“I know the secret you’ve kept for thirty years,” murmured Margaret, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Elizabeth, these stuffed cabbage leaves are simply divine! Might I have the recipe?” Harriet extended her empty plate for another helping, her face glowing with delight. “Mine never turn out half as tender.”
“Oh, it’s nothing special,” Elizabeth smiled as she served another portion. “Just take your time kneading the mince and boil the cabbage just right. I’d be happy to show you sometimedo drop by.”
The family had gathered in the grand dining room of Elizabeth and Edwards home in Kent, celebrating Edwards seventieth birthday. Their usually spacious parlour now felt cramped with children, grandchildren, and relatives, laughter and chatter filling the air, mingling with the rich scents of home-cooked dishes.
Elizabeth caught the steady gaze of Margaret, Edwards sister, who had travelled all the way from York for the occasion. They hadnt seen each other in nearly a decade, and Elizabeth noted with unease how much Margaret had changedonce lively and outspoken, she now seemed subdued, almost faded. Only her eyes remained the same: sharp, watchful, faintly mocking.
“Margaret, would you care for more?” Elizabeth asked, hoping to dispel the strange tension that had settled between them.
“No, thank you,” Margaret replied, shaking her head but never breaking eye contact. “Ive had my fillin every sense.”
Something in her tone sent a chill down Elizabeths spine. She opened her mouth to ask if anything was the matter, but Edward rose then, tapping his spoon against his glass.
“My dear friends, my family!” His deep baritone filled the room. “I must thank you all for sharing this day with me. Especially you, Margaretcoming all this way means more than I can say.”
“Nothings too far for my dear brother,” Margaret answered, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
“And above all, my thanks to my Elizabeth,” Edward said, resting a hand on his wifes shoulder. “Forty-three years together, and every day I count myself blessed to have you.”
Elizabeth flushed under the warm gazes of their guestsand Margarets piercing stare.
The evening wore on, shifting from supper to tea as guests gradually departed. The older grandchildren ushered the younger ones off to play, while their son and daughter-in-law insisted on clearing the dishes, refusing Elizabeths help. She sank onto the settee, weary from the days joys, when Margaret settled beside her.
“Tired?” Margaret studied her with an odd intensity.
“A little,” Elizabeth admitted. “Its been a busy daybut a lovely one.”
“Yes,” Margaret mused. “My brother is a fortunate man. Such a family, such a wife… Forty-three years. It might have turned out quite differently, though.”
Elizabeth stiffened.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing in particular,” Margaret shrugged. “Only fate takes strange turns now and then, doesnt it?”
Before Elizabeth could reply, Edward approached, rosy-cheeked from wine and merriment.
“What are my two favourite ladies whispering about?” He slung an arm around Margarets shoulders. “Plotting against husband and brother, are we?”
“Dont be silly, Edward,” Margaret patted his hand. “Elizabeth and I were just reminiscing. Isnt that right, Lizzie?”
As the night wound down, Elizabeth saw the last guests out, helped finish the washing up, and watched as Edward, exhausted by the celebrations, retired to bed. Margaret, staying in the guest room, soon excused herself as well.
Elizabeth tidied the kitchen and made for her own room, but a sliver of light beneath the guest room door gave her pause. She knocked softly.
“Margaret, are you awake? Shall I bring you some tea?”
The door opened, and Margaret nodded. “Come in. No teabut Id like to talk.”
Elizabeth stepped inside, an inexplicable dread curling in her stomach. The guest room was modest, with a sofa bed, an old chest of drawers, and a small telly. Margaret perched on the edge of the bed and gestured to the chair.
“Is something wrong?” Elizabeth asked as she sat. “Youve been odd all evening.”
“Something has happened,” Margaret said, meeting her gaze directly. “Three months ago, I saw a doctor. Its cancer, Elizabeth. Stage four.”
Elizabeth gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Good heavens, Margaret! Why didnt you say anything? There must be treatments”
“Its too late,” Margaret shook her head. “Six months at most, they said. And its made me rethink so many things. Remember what Id long tried to forget.”
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth frowned, lost.
Margaret leaned closer and whispered, “I know the secret youve kept for thirty years.”
Elizabeth went very still, the blood draining from her face. A roaring filled her ears, her heart skipping.
“What secret?” Her voice trembled.
“Dont pretend,” Margaret said coldly. “I know about Jonathan Whitmore. That summer in Cornwall. What happened when Edward was away for those two weeks in Scotland.”
“How” Elizabeths throat tightened around the word.
“I saw you,” Margaret said simply. “Id come as a surprise, hoping to stay. I went upstairsthe door was unlocked. I heard and then I saw.”
Elizabeth covered her face. That day, thirty years pastone she had buried deeprushed back with horrifying clarity. Jonathan, Edwards old friend and colleague, stopping by to return a book. Wine on the terrace at sunset, conversation then sudden, reckless passion. The only betrayal in all their years of marriage, a mistake she had never forgiven herself for.
“Why wait so long to speak of it?” Elizabeth finally managed.
“At first, I meant to tell Edward,” Margaret admitted. “But he loved you so. And Jonathan left for London straight after, so there was no continuation. I saw how you suffered. I thought it wasnt my place.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “And now? Why tell me now? Do you mean to tell Edward beforebefore you go? To poison his last years with this?”
Margaret studied her for a long moment, then shook her head. “No. That isnt why Ive come. Ive come to ask your forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness?” Elizabeth echoed, bewildered. “For what?”
“For what came after,” Margaret lowered her eyes. “For what you dont know.”
“What are you talking about?”
Margaret drew a breath, as if steeling herself. “After I saw you with Jonathan, I went to a hotel. I was furiousyou know how I adored my brother. And the next day, in that same hotel, I met Jonathan.”
“And?” Elizabeth tensed.
“We talked. He was drunk, wretched. Said hed made a terrible mistake, betrayed his friend. That it had been sudden, that youd both lost your heads” Margaret hesitated. “Then I told him Id tell Edward. And hehe begged me not to. Offered money. I refused. Then he offered something else.”
“What?” Elizabeth whispered, though some part of her already knew.
“Himself,” Margaret said plainly. “And I accepted. I spent the night with him in exchange for my silence. In the morning he was gone. Transferred to London. We never saw him again.”
Elizabeth stared, uncomprehending. “You and Jonathan? But why?”
“Because I envied you,” Margaret confessed bitterly. “So beautiful, so clever, so loved by my brother. And then I saw you werent perfect. I I took my chance. Wanted to feel superior, if only in this.”
“Good Lord,” Elizabeth murmured. “What a mess we made.”
“Yes,” Margaret agreed. “And then I learned I was with child.”
The room seemed to tilt. “What?”
“I was carrying Jonathans child,” Margaret repeated, tears glistening. “I ended it. Told no one. A year later, I married Henryyou know him. Bore him two children. But I never never forgot that night. What I did.”
Elizabeth sat stunned, the weight of the confession pressing upon her.
“Why tell me now?” she finally asked.
“Because Im dying,” Margaret said simply. “I cant go with this between us. I wanted you to know the truth. And perhaps to forgive me. As I forgave you long ago.”
“Forgave me?” Elizabeth echoed.
“For betraying my brother. For being the cause of my own mistake,” Margaret gave a faint smile. “Though of course, the fault was mine. My envy, my weakness.”
They sat in silence. Outside, a car passed, its headlights briefly illuminating the room before darkness returned.
“You wont tell Edward?” Elizabeth asked at last. “Not about me, nor yourself?”
“No,” Margaret shook her head. “Why shatter what youve built? I see how happy he is with you. How you love each other, despite everything. Thats what matters.”
Unexpectedly, Elizabeth reached out and clasped Margarets hand. “Thank you. And Im so sorry, Margaret. Sorry youre ill. Sorry we lost so many years to those mistakes.”
“So am I,” Margaret squeezed back. “But you knowI feel lighter now. As if a weights been lifted.”
“What will you do?” Elizabeth asked. “About treatment?”
“Palliative care,” Margaret shrugged. “Ill spend what time I have at home, with family. Henry knows. The children too. Edwards the only one I havent told. I didnt want to darken his birthday.”
Elizabeth nodded. “But we must tell him. He deserves to know about his sister.”
“Tomorrow,” Margaret agreed. “But for now would you hold me? As a sister might?”
Elizabeth rose and sat beside her, wrapping Margaret in her arms. She felt the frail woman tremble with silent sobs. Her own eyes burned with tearsfor the past, for lost time, for the loss to come.
“Stay with me tonight,” Margaret whispered. “Just until I sleep. Im afraid to be alone.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth stroked her greying hair. “Ill stay.”
They talked through the nightsoftly, so as not to wake Edward. Of childhood, of youth, of dreams fulfilled and abandoned. Of husbands, children, grandchildren. Margaret confessed she had followed their lives through letters, rare calls, glimpses in the papers.
“You know,” she admitted as dawn crept in, “I used to hope your marriage would fail. That Edward would learn the truth, that youd part Horrid of me, wasnt it? But then, after years, I realisedI was glad for you. That youd kept your love alive through everything. My envy it turned to admiration.”
“It wasnt easy,” Elizabeth said quietly. “We quarrelled, we struggled. My guilt never left me. I tried to atonewith devotion, fidelity, love.”
“And you did,” Margaret smiled weakly. “See? One night didnt undo forty-three years.”
As full light broke, Margaret finally slept, worn out by the nights confessions. Elizabeth tucked the blanket around her and slipped out, only to meet Edward in the hallway, rumpled in his striped pyjamas.
“There you are,” he said, blinking sleepily. “I woke and you were gone.”
“I was with Margaret,” Elizabeth said, embracing him. “We talked all night.”
“About what?” He searched her face. “Is something wrong?”
Elizabeth hesitated. There would be time for sorrow later.
“The past,” she said. “Youth, mistakes how we learn to live with them.”
“And what was the verdict?” Edward smiled, squeezing her shoulders.
Elizabeth thought for a moment. “That love is stronger than hurt, envy, or regret. That forgiveness sets us free. And its never too late to begin anew.”
“Philosophers, the pair of you,” Edward chuckled, kissing her forehead. “Breakfast? Ill fry up some eggs.”
Elizabeth nodded, gazing at him with tenderness. Forty-three years togethereach day a gift, despite the past. Or perhaps because of it. For it was in overcoming flaws, in forgiving and being forgiven, that they had learned to love truly.
She glanced once more at the guest room door, where Margaret slept. A woman who had been more rival than sister. Now, unexpectedly, a confidanteand family. Time was short, but it was time they would not waste.
“Lets go,” Elizabeth said, taking Edwards hand. “Quietly, thoughMargarets resting. Its been a long night for her.”
And so they wentthe silver-haired man in his pyjamas and his wife with tear-stained cheeks and a quiet smile. Ahead lay a new day, with its joys and sorrows, its truths and reconciliations, its love and forgiveness. A day to be lived wellif only for those who had so few left.
