Mark, Im sorry to call this late, I whispered, the night air thick with my own breath. My wife sheveshes gone, an accident on the motorway The words tumbled out of him, slurred by drink, his eyes bloodshot, his voice a rasp.
I felt my skin go cold, as if a wind had brushed over a fresh grave. I let him in, even though wed been at each others throats for a month. Our quarrels seemed absurd now, childish scraps in the face of such loss.
Tell me what happened, Mark. Dont shut up, speak, I pressed, a knot of guilt tightening in my chest. I knew I bore some part of the tragedyMark and I had been lovers, after all. He didnt answer. Instead, he yanked me toward the bedroom, and I didnt resist. I wanted to calm him, to soothe his jagged edges, to let him forget, even if for a moment, that he was a selfish, reckless man. The night stretched on, restless, and the first light of dawn found me shaking Mark awake. He stared at me, bewildered.
Why am I here, Sophie? Were still fighting, he said, genuinely confused. I held back the truth of why hed arrived at two in the morning. I imagined his drunken ramblings were nothing but noise, the sort of nonsense he could easily conjure. Then his phone buzzed, flashing the name Lily. That was the name he used for his late wife. He dropped the call, a guilty look flickering across his face, as if some memory was clawing back.
Youre an idiot, I snapped, my voice cracking. You buried Lily yesterday and now youre making jokes? Get out, you wretched fool! I shoved him toward the door and never saw him again.
Id been on my own since I was twenty, my parents gone one after the other. I never rushed into marriage; suitors came like bees to honeystingy, generous, even married men. With Mark I lasted longer than any other, because I fell hard. I knew he had a family, but I was convinced he was an actor, a man who could spin lies as easily as breathing. He showered me with lavish roses, extravagant presents, wild nights, yet never let go of his devotion to Lily. I wouldnt have been surprised to learn he kept a line of mistresses; his appetite for love seemed endless. I was a sweettongued lover, nothing more.
While my friends settled down, had children, I lingered with Mark, aware that any future with him was a dead end. He would never leave his family, and our arguments grew sharper, more frequent.
Then Marks final cruel stunt sealed our slippery, doomed relationship. I was free again, chasing a vague hope of happiness.
Thats when Tom appeared. He was a farmhand from a small Yorkshire village who commuted to Leeds for work. We met on the commuter trainshe was heading to her aunts house, he was returning from the factory. He sat beside me, we exchanged numbers, and soon we were seeing each other. Tom was the antithesis of Mark: practical, rough around the edges, not given to soft words. Yet I accepted his flaws; after all, I was no longer a teenager. He invited me to his mothers cottage: Mum wants to see you.
What could she possibly want to see? I was already pregnant, plans for a wedding and a veil swirling in my head. We arrived at a table heaped with hearty country fare. I could barely look at anything; nausea seized me. My future motherinlaw, with a scrutinising gaze, ordered Tom: Son, take her out onto the veranda, let her sit on the bench, and come back to the table. She barely noticed me at all.
The next morning Tom silently escorted me back to the train and returned to his mother, who clearly disliked me. I rushed to plan the wedding, but fate had other ideas. Before I could get home, I was rushed to the hospitalan early miscarriage. The doctor, with a gentle tone, said, Dont worry, love. If its a miscarriage, at least the baby wasnt going to be sick. Its better this way than to raise a child in pain. I thought, Fine, Tom wasnt meant to be. Hes happy enough with his mother. I ended things with him calmly, without regret.
Among my lovers was a schoolmate, James. Hed been eyeing me from the back of the classroom for years. I kept him as a backup, leading him on just enough to keep the option open. He proposed, I stayed silent. In the end he married a woman with a child, later having a son of his own. Ten years later James resurfaced, full of apologies: Sophie, I rushed into marriage, I want a divorce. He jabbered on about his miserable marriage, his mismatched temperaments, the discord in his life. I listened, nodding, letting his words wash over me. One evening he burst in, beaming like a buttered pancake in the sun: Sophie, Ive just had a second soncongratulations! I managed to say, Thanks tell your wifego, James, forever! I choked back tears, the pillow beneath my head soaking with bitter grief.
My best friend from school was Emma. Her life seemed pictureperfect: a husband, a daughter, a comfortable home. I envied her. Her husband, David, never appealed to me; he wasnt my type. I often visited Emma, where David was an afterthought, ignored. One day Emma broke down: Sophie, Im in love! Ive lost my mind. Hes married, has two kids.
I warned her, Forget it, Emma. Dont ruin your family or his. What are you missing? Youre already happy. I felt pity, but she sobbed, I cant live without Daniel, Im suffocating. Id throw everything away and fly to him! I tried to pull her back, Stop now, before its too late. She didnt hear me; she stared away. We drifted apart, and she never called again.
Then Daniel, Emmas husband, showed up at my door one evening: Hey, Sophie. Hows life? Still single? I was stunned. What brings you here? he asked. He sighed, Emma left me. I felt sorry for the abandoned husband and we talked through the night, eventually waking in each others arms. We lived together for six months; it felt like happiness. How could Emma have turned down such a perfect man? Why swap a loving David for a womaniser? I never understood.
David never asked me to marry him. He disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived, having found a new colleagueseven years older, with a teenage daughter. He married her and has been with her for twenty years. Emma eventually married Daniel; they claim its a love story, but I doubt the notion that stolen happiness goes unpunished. Two families suffered because of that impossible love.
I havent seen Emma in over twenty years.
You might wonder, what became of me? I spent my life mending broken, wounded, drooping wings, feeling sorry for everyone. The men would always fly back to their wives, and time slipped away mercilessly. As my grandmother used to say, Every girl has her season, and then she fades. My season came and went. The carousel of my life stopped. No princes waited at my window. I adopted a pedigree cat for company, someone to talk to in the quiet evenings. Still single, childless, the story didnt turn out as Id imagined.
