Her Hearts Choice
There was little Margaret Whitmore could do about her wilful daughter, Sophie. The family was well-respectedSophies father, Edward Whitmore, was a physician, and Margaret herself worked as an accountant at a modest firm.
Sophie had fallen in love with Thomas, a decent and earnest young man, but in Margarets eyes, he was from the wrong sort of family. Thomas had lost his mother in childbirth and was raised by his father, James, and his grandmother, Margaretthough she passed when Thomas was fifteen. Left alone, father and son managed well; James, a lorry driver, never touched a drop of drink and supported his boy in everything. Thomas, too, was diligent, never demanding luxuries they couldnt afford.
“Dad, Ive met Sophie,” Thomas confessed one evening. “Shes wonderful, but her motherwell, she runs the house with an iron fist. Mrs. Whitmore looks at me like Ive tracked mud on her carpet.”
“Son, its not her mother who matters,” James reassured him. “What counts is the love between you.”
Yet Sophie and Thomas paid no heed, their affection unwavering. They planned their wedding, though Margaret was determined to drive them apart. The ceremony itself felt more like a wakeonly the bride, groom, and their closest friends smiled.
“Not the wedding Id have chosen for my only daughter,” Margaret thought bitterly, watching Sophie walk down the aislenot in white, but in a soft coffee-coloured dress that suited her russet hair, crowned with a delicate wreath. And, of all things, trainers on her feet. Thomas matched her in a shirt of the same hue, denims, and his own scuffed shoes. To the young, it was bold and modern; to Margaret, a scandal.
“Edward, what *is* this?” she hissed.
“Our daughter and son-in-law,” Edward replied calmly.
“I meant their attire!”
“Its rather modern, isnt it? Quite daring.” Edward grinned, nudging her gently. “Look at themhappy. Thats what matters.”
What galled Margaret most was James, sitting stiffly in his worn suit at the lavish reception, visibly out of place. Worse still was Sophies grandmother, Beatrice, a sharp-eyed matriarch who had tried to dissuade her granddaughter.
“Sophie, call this off. That boy has no prospectsraised by a single father, barely educated. A mechanic, for heavens sake!”
“Gran, Thomas didnt choose his family. Hes good, and I love him. Thats all there is to it.”
Beatrice huffed but saw the steel in Sophies gaze. At the table, she muttered to Margaret, “How could you allow this?”
“Mother, I tried everything. You know how stubborn she is.”
“Hmph. Takes after her mother, then.”
Margaret stiffened. “Dont start.”
Years ago, Margaret herself had been the wilful one. When she met Edward, both were nearing thirty. Shed rejected suitor after suitornone pleased Beatriceuntil Edward, a doctor, caught her eye.
But Edward had once been entangled with Eleanor, a woman who toyed with his affections, vanishing and reappearing at whim. For years, he endured it, until Margaret swept inbold, clever, and unyielding. One evening, as Margaret lounged in Edwards flat, Eleanor arrived unannounced.
“Whos *this*?” Eleanor sneered when Margaret appeared, draped in a towel.
“My fiancée,” Edward said, pulling Margaret close.
Eleanor left with a threat, but soon married and moved away. Margaret had wonor so she thought.
Now, decades later, news of Eleanors return sent Margaret into a frenzy. She shadowed Edward, inspecting his clothes, even lurking outside his surgery.
“Planning to hire a detective?” Edward teased when he noticed.
Margaret flushed. “I just wondered if youd run off with *her*.”
“She already came byto my clinic. You missed it.”
Margaret paled. “And?”
“And nothing. Do you really think Id trade you for anyone?”
Relief washed over her. She loved Edward fiercely, and that love had only deepened with time.
Meanwhile, Sophie and Thomas built their life together. One evening over supper, Sophie beamed. “Mum, Dadyoull be grandparents soon.”
Margaret gaped. “So soon?”
Sophie laughed. “Dont you know how it works?”
“Im too young to be a grandmother!”
“Then youll be a young one,” Sophie shot back.
Margaret sighed. Perhaps this was fates doing. If heaven itself shielded their union, who was she to interfere?
Edward, delighted, counted the days. Life had its own plansnever asking permission, never bending to whims. And though Margaret had imagined a different path for her daughter, she found, at last, a grudging peace.
