October 12th
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how life can change in the blink of an eye. I grew up in a quiet little town nestled between gloomy hills and endless grey fields, where autumn always carried the scent of damp earth and melancholy. Time moved slowly there, like a lazy river winding through the valleys. Our home stood at the edge of town, shaded by ancient lime trees, and for most of my childhood, it felt like something out of a fairy tale—wealthy parents, a grand house, and Aunt Mary, who might as well have been my second mother. But even the brightest fairy tales have their shadows.
“Picking at your food again, love? Been like this for weeks,” Aunt Mary said, drying her hands on her apron. “Got a crush, have you?”
“Maybe,” I admitted, blushing. “There’s this boy—Daniel. He’s in a different seminar group. Handsome, but he doesn’t even notice me. I don’t know how to talk to him.”
“Don’t you dare chase after him,” Mary frowned. “A proper young lady doesn’t run after boys. In my day—”
“Oh, Aunt Mary, not the ‘in my day’ speech again!” I laughed, finishing my toast. “I’ve got to run—can’t be late today. Professor Davies will boot me right out if I am.”
“Off you go, then.” She crossed me with a quick gesture and shut the door behind me, though I could hear her sigh.
I never wanted for anything growing up. My parents were too busy with their careers to raise me themselves, so Aunt Mary—my mother’s elder sister—stepped in. Everyone called her Mary Parker, but to me, she was always Aunt Mary. Kind but strict, she taught me everything, as if she knew life wouldn’t always be so gentle.
She had her own sorrows. Years ago, in the village, she’d married a woodsman named Gregory. Their love was brief—within a year, he vanished. Some said he drowned in the marshes. They searched, but never found him. Mary was left alone, no husband, no children. She nearly joined a convent. “What kind of nun would I make?” she’d say. “Too young, too sharp-tongued.” So she stayed until my mother, Lydia, brought her to the city.
“Mary, come live with us,” Mum insisted. “We’re always at work—you could look after Alice, help with the house.”
“Oh, Lyd, I’d love that,” Mary said. “Gregory was good to me, but I’ve wept my tears dry. I’d wither away in that village. Never marrying again. I’ll take care of everything.”
And so she did. She cooked with love, tended the garden, planted flowers. To her, I was the daughter she never had. She walked me to school, bought me dolls, stitched my dresses. Our home was warm, but Mary never let me forget: “Learn to work, Alice. Today you have everything—tomorrow, who knows? Cooking’s a woman’s best weapon. Do it right, and you’ll keep a man’s heart.”
“Got any secret recipes?” I’d ask.
“Course I do,” she’d wink. “Every good housewife does.”
I fell hard for Daniel, tall and charming from the business faculty. I thought he didn’t see me—I was wrong. Everyone at uni knew my family had money. Daniel, raised by a single mum, was handsome but ordinary. Aunt Mary’s face darkened the day I came home glowing.
“Aunt Mary, he noticed me!” I gushed. “We walked home after lectures—he bought me ice cream.”
“Sly one, isn’t he? Knows sweet things win girls over,” she muttered. “Bring him round. I’ll suss him out.”
A month later, he did. Mary fed us, watching him like a hawk. The second he left, I pounced. “Well? Isn’t he lovely?”
“Pretty enough,” she said flatly. “Not for you. Eyes like a magpie’s—took stock of everything the moment he stepped in. That boy’s got envy in him, Alice. He’s not your match.”
“Oh, Aunt Mary, you’re imagining things!” I huffed. “It’s my life, isn’t it?”
She sighed but let it be. “Let her learn,” I imagine she thought.
She was right. Four months later, my gold ring went missing. No one else had been in the house. I didn’t tell my parents—just Aunt Mary.
“Told you he took it,” she said. “We ought to report it.”
“Don’t,” I begged. “No need to upset them. It’s between us. Daniel and I are done.”
I confronted him. “I know you took it. No one else could have.” He flushed scarlet. “Lost your mind? What would I want with your ring?” We fought. It was over. Mary held me as I cried, relieved I’d escaped worse.
In my final year, I met Edward at my friend Sophie’s birthday. We hit it off instantly. Sophie warned me, “Don’t bring him home yet. Make sure he loves you, not your money. Meet at mine.” I listened. Edward, already working, took me to the theatre, brought flowers, doted on me. I was smitten. Even Mary relented. “Bring him by,” she said.
Edward arrived with bouquets for me and Mum. My parents adored him. Mary’s verdict? “Shifty. Eyes won’t settle, feet won’t stay still. A nervy one, that.”
“Aunt Mary, honestly!” I groaned. “We’ve never even argued!”
Then fate struck. My parents died in a crash driving back from Southampton. Mary, shattered, barely held herself together. My world collapsed. The funeral was arranged by Dad’s firm. After, we sat numb with grief, sipping tea laced with something stronger.
“Alice, I’ll always be here,” Mary whispered. “What’s yours will stay yours.”
“I’m not worried about that,” I murmured. “This is your home too.”
One day at a café, I overheard Edward on the phone: “You should see her house! Just her and that aunt now. Need to marry her quick—get my hands on everything.” I bolted. He chased, but I caught the bus home. Mary held me as I sobbed. “You’ll find someone who loves you for you.”
After uni, I started at Mr. Thompson’s firm—Dad’s old friend. “Swore on your father’s grave I’d look after you,” he said. There, I met James—quiet, clever. Mr. Thompson praised him. “Reliable, sharp, never misses a deadline. Promoting him soon.”
James took months to ask me out. Finally, over coffee, he blurted, “Fancy dinner sometime?”
“I’d like that,” I smiled, charmed by his nerves.
We dated. He only knew my parents were gone, that I lived with my aunt. “Come meet my mum,” he said. Mrs. Wilkins was kind, just like him. “Darling, we’re simple folk,” she said warmly.
Later, I invited him home. He paused at the house but said nothing. At dinner, he was polite, brought Mary flowers, spoke to her like family. “Alice,” Mary said later, “he’s the one. No greed in him.”
We married. Mr. Thompson arranged it all, happy to see Dad’s girl settled. Now we’ve twin boys, a happy home. Mary, though older, still helps. James is CFO—Mr. Thompson’s successor someday. And I’ve learned: what’s truly mine—love, family, this house—will always remain.
