I never considered myself a beauty. Nor could I be called pretty. Not everyone is meant to walk a runway, after all. Yet, in school, my closest friends were always the loveliest girls. At first, I marvelled at it, but my dear grandmother opened my eyes:
“Ah, my sweet girl,” she sighed. “Those friends of yours find it convenient to have a ‘plain Jane’ like you beside them on dates. No competitionwhod spare you a second glance?”
Her words stung me to tears. But after a pause, she softened.
“Dont fret, love. A pretty face doesnt bake bread. Remember, my dear, too bright a flower fades fast. Dont grievetherell be a plate for your pie yet.”
No such plate came until I turned twenty-seven. In the meantime, I studied hard and worked harder, knowing I had only myself to rely on.
Then came Arthur, introduced by my friend Nancy. Shed grown sick of his “endless pestering” and had no use for him.
“Take him, Irene! Maybe somethingll come of it. Im getting married,” she said bluntly.
I took to Arthur at once, eager to drown him in affection. He suited me just fine, and heaven knew Id waited long enough. No sense playing coy.
I fancied Arthur even sighed in relief when he fell into my arms. We married swiftly.
Still, Grandmother warned me:
“Mark my words, Ireneyoull have trouble with him. That Arthurs not done sowing his wild oats. He ought to have his fling before settling down. Dont crow too soon about your marriagepride comes after years, not days.”
But I paid no heed. Arthur and I were like calves, nuzzling wherever we pleased. Marriage gave me boundless wings!
Then came our little boy, William. Arthur adored him without reservereading bedtime tales, singing lullabies, spoiling him rotten.
As William grew, he clung more to his father than to me. I never minded. So long as our home was peaceful.
Five blissful years passed before trouble knocked.
Perhaps Nancy envied me, or perhaps shed never truly let Arthur go. Either way, she lured him back into her sticky embrace. I learned from others shed divorced, childless.
I felt colourless, my wings drooping. My happiness had never been secure. My weeping seemed endless. Explaining to William was agony. Now, I told him tales of his father, though my tears had dried. Life demanded I raise my boy and keep my wits. Deep down, I hoped Arthur would see sense and returnif not for me, for William.
Arthur came for his passport. He mumbled that Nancy wanted a lawful marriage. I refused outright. He shrugged, left without protest, and soon had a replacement issued.
Ill never know what Nancy offered him, but Arthur forgot us entirely. Though Ill admit Nancy had been the school beautyvibrant, carefree, and full of charm. She wove pretty words, though often they meant nothing. That flaw in her never troubled me. A mistake, as it turned out. Folk say of such women: *sweet as honey, sharp as a thorn*.
I shouldve realised soonerNancy had only lent Arthur to me, like a borrowed coat. “Im getting married,” shed said. When that ended, she claimed back what was hers.
Twice, court summons came for divorce proceedings. I ignored them, clinging to time and my pride.
Years passed. Gradually, Arthur seemed to wake. He missed William and asked to see him. I didnt refuse. By then, fretting over Arthur was long behind me. William and I had grown used to our quiet life. He was twelve when disaster struck again.
Nancy came to my door, smirking.
“Hows life, old friend? Still unwed?”
“What do you want?” I answered coldly.
“Arthur sent me. He wants William to visit him at the hospital. To say goodbye,” she said, knocking the breath from me.
My legs buckled. “Whats wrong with Arthur?” I whispered.
“A risky operation tomorrow. He fears he wont survive,” she said, already turning to leave.
“He *will* survive!” I shrieked after her.
The surgery succeeded. Arthur lived but was left crippled at fortybarely able to walk without a cane. The question remained: how would he live now? Nancy took him from the hospital, but I knew it wouldnt last. Her soul was as dark as a well.
I longed to bring him home at once. Yet I waited, letting the mud settle, hoping for clearer waters.
Three months later, Nancy called.
“Irene, Arthurs pining for William.”
“Or is it *you* whos tired of Arthur?” I snapped.
In the end, Arthur returned to us. Nancy had made his life unbearableliving with an invalid was no picnic.
He was bitter, silent, and cruel at first. But love bears all things, forgives all things. William and I tended to him daily, and slowly, Arthur softened. In time, he even abandoned his cane. He limped, but he stood on his own.
Six months later, Nancy returnedwith a baby.
“How shall we share Arthur?” she announced. “This is his daughter.”
“Nancy, youre like a weed, tangling round his legs. Why must you coil into his heart? When will you vanish from our lives?” I begged.
“Arthur is *mine*!” she shrilled.
And she was right. I blamed him not. Old love, they say, never rusts.
Grandmother wasted no time:
“That husband of yours, Irene, is a fickle fool!”
Once more, William and I were alone. My son, now grown, comforted me: “Well manage, Mum.”
Oh, Arthuryoure a thorn in my heart.
The ocean is deep, but a mans heart is deeper. Who knows what lurks within?
After Arthur, my soul withered. Only ashes remained. No one else crossed my path to kindle warmth or hope.
Time raced on. William married and left home.
Then, by chance, I met Arthur again. He looked wretchedeyes full of sorrow. As Grandmother would say: *He dodged and weaved, only to land on the pitchfork.*
“Where are you now? Whats become of you?” I asked gently.
“Nowhere. Just walking,” he murmured, seeming lost.
Now, weve been together seven years. Even autumn has its golden days. We raise our grandson. Happy? Yes. Perhaps this, at last, is lovetested and true.
P.S. Nancy married a Frenchman and left with their daughter. Her parting words to Arthur?
“Ill leave you in Irenes careyour guardian angel”
