She fled to the countryside and finally found happiness.
Anne hurriedly packed her belongings. Her hands trembled, tears welled up. After twenty years of marriage, her husband announced he was leaving her for a younger, cheerful womannothing like Anne, who was exhausted from work, perpetually swamped with household chores and raising children.
The children were grown. Her son studied in another city and visited rarely. Her daughter had married and moved in with her husband. Anne was left alone in a large flat that suddenly felt empty and foreign.
She threw her things into a suitcase without thinking about what she was actually taking. What did it matter? All she wanted was to run away, to hide from the pain and humiliation.
The phone rang as she was zipping the suitcase. The screen displayed her friends name, and Anne sighed. She didnt feel like talking to anyone.
Hello? she answered reluctantly.
Anne, love! I just heard How are you? Svets voice sounded worried.
Fine, Anne replied curtly. Im packing.
Where are you off to?
I dont know, Anne admitted honestly. I just cant stay here any longer.
You still have that cottage up in the village, the one your grandmother owned. Why not go there?
Anne froze. She did have a cottagea modest, old stone house left to her by her maternal grandmother. They had visited it when the children were small, then stopped. Her husband, Stephen, always complained that the countryside was boring and he preferred holidays by the sea.
Svet, youre brilliant! Anne exclaimed. Thats exactly where Ill go!
Is it habitable? Does it have heating?
Theres a woodburning stove and electricity. Thats all I need.
An hour later Anne was on a commuter train heading toward Ashford, a village fifty miles from the city, a world away.
Ashford greeted her with quiet and the scent of lilacs. The grannys cottage sat on the edge of the lane, surrounded by ancient apple trees. Anne struggled to push open the squeaky gate and stepped onto the overgrown yard.
The place looked abandoned: grass up to the waist, a sagging porch, one broken window. Anne let out a heavy sigh. What would she do here? How could she live? She was a city dweller used to comforts.
Whos there? croaked a hoarse voice, and a stooped old woman with a walking stick emerged from behind the house.
Good day, Anne stammered. Im the granddaughter of Mary Parker. This is her house.
The Parker house? the old woman squinted, eyeing the stranger. And youre Anne, I suppose?
Yes, Anne replied, surprised. And who are you?
Im Priscilla, the neighbour. We used to be friends with your grandmother. What brings you here?
Im staying, Anne said firmly, surprised at her own resolve.
Staying? You cant live here. The house is dilapidated, needs a lot of work. And what would a city girl do in the middle of nowhere?
Ill sort it out, Anne declared stubbornly and walked toward the house.
She found the key in her bag, turned the lock, and stepped inside. The air was stale, dust settled on everything. Old furniture lay under a blanket of grime, a stove in the corner, a table, two beds. Yellowed photographs lined the walls; one showed a young, radiant grandmother.
Anne sank onto a bed and wept for the first time in ages, letting all her hurt flow out in sobs. When the tears finally dried, a strange calm settled over her. In that old house she felt shielded from the world; no one would see her weeping, no one would judge.
The next morning the birds sang, sunlight streamed through the window, and Anne rinsed her face with cold water from a bucket before stepping into the yard.
Morning, Priscilla, croaked the familiar voice. Priscilla stood by the fence holding a bundle of something.
Morning, Anne replied.
I brought you milk, bread, a few potatoes. The shops a mile away.
Thank you, youre very kind.
Neighbours help each other. So, you really plan to live here?
Yes, but I dont know where to start.
Start with cleaning. I have rags and a broom.
They spent the whole day scrubbing, dusting, airing the rooms. By evening Anne collapsed from exhaustion, yet for the first time felt a genuine sense of achievement.
Tomorrow well check the stove, Priscilla said as she left. May comes with a chill.
Anne nodded. She was beginning to understand that country life required constant work, and oddly that thought no longer frightened herit soothed her.
The following days were a blur of repairs: the stove was fixed, the broken window glazed, the porch steadied. Anne learned to cook over the wood stove, to draw water from the well, to heat the small bath. Callouses formed on her hands, her back ached, but her body adapted.
One evening Priscilla arrived with a woman she introduced as Tanya, who worked at the village library.
Nice to meet you, Anne said, smiling.
Likewise, Tanya replied, shaking her hand. New faces are rare around here, especially those who stay.
Im not sure how long Ill be, Anne admitted shyly.
What did you do in the city? Tanya asked.
I was an accountant, Anne answered.
And your education?
Economics, Anne shrugged. Why?
Were short of teachers at the school, especially for maths. Would you consider a temporary stint?
The idea, unexpected as it was, intrigued Anne.
Ill think about it, she said.
A week later Anne stood before a modest classroom of fifteen village children.
Good morning, class, she began, voice a little shaky. Im Anne Parker, and Ill be teaching you mathematics.
The children stared, then gradually leaned in. As the lesson unfolded, Anne discovered a genuine pleasure in explaining numbers, answering curious questions. By the end of the hour she felt a lift she hadnt felt in years.
Teaching, tending the garden she was reviving, and chatting with new friends filled her days. She answered her sons occasional text with a brief All well here, and her daughters calls with a short Fine, love. The city seemed distant and irrelevant. Memories of the flat, the job, Stephen, no longer caused pain; they were simply chapters left behind.
One afternoon a tall, broadshouldered farmer named Ian Peterson knocked on her door.
Anne, may I come in? he asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Of course, Ian, come in. Would you like some tea?
Yes, thank you, he replied, settling at the kitchen table.
They sipped honeyed tea, and Ian spoke of his farm, his plans for the next season.
Anne, I need a hand with the accounts, he said after a pause. The farm is expanding and the paperwork is piling up. Could you help?
The offer was unexpected but appealing; Anne missed professional work.
Ill consider it, she said.
Think it over, but not too long. The seasons starting.
A few days later Anne accepted. Her mornings were spent teaching, afternoons handling Ians books, evenings in her garden.
When Ian saw the garden overgrown, he offered his tractor.
Your plot is a mess, he said. I can plough it for you.
Grateful, Anne watched as Ian drove the tractor across the soil, then they planted potatoes, onions, carrots together, laughing and occasionally bickering.
Your fence is falling apart, Ian remarked, surveying the yard.
I have no money for a new one, Anne sighed.
Neighbourly deal, Ian grinned. I have some timber and a few extra hands. You just feed me with your jam.
She laughed and agreed. The whole village turned upPriscilla with her son, Tanya with her husband, othersto build a new fence. After a days hard labour they celebrated with homemade cider.
To a new home! Ian toasted.
To fresh beginnings! added Tanya.
Anne looked around at the simple, openhearted people and felt she had finally found her place. Here, among the fields and honest folk, she discovered the life she had been missing in the city.
In autumn her exhusband Stephen drove up in his sleek car, stopping beside the gate.
Anne, he called, may I come in?
She straightened, wiped her hands on her apron, and nodded. Stephen stepped into the yard, eyes widening at the modest surroundings.
You live here? he asked.
Yes, she replied simply.
But you have a flat in the city, all the comforts
I like it here, Anne shrugged.
Stephen studied her. She looked healthier, slimmer, her posture confident, a spark in her eyes.
You lookdifferent, he said.
I am different now, Anne answered with a smile. Would you like some tea?
They sat on the veranda, drinking tea with homemade blackcurrant jam, and Stephen spoke of his new life, though his enthusiasm was halfhearted.
Ive realized I love you, Anne. I was a fool.
Anne looked at him, the words that once would have quickened her heart now barely stirred her.
Thank you for saying that, she said gently. But I wont be returning. This is my home now.
This is just a village! No theatres, no restaurants, no shops! Stephen exclaimed.
But there is real life, Anne replied calmly, and real people.
Our marriage lasted twenty years
It ended when you left, Anne said without blame. If you hadnt gone, I might never have found myself.
Stephen stared, bewildered by the confident woman before him.
Are you happy here? he finally asked.
Yes, she answered simply. I am happy.
When Stephen drove away, Ian arrived with a bucket of apples from his orchard.
Anne, fresh apples for you! he called. Could you help me pull the carrots? Its hard alone.
Of course, Ian, she replied, smiling.
They worked side by side, the sun turning the sky pink as it set, the air smelling of apples and autumn leaves.
Who was that? Ian asked suddenly, gesturing to the car.
My exhusband, Anne said.
What did he want?
Invited me back to the city.
Ian paused, holding a carrot.
And you? he asked, trying to sound casual.
I said no, Anne answered, her smile widening.
Later that evening Ian turned to her.
Theres a concert at the village hall on Saturday, followed by a dance. Would you like to come with me?
Annes eyes lit up.
Delighted, Ian, she replied.
On Saturday Anne put on her best dresssimple yet elegant. Ian arrived, a bouquet of wildflowers in hand.
You look wonderful, he said, handing them to her.
The concert was heartfelt, locals singing folk songs, reciting poetry, then dancing. Ian asked her for a waltz. He was clumsy but earnest; Anne felt his strong, gentle arms around her.
Im a simple man, no city polish, he whispered, but Im completely taken with you.
Anne looked into his sincere brown eyes and realized she felt the same.
I like you too, Ian, she said softly.
They danced until the hall emptied, then he walked her to the gate.
May I visit tomorrow? he asked.
Come any time, she replied, heart full.
Winter settled over the village, snow burying Annes cottage. Each morning Ian cleared the paths, and they spent evenings over tea, planning their future.
Tanya remarked one day, You and Ian make a lovely pair. Whens the wedding?
Anne blushed, Were just friends.
Told you, Tanya teased, friends who look at each other like lovers.
In spring Ian proposed simply, without fanfare.
Will you marry me, Anne? I love you.
She answered, I will, Ian. I love you too.
The whole village celebrated the wedding. Annes son and daughter arrived, initially shocked but soon delighted by their mothers happiness.
Youre happy, Mum, and thats all that matters, her daughter said, hugging her.
Anne finally understood that true happiness comes when youre where you belong, doing work you love, surrounded by people who truly value you.
She had left the city to escape pain and disappointment, and instead found love, purpose, and herself. She was content, just as the stories of simple, bright happiness describe.
