loved him for ages. Noticing Tom looking down lately, lost his usual cheek, she suggested meeting outside work. Tom agreed. Out of boredom…
Lucy was independent, lovely. Impeccable reputation.
They walked through the park one evening, had coffee. Tom spilled his life story. Lucy commiserated, gasping, soothing. Then she blurted:
“Tom! Haven’t you seen how I look at you? I’ve loved you forever! Are you blind?”
Tom had sensed it, of course. Saw her blush whenever he came near, voice fading, head spinning. He’d noticed her – a beautiful, fragrant bloom – but no more. Lucy was my opposite: gentle, calm, easy-going. Tom liked it. But back then, he was married! Now, kicked out? *Why not? Luck falling in my lap… Why refuse a tempting morsel?*
…Next morning, Tom and Lucy arrived at work together. Colleagues exchanged knowing looks. Lucy’d done it. Everyone knew she fancied Tom, though the ‘wife hurdle’ was sacred.
Tom moved in with Lucy.
She fluttered around him like a pretty butterfly, anticipating his every wish. She felt life couldn’t be better! Happily, Tom accepted her care. He thought of her as *Firefly* – her light warmed his soul.
…She introduced him to her parents. Dad was a high-ranking civil servant. Seeing his daughter smitten, he decreed:
“Well then. Live together. Wedding later. See what sort of fruit you are first, son-in-law.” Dad didn’t know Tom was married. Lucy dared not tell him. Knew his temper…
The pair enjoyed life! Made plans. Flew to Benidorm. Lucy’s Dad funded it. “Nothing’s too good for my girl! Let them have fun.”
…Three months later, I summoned Tom back. Said I expected a baby needing its father. Tom (heavy-hearted) returned. Lucy let him go, adding:
“I’ll wait for you, Tom. Always.”
…Six months on, Tom and I were parents. A girl: Eleanor. A week later, Lucy called. Asked Tom to collect her *from the maternity ward*. She’d had a daughter. Beatrice.
Tom rushed with flowers and questions.
Lucy’s Dad met him, holding a huge bouquet. Tom kissed Lucy, gave her flowers. He saw confusion and fear flood his face.
“Our daughter, Tom. Congratulations!” Lucy smiled weakly.
Tom stood stunned, mentally calculating dates… Lucy interrupted:
“Don’t worry. Beatrice and I won’t stand in your way.”
Lucy’s Dad ignored Tom’s greeting. Stood like stone.
So, Tom lived for two families. We all knew. Me about Lucy. Lucy about Eleanor. The women suffered silently. I cursed myself for kicking Tom out, leaving him free. Now I ‘faced the music.’ Had to tolerate Tom’s child by another.
Lucy reproached herself nothing. *Her* child was from the man she loved! What else mattered? Shame Tom visited rarely. But thanks heavens, he remembered them! Tom struggled too.
He loved both daughters wholeheartedly. They grew quickly, asking awkward questions: “Daddy, why didn’t you sleep here?”, “Daddy, why don’t you smell like Mummy?”, “Daddy, I’m Beatrice, not Eleanor!” Or vice versa…
One day, visiting Lucy and Beatrice, Tom “bumped into” her strict Dad.
“Lucy, take Beatrice out. Need a word with Tom,” Dad stated firmly.
Lucy took Beatrice’s hand and shut the door.
“Well, son-in-law? Run back and forth till pension day? A useless son-in-law is no good! Listen: stay with Lucy – I provide everything. Leave? Leave for good! We’ll raise our granddaughter. She’s our blood. Won’t ask your help. But the door shuts. You’re no great loss. Would’ve kicked you out if Lucy didn’t love you. Decide. Don’t dither.” Tom went to his Nan that day.
“Grandson! Heed me. Choose one. Look at yourself! Thin, grey! Under forty! Not on! Don’t fret over the one left! Women are cleverer than men. Any will find a husband, any child a father. You give both false hope,” wise Nan taught.
“Nan! I love them *all*! You want me to tear off one wing?” Tom argued.
“Tom, watch you don’t lose both wings! Remember the saying? ‘If you chase two rabbits, you catch neither.’ Hares! And you want to juggle women! Why did you start with Lucy?” Nan pressed.
“They kicked me out!” Tom defended.
“Rubbish! Things happen! You leapt straight into sin! Torturing everyone! Including yourself! Now you want help?” Nan berated.
Tom stopped seeing Lucy. Frightened of Dad. Yet, increasingly, he *wanted* only Lucy. She’d gently won his heart over those years.
Finally, soul-weary, Tom divorced me. Remembered Nan. *Well, one wing gone.*
He packed his things for Lucy’s. “Here, love! I’m yours!” Tom wanted to please.
“Tom, I’m marrying. Dad introduced us. Flying to Algeria next week. Future husband’s the ambassador there,” Lucy mumbled, avoiding his eyes.
Tom recalled Nan again. *Second wing broken.* Wingless, soul-wounded,
Nan finally said, as I stared blankly at the wall, that perhaps when you lose the wings you never truly had, you learn to let go and find solace on solid ground.
