**Life Isnt a Walk in the Meadow**
The whole village buzzed about how Irene had stolen her sisters husband. Only the deaf hadnt heard the news, and the mute couldnt repeat it! Gossip like that was pure entertainment for the villagers, spicing up their humdrum lives. Some saw it as juicy scandal, others as a cruel twist of fatebut everyone had an opinion.
Nicholas married Helen too youngor rather, it was the right age for him, but she was barely out of playing with dolls. Helens parents were drinkers, neglectful of their four children. As the eldest, she carried the weight of the household, cooking, washing, tending to her siblings, and still excelling in school. Then, one day, she returned home to find their cottage in ashes. Neighbors stood gawking, whispering that the fire brigade arrived too lateher parents, drunk and careless, had burned inside. Whether her father fell asleep with a cigarette or something else sparked the flames, no one could say.
Helen collapsed in the sooty wreckage, clawing at the embers until her hands bled, but there was nothing to be done. Her siblings were taken to an orphanage, while she went to live with her aunt, Annaher fathers half-sister.
Life with Anna was quiet but stable. Her uncle, William, was a gentle, hardworking man who bent under Annas sharp tongue like a reed in the wind. There were no drunken rows here, no chaosjust order. Helen adjusted, throwing herself into chores, grateful for the peace.
Then Nicholas returned from the army, and everything changed. Tall, dark-haired, and effortlessly charming, he made the village girls swoon. Like his mother, he was diligent, skilled with his hands, and though not Williams by blood, he shared his quiet strength.
Anna had borne Nicholas out of wedlock before marrying William, who accepted the boy as his own. Their marriage, though loveless at first, grew into something solid, blessed with three more childrenthough one, little Max, died before his third birthday. Helen became another daughter to them, cherished and spoiled.
But soon, Anna noticed Helen growing pale, nauseous, avoiding eye contact. One evening, she cornered Nicholas:
«Out with itwhats happened between you two?»
«Who?» Nicholas teased, raising an eyebrow.
«Dont play daft! With Helen!»
«I love her,» he said firmly. «And she loves me.»
«Love? Shes carrying your child, isnt she? Call her in here!»
Helen trembled as Nicholas led her in, arm around her shoulders.
«Well? How long have you been sick?» Anna demanded.
«Two months,» Helen whispered.
Nicholas squared his shoulders. «Its my responsibility. Ill marry her.»
«Damn right you will. That girls suffered enough.»
The wedding was a grand affairtwo days of feasting, dancing, and toasts. Helen, radiant in white, glowed as Nicholas whispered in her ear, making her blush. They moved into his grandmothers old cottage, mending the roof, whitewashing the walls, filling the yard with livestock. They vowed to stand together through joy and sorrow.
For years, life flowed smoothly, even when jagged rocks appeared beneath the surface. Helen bore a daughter, then a son, and later took in her youngest sister, Irene, from the orphanage.
Anna had warned against it. «Mark my wordsthis wont end well.»
But Helen insisted. Irene was pretty, lazy, and spiteful. She lounged in her untidy room, preening before the mirror, casting sly glances at Nicholas.
Then tragedy struck: Helens children fell ill. Rushing them to the hospital, she left Nicholas behindand Irene pounced. She drugged his tea, slipped into his bed, and staged a scene for Anna to discover.
«Ill ruin him,» Irene sneered. «Tell Helen hes mine now.»
When Helen returned, the truth hit her like a hammer. She packed her things and left for the city, deaf to Nicholass pleas of innocence.
Years passed. Irene vanished into the city, flitting between lovers, abandoning a child, eventually landing in prison for stabbing a man. Nicholas lived alone, a ghost of himself, while Helen rebuilt her life, marrying a kind man named Steven and having another daughter.
Then Steven died in a car crash, and Helen shattered.
Nicholas came when their daughter called. «Mums not well.»
Slowly, he helped her piece herself back together. Perhaps, in time, their hearts would mend. Life wasnt a straight roadit twisted, turned, and sometimes doubled back.
As the old saying goes: *Life isnt a walk in the meadow. One frostbitten morning, Irene returnedgaunt, hollow-eyed, dragging a suitcase two wheels short of broken. She stood at Helens gate, breath trembling in the cold. Nicholas appeared before her, silent, his face etched with years she couldnt take back. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. He simply unlocked the door, let her into the shed, and left a blanket and a cup of tea on the step. Helen watched from the window, then turned away. The tea sat untouched until it froze. Some bridges burn too completely to cross again.
