When Tanya showed her wedding photos to friends, she always sighed and said, “Oh, the trouble I had with that dress! Gorgeous, yes, but so heavy and cumbersome! Next time I marry, Ill pick something light and airy.” Everyone assumed she was joking and laughed along. And Tanya *was* jokingmostly. Her friends knew shed married for love, a whirlwind holiday romance by the sea. She was 21, Oliver 28.
August, the lapping waves, sparkling wine, starry skiesall of it tangled into one blissful haze, leading straight to the registry office. Of course, Oliver had to divorce his second wife first, while Tanya left her hometown for hisLondon to Brighton and back again, a route shed know like her own pulse for the next decade.
At first, they rentedOliver had given his flat to his ex, whod threatened pills, acid, leaping from windows if he dared leave her. But eventually, she faded like a bad dream. Perhaps hed promised to return? His first wife, thoughOliver never spoke of her. That marriage lasted a year and a half. Then, ever the matchmaker, hed handed her off to a friend. Everyone happy. Himself included.
Wife number two lasted longerthree yearsuntil Oliver saw the truth: a woman who sneered at “human pups,” as she called children. Tanya, though, was untroubled. Ambitious, assured, radiantOliver worshipped her. Bouquets as big as shrubs, three fur coats at once, shoes enough to sink a ship. He whisked her to Paris, Rome, the Scottish Highlands, broadened her horizons before their first child arrived.
Soon, little Emily was born. While Tanya fussed over her, Oliver bought a cottage, filled it with everything warm and bright. For his girls. They celebrated. Emily started nursery.
Tanya threw herself into studypreferably back in London, among friends, her mother, even strangers who felt like kin. The familiar streets soothed her. Emily stayed with Olivers mother, who adored the girl. And while term dragged on, Tanya lingered in London. Oliver, jealous, trailed her, staged absurd “chance” meetings across cities. Tanya gave no cause for suspicionor so it seemed.
Truth was, she longed to slip free of domestic drudgery. Studying was escapeno dishes, no floors, no husband or child. Life was short, and why should someone as bright and beautiful as her waste it on trivialities?
Eventually, three crimson diplomas sat in her handbagpsychology her crown jewel. She carried them everywhere, job-hunting with fervor. Oliver balked. “Dont we have enough? Ill go mad waiting for you! Tanya, lets have anothera boy or girl, I dont care. Just stay.”
But Tanyas motherhood mission was complete. A daughter given, a husband appeased. What more? Olivers mother, hearing her lofty musings, offered to keep Emily. “The child needs love, and youwell, youve clouds to chase.” Tanya agreed without pause, then fled to London without a word. “Ill call,” she decided.
But Oliver was waiting. He knew her tricks. “Tanyawheres Emily? Why are you here? Is there someone else?”
She sighed. “Oliver, dont fuss. No admirers. Im just bored. I want freedom.”
“Freedom? From us? Wheres the love gone? Is this some midlife crisis? Well weather it.”
“We wont.”
Oliver begged her mother for help. The woman shrugged. “What can I do? Shes stubborn as granite.”
He returned to Brighton alone, bewildered. After all his devotionthis? Days bled into weeks. Tanya never came. Calls were brief: “Im fine.”
Finally, Oliver sold the cottage, took Emily, and moved to Londonall to salvage his family.
Tanya was ice. “Why upset her? New school, no friendsyour mother wont approve.” Excuses. She basked in her liberty, launched a dressmaking business, rented a flat, entertained suitors. No time for boredom. And nowhusband, child? Unthinkable. The past belonged to another woman.
Oliver ignored her, hope still flickering. He met Tanya after work, brought Emily (her mirror image). Futile. Tanya was a statue. Nothing moved her. At last, she snapped: “Oliver, let me go. We should divorce. Emily can stay with me.”
But Emily was 11hardly needing shelter. She had a devoted father, a grandmother who prayed for her nightly. She remembered her mother. Loved her. Couldnt fathom why shed chosen emptiness over her own child.
Time, relentless, rolled on.
Oliver stopped “fishing on dry land.” The door to Tanyas heart was bolted.
Fate sent him an ordinary womanfeet firmly on the ground, no dreams of flight. They settled in the countryside. She had two sons from a first marriage, wanted no Paris trips or fursjust wellies for muddy walks, a warm coat, her children safe. Oliver found peace beside her. (“Where simplicity dwells, angels gather.”) Soon, a daughter was born. True happinessfourth time lucky.
As for Tanya? She lived with her mother. A business partner promised her the moon, then stripped her bare. The dressmaking venture unraveled. Suitors vanished like mist. Now she worked as a school counselorall that study put to use. No regrets. Or so she claimed. Yetwho knows the souls depths? Perhaps even a “sky-bound bird” might one day feel the weight of the earth.
Emily, grown, married in Brightonher grandmothers home. Her dress? Light. Airy. A gift from her mother.
