Dawn found us on a dusty road leading away from the village. In one hand, I clutched the small fingers of Sophie, my daughter, and in the other, a light suitcase stuffed not with belongings but with shattered hopes. The bus groaned as it pulled away from the stop, carrying us further from the place where, just hours ago, I had still believed in something. I left without even saying goodbye to Mark. He was out fishing at sunrisethe same sunrise hed spoken of so eagerly the night before. As I watched the fields blur past the grimy bus window, a bitter truth settled in my chest: I had never met a man worth fighting for. And yet, it had all begun so beautifully, so dazzlingly romantic, it took my breath away.
Mark had burst into my life during his final year at university. He wouldnt leave me alone, showering me with compliments, gazing at me with lovesick eyes that melted every doubt. He swore he loved me, that he couldnt imagine life without me or my four-year-old Sophie. His persistence, his boyish sincerity, chipped away at the ice around my heart, still raw from losing my first husband. Three months after we met, he moved into my flat, brimming with plans and promises.
“Alice, love,” hed say, his eyes shining like deep lakes, “once I graduate, well go to my village. Ill introduce you to my parents, my whole family! Ill tell them youre my future wife!” Hed pull me close, and the world seemed simple, bright.
“Alright,” Id murmur, a timid hope flickering inside. He spoke so often of his motherkind, welcoming, a woman who loved guests and knew how to make a home warm. I wanted to believe him. God, how I wanted to.
The village where Mark grew up greeted us with golden evening light. His family lived close, practically on top of one another. I didnt know then about Emily, the local beauty, whod been in love with Mark since childhoodeveryones pride, the perfect future bride. Nor did I know about Grandad Thomas, Marks grandfather, who lived nearby in his crumbling cottage, often stopping by to use the family bathhouse since his own had rotted away. He spent his days in quiet reflection, staring at the hill where his wife lay beneath a birch. He knew guests were coming todayhis grandson was bringing his fiancée.
The night before, Grandad Thomas had visited and found his daughter-in-law, Helen, in a foul mood.
“Falling out with Steven again?” hed asked, ready to lecture his son.
But Helen spat out her bitterness first.
“Marks bringing his city girl tomorrow. Some single mother, three years older than him! As if we dont have decent village girlsEmily, for one! A nurse, hardworking, beautiful And this one? Who knows where her child came from? Why saddle himself with another mans burden?”
“Helen, its not our place” he tried, but she wasnt listening.
Shed been stewing for days, nursing her resentment toward this stranger whod stolen her son from the “right” woman. So she hatched a quiet, venomous plan: no effort, no feast, no smiles. Let this city girl see she wasnt wanted. Shed taken Markthat was enough.
We arrived exhausted but hopeful. Mark glowed with happinesshe hadnt been home in a year. His mother opened the door. He rushed in, dropping his bag, while Sophie and I lingered on the threshold, waiting for an invitation.
“My boy, my Mark!” Helen clung to him, her gaze flicking over me and Sophiecold, assessing. “Our graduates home at last!” The emphasis on “our” was deliberate, a silent jab: not like some.
Then, saccharine and sharp, she said, “So this is Alice? With a child?” Her eyes raked me up and down.
“Come in, then. Wash your hands. Mark, show them around.”
From the first words, I understood. Mark seemed oblivious. Beaming, he took my hand, leading me through the house just as his father and grandfather returned from the bathhouse. Steven, Helens husband, was gruff but honest, and Grandad Thomas had gentle, warm eyes. They embraced us all with genuine joytoo real to be faked.
“About time you visited!” Steven boomed. “Helen, set the table! Our guests must be starving!”
The meal was meager. Marks brows twitchedhe knew his mothers capabilities. I barely ate, my throat tight with hurt. Resentment simmered toward Mark: Why hadnt he introduced me properly? Why let them treat me this way?
Steven poured homemade wine, but Helen raised her glass first.
“To Mark! To his degree, his future! Were so proud!”
Toast after toastonly for Mark. As if Sophie and I were ghosts. And he he laughed, chatted with his father and grandfather, and said nothing. Not one word about us. I barely recognized him. I tried to justify it”He missed his family, hes relaxed”but the truth gnawed: he didnt defend us.
Only Grandad Thomas glanced at us with quiet sympathy, then scowled at Helen. He saw everything.
Sophie, polite but exhausted, could barely keep her eyes open. I asked Helen, “May I put her to bed?”
She led us to a narrow bed in a tiny room. “Sleep here. Linens are clean.” The door slammed behind her.
As Sophie dozed off, Helens voice carried through the house: “She says shes tiredwont join us.”
My heart cracked. I lay beside Sophie, silent tears soaking the pillow. *What am I doing here? Wheres the kind woman he promised? Why doesnt he see this?* If I could, Id leave now. But the village was swallowed by darkness.
Mark woke me with a whisper. “Alice, come to my room. Why sleep here? Well talk tomorrowthe wedding, everything.” His words were soft, but hollow. No understanding.
I didnt sleep. Every glance, every word replayed in my mind. I remembered my first meeting with my late husbands motherhow shed embraced me, wept, called me a blessing. I remembered Danielhis strength, his protection. Hed never let anyone slight me. But here Helens disdain was clear. And Mark just smiled.
*To them, Im a mistake. Sophies the problem. But theyre wrong if they think Ill tolerate this.* By dawn, my decision was firm.
Breakfast was a farcestories of Marks childhood, forced laughter. Steven slipped Sophie sweets; Helen seethed. Then, faux-concerned, she sighed, “Well, Mark, no more carefree days. Now youll work hard to feed” Her eyes cut to Sophie.
I looked at Mark. He grinned, oblivious.
Steven slammed his fist. “Helen!”
But my patience had snapped. And then Mark chirped, “Alice, Sophie, lets tour the village! Visit Grandad!”
Outside, I poured out my hurt. He brushed it off”Youre overreacting, its just Mum”missing the point entirely. I didnt need him to fight. Just one word in our defense. He gave none.
“Dont fuss, love,” he said, patting my shoulder. “Well leave soon. Tomorrow, Im fishing at dawn!”
By morning, he was gone.
I washed my face and collided with Helen in the hall. Her lips curled. “Mark says youre leaving. Because of you. When will I see my son again? Youll chain him to your skirts, make him feed you and your brat”
I listened, strangely calm. Then I smiled, polite.
“You know, Helen, my first husband was an officer. Honest, brave. He loved me more than life. Unlike your son, he proved it with actions. Hed never let his mother insult me or our child. His mother still treats me like her own. She adores Sophie. She bought my flatand another in Sophies name. I have two degrees, speak three languages. After Daniel died, she lived for us. Shes the one who says I need a real man, Sophie a real father. As for money Your son couldnt dream of my income. I own two shops. So your fears about him feeding another mans child? Baseless.”
Her face paled.
“And you know what? I thank you. You showed me your familys true face. Your sons too. I dont need a mother-in-law who sees me as a threat. Or a man who wont defend his woman and child.”
I packed without trembling. My soul felt hollow yet light. I dressed Sophie, and we walked out without looking back.
The bus rolled away. I closed my eyes. Ahead lay the road hometo real life, real love. Id learned my worth. And Sophies. That was enough.
