**The Fickle Heart**
I never thought of myself as a beauty. Pretty wouldnt be the word either. Not everyone is meant to walk the runway, after all. Yet, in school, my closest friends were always the pretty ones. At first, it puzzled meuntil my dear grandmother set me straight:
“Oh, love, its no mystery. Theyre happy to keep you aroundyoure the plain one, the safe choice. No boy would ever look twice at you. Whod steal a man from *you*?”
Her words stung, but later, she softened them:
“Dont fret, duck. Pretty faces fade fast. Remember, the brightest flowers wilt quickest. Your time will come, my girl. Therell be someone for you.”
That “someone” didnt appear until I was twenty-seven. Until then, I threw myself into work and study, knowing Id have to rely on my own two hands.
Then came Ethanpushed into my life by my friend Emily. Shed grown sick of his persistent attention, tired as a guest who overstays.
“Take him, Lucy!” she said bluntly. “Maybe youll have better luck. Im getting married anyway.”
I took to Ethan at once. I wanted to drown him in lovehe charmed me that much. And, well, Id been alone long enough. Why play hard to get?
I even thought he seemed relieved when he settled into my arms. We married quickly.
Still, Gran warned me:
“Mark my words, love. Youll have your hands full with him. That boys not done sowing his wild oats. He ought to have his fun *before* settling down. Dont boast of a marriage fresh as dawnboast of one thats seen seasons.”
But back then, I wouldnt hear it. Ethan and I were like calves, nuzzling wherever we stood. Marriage gave me wingsvast, boundless wings.
Then our son Oliver was born. Ethan adored him without reserve. He read him bedtime stories, sang lullabies, spoiled him rotten. As Oliver grew, he clung more to his father than to me. I didnt mind. Peace at home was all I wanted.
We lived in bliss for five years. Then trouble came knocking.
Maybe Emily envied me. Maybe shed never truly let Ethan go. Either way, she called him back into her clutches, and he went. I heard through the grapevine shed divorced, childless and free.
I felt hollowed out. My wings drooped. My happiness had never been rooted deep. I wept endlessly, dreading the day Id have to explain to Oliver. Now *I* told him bedtime stories about his father. But tears dry. I had a boy to raise, a life to hold together. Deep down, I hoped Ethan would come to his sensesif not for me, then for Oliver.
Ethan returned for his passport. He mumbled something about Emily wanting a proper marriage. I refused flat out. He shrugged, didnt argue, just left. Soon after, he got a replacement.
Ill never know what spell Emily cast, but Ethan forgot Oliver and me entirely. Though Ill admit, Emily *was* the beauty of our schoolbright, bubbly, careless, alluring. She spun words like lace. But shed say one thing and mean another. That never bothered me before. It should have.
People like Emily? Honey on the tongue, poison in the heart.
I shouldve seen it soonershed *loaned* Ethan to me, like a borrowed book. “Im getting married,” shed said. When her marriage ended, she took him back.
Twice, court summons came for the divorce. I ignored them, dragging out time and my own heartache.
Yet time moves on. Ethan, it seemed, began to wake. He missed Oliver. Asked to see him. I didnt refuse. By then, Id stopped aching for him. Oliver and I had found our rhythm. He turned twelve.
Trouble, as they say, grows without rain. Emily turned up at my door.
“Hows life, old friend? Still single?” she smirked.
“What do you want?” I replied, ice in my voice.
“Ethan asked me to tell youbring Oliver to the hospital. To say goodbye,” she said, knocking the breath from me.
My legs buckled. The room swam.
“Whats wrong with Ethan?” I whispered.
“Major surgery tomorrow. Hes afraid he wont make it,” she said, already stepping back.
“Hell live!” I shouted after her, wild with fear.
The operation succeeded. Ethan survivedbut at forty, he was left disabled. He couldnt walk without a cane. The question loomed: how would he live now? Emily took him from the hospital. But I knew it wouldnt last.
I wanted to bring him home at once. Emilys heart was as deep and dark as a well.
But I waited. Let the mud settle. Maybe then, wed find clear water.
Three months later, Emily called.
“Lucy, Ethan cant bear being without Oliver.”
“Or is it *you* who cant bear Ethan?” I snapped.
In the end, Ethan came back. Emily had made life unbearable for him. Living with a cripple? No picnic.
He was bitter, silent, sharp-tongued.
But love is patient. Love forgives. Oliver and I tended to him, day after day. Slowly, Ethan thawed. He even began to walk without the cane. A limp, yesbut on his own two feet.
Six months passed.
Emily returned. With a baby.
“How shall we share Ethan?” she announced. “This is his daughter.”
“Emily,” I said, voice trembling, “youre like a weedtwisting around his legs. Why slither back into his life? When will you leave us in peace?”
“Ethan is *mine*!” she shrieked.
And she was right. I dont blame Ethan. He went with her. Old love, they say, never rusts.
Gran didnt hold back:
“That man of yours, Lucy, has a heart like a weathervanespinning with every breeze.”
Oliver and I were alone again. My son, older now, comforted me. “Well manage, Mum,” hed say.
Oh, Ethan. Youre a wound that never heals.
The ocean is deep, but the human heart is deeper. Who knows what lurks there?
After Ethan, my soul withered. Love turned to ash. No one else crossed my pathno warmth, no light, no hope to share.
Time raced on. Oliver married, left home.
Then, one day, I bumped into Ethan. He looked broken. Eyes full of sorrow. As Gran would say, “He danced his dance, only to land on the thorns.”
“Where are you now?” I asked gently.
“Nowhere. Just walking,” he said vaguely. He seemed adrift.
Well, weve been together seven years now. Even autumn has its golden days. Were raising our grandson. Happy? Yes. Perhaps this is lovetested, weathered, but real.
P.S. Emily married a Frenchman and moved abroad. Her last words to Ethan?
“I leave you to Lucyyour guardian angel.”
