It is never too late to make things right. Love can sweep one off their feet, making the beloved the sole thought in ones mind. Such was the case with William, who fell so deeply for Jane that he forgot all elseeven his conscience and his duty as a son. The choice between comfort and righteousness weighed heavily upon him.
“Will, darling, where will we live together?” Jane asked coyly, gazing into his eyes with a sweet cunning.
“At my place, of course.”
“But… you live with your mother,” she pouted, her lips pursed in dissatisfaction.
“What of it? Mother is kind and quiettheres no need to fret,” William reassured his beloved.
William was no boy; he was well past thirty, and this would be his second marriage. His first wife had left himthey were too different. She had miscalculated, thinking he was well off, expecting him to venture into business. But without the capital to start, William couldnt make it work, and so she walked away. At least there had been no children.
He met Jane in a café. He and his friend Victor had stopped by after work to celebrate the birth of Victors son. A drink or two later, they noticed a lonely, melancholy girl sitting alone.
“Miss, why so glum?” William asked cheerfully, approaching her table. “Join usmy friend here has good reason to celebrate. His son was born just yesterday, nearly nine pounds.”
Without hesitation, Jane moved to their table.
“Congratulations,” she said, glancing at Victor. “A son is a fine thingan heir.”
After leaving the café, Victor went home, while William walked Jane back to the boarding house where she stayed. She worked at a textile factory and lived nearby, having come from a small village. She was ten years younger than William, and that very evening, he stayed with her.
They courted, strolled through parks, and before long, Jane subtly steered him toward thoughts of marriage and children.
“Will, youre past thirty and still no child. We ought to fix that before its too late,” she laughed, though her true motive was clearshe longed to escape the noisy boarding house for a proper home.
William, smitten as he was, proposed, and she clapped her hands in delight.
“Yes, yes! When shall we register?”
“Soon. For now, move in with me and Mother.”
“No, Will, I wont live with your mother. Ive heard too much about mothers-in-law and their meddling. Lets rent our own place.”
“But, dear, wed be left with nothing after rent. Very wellwell find another way.”
Meanwhile, Margaret sat by the kitchen window, watching the first snowflakes drift lazily past. She was unwellretired now after years as a maths teacher, though she would have worked longer if her health allowed. The hospital had seen her more than once in recent months.
That evening, William brought Jane home. They had met beforeJane had visited twicebut she avoided Margaret. A curt greeting, then straight to Williams room, her laughter ringing through the house. She left without a word, never glancing Margarets way.
“Mother,” William began hesitantly, “Jane and I are to marry, so shell live here… and… well, she doesnt wish to share the house. Ive made arrangementsyoull move to a care home. Its comfortable, and there are doctors at hand. You understand, dont you? We need our own space.”
The world can be cruel. One may turn away from ageing parents, relegating them to care homes, forgetting the debt owed to those who once stayed up nights, gave their last penny, and believed in their child. William did not think of this.
“I… understand, son,” Margaret murmured, feeling something tear inside her.
She packed her meagre belongings into an old suitcase, and William sent her awayto a care home outside the city.
Her life now revolved around that small room, where she sat by the window, an old photograph of William her only keepsake.
She hopedsomewhere deepthat he would return for her. Widowed at thirty-six, she had raised little Will alone, working two jobs to ensure he wanted for nothing.
“Will, my boy,” she whispered to the photo, tears on her cheeks.
Time passed, but William never came.
With Jane, he lived gailyuntil, within six months, she began coming home tipsy, staying out late.
“Jane, where do you linger when your husband waits at home?”
“Out with the girlsVeronicas birthday, you know,” she slurred, careless of his concern.
“I married for a wife, not a gadabout.”
“Oh, spare me the lecture. Im no child. Whats the harm? You wont starveyou can cook.” She laughed and went to bed.
A year later, William divorced herand remembered his duty.
“God has punished me,” he murmured. “I cast my own mother aside and never once asked after her.”
One day, Margaret sat in her worn chair, gazing at the grey sky, when the door creaked open.
“Mother…”
She turnedand scarcely believed her eyes. There stood William, gaunt, dark circles beneath his own.
“Will! Whats wrong? Are you ill?” she gasped, her grievances forgotten.
“Mother, forgive me… I shouldnt have” His voice broke. “I was a wretch. I treated you unjustly. Please, forgive me.”
He fell to his knees before her.
“Jane… she wasnt the woman I thought. She kept company with other men, cared only for amusement. She barely worked, often didnt come home… She left me for another. The divorce is final.”
Margaret listened in silence, stroking his hair.
“Mother, I abandoned you for her… Forgive me. How could I?”
“Never mind, my son. Youve returned. Thats what matters.”
“Pack your thingsIm taking you home.”
Margaret returned to the flat, where faint traces of perfume still lingered, and they lived together again. William did all he could to atone.
“Mother, look what I brought you,” hed say after worka warm shawl one day, an ergonomic pillow the next.
“Son, you shouldnt spend so,” she chided gently.
“I want you warm and comfortable. You lived for me all those years. Thank heaven I realised in time. Well be well now.”
He found better work, spoke of buying a larger flatone with a room just for her.
“Will, Im glad for you. But you must marry againdont live for me alone.”
“Very well. Ive met someoneVeronica. Weve been courting two months.”
The next evening, he brought her home.
“Hello, Margaret,” Veronica said warmly, her grey eyes kind. “Ive brought an apple piebaked it myself.”
“Oh, my dear, you neednt have!”
“It was no trouble,” she replied, as William fetched teacups.
Later, Margaret asked, “Will, does she mind me living with you?”
He flushed.
“Not a bit! When I told her what Id done, she near tore into me. Shamed me proper. But I had to confessbetter she hear it from me.”
For the first time in years, Margaret felt warmth in her heart. Not all was lostthere were good souls still. Evenings now often found them sipping tea over Veronicas pies, the three of them a family. If Margaret dozed in her chair, Veronica would tuck a blanket over her, and Margaret would murmur,
“Thank you, dear.”
William had learned true happinessa home was not walls, but those who waited within.
One supper, Veronica shared joyous news.
“Margaret, Will… were expecting.”
Margaret wept.
“Oh, Ive waited so long! Will, what do you say?”
William, stunned, leapt up and embraced his wife.
“Veronica, my love, youve made me the happiest man!”
That night, he lay awake, thinking,
“How wonderfulits never too late to mend a mistake. How wonderful, that while Mother lives, I could make amends, and we are a family again.”
Time passed. Veronica bore a grandson for Margaret, a son for Williamtheir home now filled with childish laughter. Two years later, they moved to a bright, spacious flat, with rooms for the child and Margaret alike.
Thus, even in the darkest of errors, there is hopeif only one listens to the voice of conscience in time.
