Eleanor had been alone from an early age. Her father had long since passed, and her mother died while she was in her final year at the university in Manchester. It was a hard time; her dissertation loomed ahead, yet grief weighed her down. She found solace in the family of Jacob, the only close person she now had.
Eleanor and Jacob had met in their second year and become a couple by the third. Jacobs parents, Mary Michaelson and Peter Danvers, treated the girl with warmth and respect. Everyone anticipated the day when the studies would end and the young couple would wed.
The wedding was modest, and Ethelher affectionate nicknamewas heartbroken that her mother had not lived to see it. She remembered her mothers parting words: Before you marry, have a proper checkup, my dear. The warning was not without cause. As a child Ethel had suffered a serious injury from a mishap on an icy hill, and doctors had feared lasting damage to her reproductive health. They monitored her closely, though no one could give a definite answer.
The prospect of motherhood remained an open question even after the happy recovery she enjoyed. On the eve of the wedding she obeyed her mothers advice and underwent another examination. Though the overall health was good, the chance of bearing a child was still uncertain.
She first spoke with her future motherinlaw, who after a moment of thought said, If there is even the slightest chance, dont lose hope now. Ill speak with Jacob myself. After the bachelor party Jacob arrived home slightly intoxicated and dejected. I want children, Ethel, do you understand? he begged. What if we cant? Would that still be a family?
Ethel burst into tears and replied that the decision lay with him, but that they could try. The doctors had left a sliver of hope, and Jacob was the only man she wanted by her side.
The first year of marriage brought no good news. Mary Michaelson, who loved her daughterinlaw dearly, shared the worry. Jacobs father, Thomas, and Mary put great effort into keeping the marriage afloat and sent Ethel to a specialist centre in Bath under the Womens Shield programme, which had helped many achieve their dreams. Yet the treatment bore no fruit. After two years it became clear that hope was fading. Ethel fell into despair; Jacob supported her as best he could, but tension seeped into the household. Jacob did not blame Ethel, yet he could not accept a childless life either.
Ethel suggested adoption. Lets take a little one into our home and raise it as our own. Jacob recoiled. That child will never be mine. I cannot give him my fatherly love. Understand me, Ethel; I cannot do that. Strangely, his parents sided with him, believing that a child taken in without love would grow up feeling unwanted.
The thought of divorce entered Ethels mind, even though she still loved Jacob and did not wish to cause him further pain. Lets part, Jacob. Youre still young; youll find another wife and have children. Jacob hesitated, but when he met Olga, a lively new colleague who had just started work with them, he sensed his destiny shifting.
The conversation with Ethel was painful for Jacob; he felt he was betraying her, leaving her to fate. She answered gently, We each have our own path. You deserve a better destiny. Dont blame yourself. That evening Jacob left the house, taking his belongings. Mary and Thomas visited Ethel, apologising for not being able to steer Jacob away from his troubles. Remember, dear, there were nights he came home drunk and upset. We feared he would be consumed by drink, and that would ruin both of you. They brewed tea, spoke from the heart, and promised never to turn their backs on her, treating her as a daughter.
All the promises offered little comfort. Ethel accepted everything, thanked them, and wept through the night. Their separation was swift; they divided no assets. Ethel stayed alone in the flat she had once shared with Jacob, while he soon remarried.
She did not remain solitary for long. A handsome, kindhearted man named Paul entered her life, eager to surround her with care. Yet Ethel never loved him. Jacobs spectre haunted her dreams, his face sad, his eyes clouded, his hands reaching out but never quite touching. She fought the thoughts of him, yearning to change her life.
One winter Ethel fell gravely ill. After preparing dinner for Paul, she felt faint; by nightfall her temperature spiked. Paul called an ambulance and kept her at his house. The next morning he was solemn, tending to her alone. When she recovered, he confessed, That night I never left your side. You called out for him, grabbed my hands, called him Jakey, begged me not to go. Do you still love him? Ethel did not try to spare his feelings. Yes. I love him. Im perhaps a oneheart woman. Its hard, Paul. I cannot build a relationship without love. She left him forever. He did not protest.
Soon after, news reached Ethel that Jacob had finally welcomed a longawaited son. The blow cut deep; the loss felt final and irreparable. For three years she lived as if shrouded in fog. Occasionally Jacobs parents kept their promise and visited, offering moral support. She bore no ill will toward them or toward her former husband.
One day she spied Jacob in the park with his son, but she did not approach, and he did not notice her. Tears rose again, the unending love and the cruelty of fate weighing on her. Gradually, however, she began to find herself again. The knowledge that Jacob was happy eased her heart. His parents spoke of his good wife, his caring nature, though he kept a certain distance. They adored his son, Eddie, and urged her not to hold a grudge. We hold no ill will, dear, they said. He never deceived you; he loved in his own way. The divorce was my own decision.
On Ethels birthday Jacob called, merely as a friend, wishing her well and asking after her life. The call unsettled her, pulling her back into old emotions. She decided it was best not to keep in touch.
A year later tragedy struck again: Olga, Jacobs wife, fell ill. Mary called her, sorrowful, saying there was little hope. She wept for her son and grandson. Ethel, unable to find a place for herself, worried for them. She could not save the ailing woman. At the cemetery she stood at the back of the crowd, not knowing why she had come, but unable to stay away. Jacobs former motherinlaw embraced her shouldertoshoulder and whispered, Thank you, dear. There is no malice nor spite in you. Jacob never noticed her then. He phoned months later, brief, asking to visit. Ethel, though hesitant, allowed him, thinking he must be struggling.
He had changed; age had settled into his onceyouthful vigor. Grief never looks beautiful. They sat at a set table and talked of life. Why havent you married again? he asked. Because I love you, and I need no one else, Ethel replied, and Jacob wept. It was strange and moving; she had never seen him cry before.
Lets go to the grandparents; I need to fetch Eddie, then we can walk, if youll have it. The boy was sweet but shy, understandable for a child who had lost his mother so young. Ethel kept a neutral distance, not clinging, while Eddie watched her with curiosity.
Their meetings grew regular, almost every weekend, without obligations or promises, merely to ease each others loneliness. One day Mary called, saying Jacob intended to ask Ethel to return, though he was still undecided. He was struggling; a year had passed, he lingered in melancholy, and the child suffered.
Ethel called Jacob at once and agreed. No one else could compare to him, she thought. They lived together again, though it was hard. Jacob was cold and reticent; she had to learn to love anothers child.
When, on Ethels next birthday, little Eddie presented her with a drawing of the three of them standing under a bright sun, his childlike hand scrawling Mum above, tears fell from her eyes. She cradled the boy and said, Your mother looks down from above, happy that you are such a good lad. I love you too. You are now my son. They lived in harmony. Jacob thawed, accepted her love, and became the gentle, caring man he once had been. At last Ethel found the happiness she had chased for years in solitude.
She was never a devout believer, yet she sometimes visited the church, lighting a candle for the soul of the woman who had left this world yet given her a beloved son and a caring husband.
