Hey love, youve got to hear Lilys crazy life storyI swear it sounds like a soap opera but its all true.
Lily was tiny, barely five foot, with a waist that could slip through a teacup, bright green eyes and a laugh that could light up a room. Men of every age adored her; you know how gents love a petite lady, like a little sparrow you just want to keep safe in your hands. She also had an incredible voicemidalto, youd call it a mezzosoprano. Singing was in her blood, even though she spent her days as a lab technician at the old chemicals plant down in Manchester.
She joined every local choir she could find, started with shy, tentative gigs and gradually worked up to the main stage. Her whole soul craved music, and she lived for it.
She never rushed into marriage, never even thought about kids. Why bother? shed say to her married friends over tea, All that family stuff takes up all the time you could be singing and enjoying life. The ladies would nod, then dash off to their maternity leaves, one after another, while Lily kept her focus on the microphone.
Then, fate threw a curveball. Lily had to hand her lab reports to the workshop foreman, Tom Bennett. The office door was always guarded by the secretary, Rebecca, who took her job seriouslyshed snatch the reports the minute Lily stepped in, thank her politely and say, Dont worry, Ill pass them to Tom. So Lily never actually met the boss.
One day Rebecca fell ill. Lily knocked politely, peeked in, and found Tom sitting at the end of his long desk.
Come in, love. Whats up? he asked.
Just the test results, sir, Lily murmured.
New here? he pressed.
No, Ive been at this place for over five years.
He blinked, a little surprised, then they shared a laugh and she headed back to her workstation. From then on, Lily slipped the reports directly onto Toms desk, and Rebecca, now recovered, would turn away, fussing over the office plants as if Lilys presence were an intrusion.
Lily was twentyseven then, and a brief office romance sparked. Tom was a decent sortnot the type to swoon over gossip columns, but reliable, steady, and goodlooking. He even suggested they marry straight away. Lily laughed it off at firstshe didnt want any extra hassle. Most women would have sprinted after a man like him, but Lily held back, wanting to keep things easy.
Her colleagues, however, were relentless. Toms asking you out! Dont play hard to get, Lily! Youll be old and lonely otherwise! they teased. Eventually, Lily gave in.
The wedding was a proper English affairshe wore a simple ivory dress, a veil, and those teenysized shoes that made her look like a porcelain doll. Tom was beaming. Lily, though, kept her emotions in check, saving her energy for performances rather than husbandtalk.
Their honeymoon was sweet, but Lily soon was off to regional tourslocal theatres, community halls, even a few retreats. Tom was supportive, but only asked her to do the usual house chores: Could you whip up a tea, Lily, and iron my shirt, please?
Shed flap her hands and reply, Tom, Im in a rush, love! Hed kiss her forehead, say, Sorry, Im just being daft, go on and sing! It became a running joke.
Over time Tom learned to make readymade meals, do a few loads of laundry, and even fry an egg without burning the kitchen. He didnt want to burden Lily with the mundaneshe was his artistic muse, after all.
A few years later Lily left the plant altogether, living off her singing gigs. Tom, used to the idea of a creative wife, never expected her to become a homemaker. One afternoon he asked his new secretary, Zoya, for a coffee. She offered him cherryfilled pastries, and when he mentioned his wife had no time for him, Zoya muttered, Right, the wife sings and the husband howls like a wolf. She started bringing him soups, stews, even the occasional jamfilled scone.
Tom never realized how much he was being coddled by Zoya, but he never crossed any linehe was still loyal to Lily. Zoya, meanwhile, dreamed of winning his heart, convinced that patience would eventually tip the scales.
Then, after four years of marriage, Lily suddenly started gaining weight, asking Tom to stock up on pickles and stewed applesclassic babyontheway signs. Tom was over the moon, picturing a tiny bundle in his arms. Lily, however, visited a doctor, hoping to avoid the unwanted responsibility. The doctor told her it was too late and urged her to have a healthy baby. Lily kept it to herself.
Tom started scoping out the best prams and cribs, checking prices in pounds, while Lily wrestled with the decision. She confided in Zoya, who, feeling spurned, handed in her resignation with a halfsmile, Ive run out of cherries for my pastries, dear.
A middleaged woman named Margaret took over the secretary desk, always quick with a snide remark: Tom, youve let a good one slip away! Tom brushed her off, Just get on with the work, Margaret.
Lily eventually gave birth to a little girl. The midwife asked, What will you call her? Lily snapped, Nothing yet. Tom burst into the ward with a bouquet, but Lily stayed in the bed, sobbing. The other mums in the ward tried to comfort her, but Lily was adamant: I dont want this child! The room turned into a chorus of whispers about love affairs, twins, and secret children.
A nurse handed Lily a bunch of roses from Tom, who was pacing outside, nervous as a schoolboy. Lily didnt touch them.
A few weeks later Tom was sent on a work trip and returned home, eager to see his daughter. He found Lily alone, humming a tune, sheets of music scattered around.
Wheres our baby? he asked, bewildered.
Lily, eyes downcast, whispered, I signed the consent form I gave the baby up.
Tom exploded, What? You cantshes our blood! He grabbed the music sheets, tore them up, and hurled them at her, shouting, You idiot! Lily, terrified, thought he might hurt her. He stormed out, slamming the door, bag in hand, and vanished into the night, shouting into the empty streets, Wheres love gone?!
He later tried to call Rebecca for her number, pretending it was about business. She handed him the number with a sigh, thinking hed finally had a row with his wife.
Lily, shaken, retreated to a holiday resort where they booked her for a concert. She sang, broke the torn sheets, rewrote the notes, and the audience went wild, throwing flowers onstage. She toured the countryside for years, then hung up her microphone to become a vocal coach. She never had formal music degrees but enough experience to teach kids.
One day a colleague brought a girl to Lily, saying, Shes got talent, can you audition her? Lily welcomed her. Minutes later, Tom showed up with two girlsone about ten, the other twelve. He pointed the younger one to a chair and, noticing Lily, blurted, Why on earth did we end up with you as a teacher? Lily, mortified, tried to stay calm.
She began the audition; the girls voice reminded Lily of herself as a childtiny, bright, with that same mischievous laugh. After the song, Lily asked, How old are you, love?
Thirteen, Im Kira, the girl replied proudly.
Lily told her she could go home and bring her dad in. Tom entered, beaming, Kiras got a voice! Ill find her a good tutor if Im not the right fit. By the way, Im still marriedmy wifes names Zoe, my exsecretary. Were raising Kira together with our other girl, Maddy.
Lily stared, stunned, You mean the daughter I signed away?
Tom shrugged, You gave birth to her, thats all. He walked out, leaving Lily reeling.
The hallway echoed with kids shouting, Lets go meet Mum! Lily sat, head in her hands, trying to piece together the chaos.
Thirteen years later, Lily trudged home after a long day, only to be ambushed by her cat, Melody, purring for a treat. She shooed him away, Not now, you little diva, and watched him settle by his bowl, eyes pleading.
She sank onto the sofa, wrapped in her favorite blanket, and thought, Ive spent my life chasing notes, and now Im left with an empty flat, a cold bed, and a cat that cant give me a hug. She sighed, If only Id played a different tune.
So thats Lilys story, lovefull of missed chances, broken melodies, and a cat named Melody that still thinks shes the star of the house. Hope you enjoyed the drama; its a proper tragic ballad, isnt it? Take care.
