Everyone Deserves Forgiveness Upon opening her eyes, Anastasia saw the sunlight streaming through the curtains, flooding her bedroom with warmth. “I really ought to get new curtains—something heavier,” she mused, gazing at her sleeping husband. “The sun’s so bright in the summer, and it’s already here—my favourite season.” Anastasia smiled softly at Zak, who always slept so soundly, blissfully undisturbed by the sunshine. She tiptoed to the kitchen, went through her morning routine, and prepared breakfast. There was a time when breakfast in their cottage was a lively affair—her two sons, Mike and William, would mess about at the table, laughter echoing through the house, while Zak, attempting to look stern, watched them with adoration. But the boys grew up, studied, married, and started families in the city. Mike lives with his wife and daughter, Aria, in the market town, and William, his wife, and their twin boys in the region. Both work hard and visit their parents in the countryside as often as they can. Today, Anastasia is heading into town to see her loved ones—she misses little Aria so much, and Zak will drive her there. She’s just finishing breakfast when Zak appears in the doorway. “Oh, you’re up! I was just about to call you,” she grins. “I’ve been awake, just lying with my eyes closed—couldn’t resist the smell of your pancakes,” he laughs. “Go wash up and come to the table. We’re visiting Mike today,” she says, and he nods. They live in an English village—Anastasia works at the post office, delivering letters and pensions, and has done for years. Zak is a mechanic, fixing agricultural machinery. After breakfast, they prepare to visit the children. Anastasia sends Zak down to the cellar for preserves. “Grab a couple of jars of pickles and tomatoes, two jars of salad, and a couple of jams—raspberry and cherry,” she instructs as he heads down. They pack potatoes and preserves into the car and set off. “Isn’t summer just glorious, Zak?” she beams as they drive through the lush June countryside. “It’s lovely—weekends are the best, you can do just as you please,” Zak replies. After a joyful reunion with Aria and a delicious lunch prepared by their daughter-in-law Liz, they catch up on family news before the grandparents head home. “But Nan, it’s too soon to leave!” Aria pleads, desperate for more playtime. “My darling, we still need to stop at the market before it closes. Come visit on the weekend—you’ll have so much fun in the garden and by the river with Grandpa!” Anastasia promises, and Aria reluctantly agrees. At the bustling town market, Anastasia browses for a new dressing gown, a few undergarments, and picks up some socks and a T-shirt for Zak. “Nastya, I’m off to the electrical shop. I’ll meet you at the car—never did care for clothes shopping,” Zak jokes. Her errands done, Anastasia is drawn to an old accordion player between two stalls—dishevelled, grey-haired, his threadbare cap open on the ground for coins. “Spare some change, kindly folks,” he croaks, bowing. Dear God, could it be Simon? She thinks. The man life has worn down—yes, it’s him. She drops some coins into his cap and hurries back to the car, feeling neither malice nor pity. Zak sees her face and asks, “Nastya, are you alright?” “It’s nothing, just a headache…” “Let’s get you home and resting,” he says, worry in his voice. Anastasia lies down at home, but sleep doesn’t come. Memories long dormant flood back—she remembers herself at eighteen. After finishing school in the village, she first worked on a poultry farm, then the post office. At eighteen, she fell for Simon—a reckless, handsome young man just out of the army, a gifted accordionist. Simon turned many girls’ heads, stories swirled about his wild ways. Nastya tried not to look, but couldn’t help herself, listening to his every word. She adored him. But Simon seemed indifferent, playing his accordion at the club, surrounded by girls, often tipsy. Nastya saw no fault in him and dreamt of marrying him. Meanwhile, Zak—quiet, unremarkable—had loved Nastya since their schooldays. She paid him little attention, even as her friend Irene whispered, “Why bother with that Simon? Look at Zak—he loves you! Love someone who loves you.” But Nastya would not be persuaded. Finally, one night, Simon noticed her at the club. He watched her and declared, “I’ll walk you home tonight.” She agreed, though he was drunk. They spent the night together. Simon whispered, “You’re all I need—I’ll never leave you,” and Nastya believed him. But the next night, when she approached him at the club, he dismissed her. “What do you want, Nastya? I was drunk—forget it,” he said, cruelly. “But you promised—I love you!” she wept. “Never promised you anything. Leave off,” he snapped, and her world collapsed. After that, Simon avoided her, and Nastya stopped attending the club, focusing on work and home. Soon, she realised she was pregnant. Around the same time, her father died suddenly. Together, she and her mother grieved, and her pregnancy added to the hardship. To have a child without a husband was shameful. She told Simon about the pregnancy; he sneered, “Probably someone else’s—don’t pin it on me!” and walked away. Her mother was saddened but supportive, “We’ll keep the child—I’ll help you.” Later, Nastya and Irene saw Simon with Vera, an out-of-town girl. “They’re engaged and leaving,” Irene said. Nastya was devastated, grief multiplying with her heartbreak. Crying in her yard, Irene and Zak visited, trying to lift her spirits. When her pregnancy became visible, Zak spoke earnestly, “I know you don’t love me, Nastya. But let your child have a father. I’ll always be here, caring for you both. If you can’t love me, I’ll love enough for both of us.” “I don’t know, Zak… I don’t know if I’ll ever love you,” she replied. Zak and Nastya quietly married. That spring, she gave birth to Mike, with Irene as godmother. Zak kept his promise, being a loving father and husband. Though she still felt numb, she tried to forget Simon, taking comfort in Zak’s patience. Zak never reproached her, instead cherishing every day. When Mike spoke his first word—“Dad”—Zak was moved to tears. Nastya’s heart thawed as she watched her little family blossom. Soon, she was expecting again. “Zak, we’re having another baby,” she announced, and his joy was overwhelming. With baby William’s arrival, Nastya realised just how much Zak meant to her. “Zak’s the best father and husband,” she told Irene, appreciating his devotion at last. “I want to be a good wife—I owe him my happiness.” One evening, Zak came home and proposed, “Let’s have a proper church wedding, so we’ll be together always—even afterwards, up there.” He looked heavenward. “Let’s—I’ll agree to anything with you!” she exclaimed. Years passed; Zak and Anastasia shared a harmonious, loving life—her happiness ever renewed. As for Simon, he was a shadow from her past. With Zak’s help, she overcame that heartbreak, forgave Simon, and understood that everyone deserves forgiveness in the end.

Everyone Deserves Forgiveness

Lucy blinked awake, noticing the sunlight seeping through the curtains and bathing her bedroom in gold.

“I really must get new curtains; something heavier for summer,” she mused, glancing at her husband still sound asleep beside her. “Nothing disturbs his sleep, not even this brilliant sun,” she thought, fondness stirring as she looked at George.

She shuffled off to the kitchen, ran through her morning routine and prepared breakfast. Mornings used to burst with laughter when her two sons, Tom and John, played and joked around the table, making a ruckus. George pretended strictness, but adoration always twinkled in his eyes.

But the boys grew up, finished their studies, married, and now their own bustling families kept them in the city. Tom lived with his wife and daughter in Manchester; John, with his wife and rambunctious twin boys, had settled in Surrey. Both were successful and often dropped by their parents’ cottage in the village.

Today, Lucy planned a trip to Manchester, longing to see her granddaughter, Pippa. George would drive, as usual. She set out breakfast, just about to call her husband when he appeared in the doorway, already awake.

“Oh, youre up! I was just thinking to call you,” she smiled.

“I’ve been up for a while, just lying about with my eyes shut, letting the scent of your toast drift in,” George laughed.

“Go freshen up and come eat, George, were off to Toms soon.” He nodded, already heading off.

They lived a gentle life in the quiet village. Lucy worked at the post office, delivering letters and winter heating allowance, while George fixed farm machinery for neighbours. After breakfast she sent George to the cellar for preserves.

“Grab a couple jars of pickled cucumbers and tomatoes, two of salad, and a few of jamraspberry and cherry, dont forget,” Lucy called after him as he disappeared underground.

They loaded the boot with potatoes and preserves and drove offsummers emerald feast stretched across the fields.

“Isnt summer beautiful, George?” Lucy beamed, Junes breath already greening every view.

“Lovely,” George replied. “Good to have a proper weekenddo whatever we like!”

After a boisterous reunion and tea with Pippa, the table laid beautifully by daughter-in-law Elizabeth, Lucy and George chatted about this and that before preparing to leave.

“Granny, dont go yet,” Pippa wailed, full of games she wanted to play.

“My darling, I must catch the market before it closes. But you visit on Sunday with Mum and Dadwell be waiting! The gardens yours to romp in and Grandad George will take you fishing,” Lucy crooned, and Pippa finally relented.

The market bustled still, and Lucy wandered between stalls, needing a new dressing-gown, some cotton socks and shirts for George.

“Lucy, Ill pop into the hardware shop and meet you at the car. Old clothes markets arent for me,” George teased.

Lucy made her purchases and strolled back. Near two kiosks, something stopped hera grey-haired accordion player, ragged in charity-shop clothes, unkempt beard, battered cap on the pavement with pennies and pound coins scattered within.

“Spare some change, kind folks,” he rasped, bowing repeatedly.

“My word, is that Simon?” Lucys heart raced. “Could it really be himso battered by life? Yes, unmistakably Simon.” She hurried past, dropped coins into his cap, and walked on, eyes fixed on her car.

Lucy felt neither malice nor pity. George soon joined her, concern in his voice.

“Lucy, are you all right?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, just a headache, I think…”

“Well get home and you can rest,” George said gently.

Back home, Lucy lay on the couch, but sleep eluded her. Memories, long dormant, suddenly roared to lifeher eighteen-year-old self returned.

Shed grown up in the village, helping her parents, worked at the poultry farm before joining the post office. And at eighteen, Lucy was utterly smitten with Simona roguish tractor driver and accordionist, freshly back from the Army. Simon turned many a girl’s head; gossip fluttered about his wild antics.

Lucy tried not to notice, but she thirsted for his words, desperate for his glance. Shed do anything to be near him, but Simon paid her no mind, playing his accordion at the village hall, surrounded by laughing girls, tipsy and teasing. Lucy failed to see his faults; she dreamed of marrying him.

George, meanwhile, the quiet and plain boy from her school, had loved Lucy for years. She barely noticed him, but he watched, sighing, as her eyes devoured Simon.

“Why waste yourself on unreliable Simon?” her friend Margaret chided, disdain thick in her voice. “Look at Georgehe’s adored you forever. Love those who love you. That one…” She shot Simon an icy look.

No one could sway Lucy. She loved Simonno one else existed. One evening, Simon finally noticed Lucy as she twirled at the village dance. He saw her glowing, hungry for his attention, and decided tonight was her turn.

He played, at times peering at Lucy. Her heart soaredfinally, Simon was looking back.

“Lucy, Ill walk you home tonight,” he declared, slightly boozy. She agreed, despite the scent of whisky.

They walked, spent the night together; Simon whispered warm false promises”I need only you, Ill never leave you.” Lucy believed him.

The next night she dashed to the dance, longing for Simon’s gaze, but he scarcely looked at her.

“What do you want, Lucy?” he gruffly mumbled. “I drank too much last nightjust forget it,” he said, resuming his playing with a smirk.

The words stabbed Lucy’s soul, her heart thundering with humiliation.

“But you promisedI’m in love with you,” she pleaded.

“Promised? I never promised. Leave me be,” Simon spat, his world closed. Lucys collapsed.

Simon evaded her from then on, and Lucy stopped going outwork and home became her refuge. She learned she was pregnant not long after, and soon her father died unexpectedly. The grief weighed down mother and daughter; Lucys pregnancy made things harderunmarried mothers were shamed.

Lucy told Simon about the child; he sneered.

“Not mineyou messed about, now you want me as the scapegoat. Not happening,” he huffed, spitting as he walked away.

Lucy confessed all to her mother, who, though saddened, stood staunchly by her”Well keep the child, Ill help you with everything.” One day, Lucy and Margaret spotted Simon arm-in-arm with Veronica, a city girl visiting her aunt.

“Dont stare. Theyre marryingheading off to London,” Margaret muttered.

Lucy, drowning in heartbreak, barely made it home before tears took her under. Margaret and George tried to cheer her.

Months passed; Simon moved away, leaving Lucy somewhat lighter. George began meeting her after work, seeing her home, helping around the houseshe thought of him as a friend. He knew it, telling stories to make her laugh, but as her belly grew round, he spoke in earnest.

“Lucy, I know you dont love me. But let your child have a father. Ill be here with you, always, loving you and your son or daughter. Children are joyif you cant love me, Ill love enough for both of us. Please, Lucy, dont shut me out”

“I dont know, George,” Lucy faltered. “Im not sure I can ever love you.”

Yet, quietly, they registered their marriage. In spring, a son, Tommy, was born, Margaret his godmother. George kept every promisehe was a gentle, steadfast father. Lucy lived in George’s house; he did everything for her. She no longer loved Simon, tried to forget, but couldnt yet love George.

George never reproached Lucy. Patient and hopeful, he cherished each day. When Tommy finally spoke, the first word was “Daddy”tears of gratitude sparkled in Georges eyes. Watching her men, Lucys heart thawed, softly, day by day. Not long after, she realised she was expecting again.

“George,” Lucy said, “were having another baby.”

“Heavens, LucyI’m so happy!”

When little Jack was born, George could hardly let go of him. Around then, Lucy suddenly understood just how precious George had become.

“George is the best father and husband,” she joyfully told Margaret, who knew Lucy at last saw how much George had given her, and rejoiced in her friends happiness. “Ill be a good wifeIm so grateful for his patience.”

“Lucy,” George asked one evening after work, “shall we marry properly in church, so well be together here and…even afterwards?” He glanced at the clouds outside.

“Yes, George! Ill do anything with you,” Lucy agreed.

Years passed, and Lucy and George lived in harmony and love, Lucy marvelling every day at her good fortune. As for Simon, he was once a calamity and an obsession, but with her loving husbands help, Lucy overcame that shadow. It was her mistake, but she forgave Simonbecause, in the end, everyone deserves forgiveness.