The dawn caught us on a dusty road leading away from the village. In one hand, I held little Sophies small palm; in the other, a light suitcase stuffed not with belongings but with broken hopes. The bus coughed and sputtered as it pulled away from the stop, carrying us far 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 sunrise, just as hed excitedly described the night before. Through the grimy window, I watched the fields blur past and faced the bitter truth: I had never met a man whose love was worth fighting for. And yet, it had all started so beautifully, so dazzlingly romantic it took my breath away.
Mark had barged into my life during his final year at university. He overwhelmed me with compliments, gazed at me with lovesick eyes that melted my doubts, and swore he couldnt imagine life without meor without my four-year-old Sophie. His persistence, boyish sincerity, and passion thawed the ice around my heart, still tender from losing my first husband. Within three months, he moved into my flat, brimming with promises.
“Alice, my love,” hed say, eyes shining like deep lakes, “once I graduate, well visit 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 felt simple, certain.
“Alright,” Id murmur, a fragile hope kindling inside. He spoke so often of his motherkind, hospitable, a woman who cherished guests and made any house a home. I wanted to believe him. God, how I wanted to.
The village where Mark grew up greeted us under a quiet evening sun. His entire family lived clustered together, practically shoulder to shoulder. I didnt know then about Emily, the local beauty infatuated with Mark since childhood, the girl everyone assumed hed marry. Nor did I know about Granddad Thomas, Marks grandfather, who lived nearby in a creaking old house and often visited his sons sauna since his own had collapsed. Thomas spent his days in quiet reflection, gazing at the hill where his wife rested beneath a birch. He knew guests were cominghis grandson was bringing his fiancée.
The night before, Thomas had dropped by and found his daughter-in-law Helen in a foul mood.
“Another row with Steven?” hed asked, bracing for another lecture.
But Helen, seeing him, spat out her grievances first:
“Did you know Marks getting married? Bringing his city girl tomorrow.”
“I heard,” Thomas said mildly. “Good for him. Education done, job secured. Time to settle before life passes him by.”
“Easy for you to say,” Helen snapped, face twisting. “But this womanolder than him! With a child! As if there arent plenty of decent girls here. Our Emily, for onepretty, hardworking, a nurse! And who is this one? No one knows where her child came from, what family shes got. Why saddle himself with someone elses burden? He could have his own children!”
“Helen, meddling never ends well,” Thomas tried, but she wasnt listening.
Shed seethed for days, nursing resentment toward her son and the stranger whod stolen him from Emily. Quietly, venomously, she hatched her plan: no feast, no smiles. Let this city woman see she wasnt wanted.
We arrived exhausted but hopeful. Mark glowed with happinesshe hadnt been home in a year. His mother opened the door, and he rushed in, leaving Sophie and me lingering awkwardly on the threshold.
“Mark, darling!” Helen clung to him, her glance flicking over us, cold and assessing. “Our graduate! Finally home!” The emphasis on *you* was unmistakable*not like some others*.
“Mum, wheres Dad? Granddad?”
“In the sauna. Theyll be back soon.” Again, only *you* mattered.
Then she turned to me, saccharine and barbed:
“So this is Alice? With the child?” Her eyes raked me up and down, slow and demeaning.
“Well, come in, wash up. Mark, show her around.”
From the first words, I understood. Mark, oblivious, beamed and led me inside. His father and grandfather returnedSteven gruff but warm, Thomas gentle-eyed. They hugged us all with genuine delight, their welcome unfeigned.
“Dinner, Helen!” Steven boomed. “Our guests are tired and hungry!”
The table was pitifully bare. Marks frown flashedhe knew his mothers usual spreads. I barely ate, my throat tight with humiliation. Why hadnt he introduced me as his fiancée? Why let them slight us?
Steven poured homemade wine, but Helen raised her glass first:
“To Mark! To his degree, his new job!”
Toast after toastonly for Mark. As if Sophie and I were ghosts. And he he laughed, chatted, said nothing.
Only Thomas noticed, his kind glances and silent disapproval of Helen piercing the tension.
Sophie, polite but exhausted, nodded off. I asked Helen where she could sleep.
“That room.” She jerked her chin. “Clean sheets.”
The door slammed. I tucked Sophie in, then heard Helen outside, loud and mocking:
“Too tired, she says. Wont join us.”
My heart shattered. I lay beside Sophie, tears hot and silent. *Why am I here? Wheres the kind woman he promised? Why doesnt he see this?*
Mark woke me later, whispering, “Come to my room. Why sleep here? Well talk tomorrowthe wedding, everything.”
I didnt sleep. I replayed every word, every glance. I remembered my late husbands motherhow shed wept with joy when we met, became a second mother to me. My David would never have let anyone slight me. But Mark he just smiled.
*To them, Im a mistake. Because of Sophie. But theyre wrong if they think Ill tolerate this.*
Breakfast was a charade of family warmth. Stories of Marks childhood, laughter. Steven slipped Sophie sweets; Helen watched, seething. Then, faux-sad, she sighed:
“Ah, Mark, no more carefree days. Now youll work to feed” Her eyes cut to Sophie. *Someone elses child.*
Mark grinned blankly. Steven slammed the table:
“Helen!”
But my patience had snapped. And then Mark, clueless, chirped,
“Alice, lets show you the village! Well visit Granddad!”
Outside, I poured out my hurt. He brushed it off*just Mum being overprotective, dont take it so seriously.* He didnt understand. I didnt need him to fight. I needed one word. Just one.
“Dont fuss, love,” he said, patting my shoulder. “Well leave soon. Im fishing at dawnperfect catch then!”
By morning, he was gone. Helen cornered me in the hall, snarling,
“Mark says youre leaving. Because of you. When will I see my son again? Will you chain him to your skirt? Feed him to your brat”
I listened, eerily calm. Then, smiling politely, I said,
“Helen, my first husband was an officer. Honest, brave. He loved me more than life. Unlike your son, he proved itnot with words, but actions. His mother still treats me like a daughter. She bought our flat, is buying another for Sophie. I have two degrees, speak three languages, run two shops. Your son couldnt dream of my income. So no, he wont be feeding anyone.
“And you know what? Im grateful. You showed me the truth. God doesnt make mistakes. I dont need a mother-in-law who sees me as a threat. Or a man who wont defend his family.”
I packed our bags, woke Sophie, and left without looking back.
The bus rumbled away. I closed my eyes. Ahead lay the road hometo real life, real love. Id learned my worth. And that was everything.
