Mabel had spent her twenties drifting from one fleeting romance to another, never quite catching the steady beat of a proper marriage. At thirty she finally decided she might try to find a man who could stay. She didnt know at first that Paul was already married, but once he realised Mabels heart was pulling hard toward him, he stopped hiding the truth.
Mabel never accused Paul. Instead she berated herself for the affair, for the weakness she felt toward him. She saw herself as a failure, having let the chance of a husband slip through her fingers while the years kept ticking away. By all accounts she wasnt a knockoutshe wasnt stunning, but she was pleasantlooking, a little fullerbodied, which only added to her age.
The relationship with Paul led nowhere. Mabel didnt want to remain his lover, yet she could not bring herself to walk away; the thought of being alone terrified her.
One afternoon her cousin Simon dropped by. He was in town on a work trip, stopping at his sisters flat for a few hours after a long time apart. They ate a simple lunch in the kitchen, chattering about childhood mischief and the presentday grind. Mabel confessed everything to Simon, tears spilling over as she spoke.
Just then the neighbour, Mrs. Harding, popped in to show off her latest market finds. Mabel stepped out for twenty minutes. The front door rang. Simon went to answer, assuming Mabel had returned, but the door was left unlocked. On the doorstep stood Paul, looking bewildered at the sight of a hulking man in tracksuits chewing a sausage sandwich.
Is Mabel home? Paul asked, voice tight.
Mabels in the bathroom, Simon guessed, trying to keep his cool.
Excuse me, who are you to her? Paul stammered.
My husband, legally. Were not married yet, but thats the arrangement, Simon replied, stepping forward and gripping Paul by the shirt. Arent you the married bloke Mabel kept bragging about? Listen, if I see you here again Ill shove you down the stairs, understand?
Paul scrambled free and bolted downstairs.
Mabel returned moments later, eyes rimmed with red. Simon relayed the encounter.
What have you done? Who sent you? she sobbed. He wont come back.
Simon placed a hand on her shoulder. Hes not coming back, and thats a blessing. Stop wallowing. I know a fine widower in the village nearbyno ones courting him after his wife died, and hes turning everyone away. He could use a companion. Ill visit you again after my next assignment, and well drive out together. Ill introduce you.
Mabel stared, horrified. No, Simon, I cant. I dont even know this man. It feels shameful.
Simons tone hardened. Its shameful to sleep with a stranger, not to meet a free man. No one will force you. Come on, love, Im seriousmy birthdays coming up.
A few days later they were in the small Yorkshire village of Brindleford. Simons wife, Lily, had set a table in the garden by the old stone bathhouse. Neighbours, friends, and Simons widowed brother, Alfie, arrived for a family gathering. Everyone knew Mabel, except for Alfie, whom she met for the first time.
After warm conversation, Mabel returned to the city, thinking Alfie seemed shy and modest. He must be grieving his wife, she mused. What a gentle soul.
A week later, on a quiet Saturday, the doorbell rang. Mabel wasnt expecting anyone. She opened the door to find Alfie standing there, a bag in his hand.
May I come in, Mabel? I was in the market earlier and thought Id stop by now that were acquainted, he said, a nervous smile on his face.
She invited him in, still puzzled, and offered tea. Did you get everything you needed? she asked.
Everythings in the car. I brought a little something for you. He reached into the bag and produced a modest bunch of tulips, handing them to her.
Mabels eyes brightened as she took the flowers. They sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea, talking about the weather and the rise in market prices. When the pot was empty, Alfie rose to leave. He slipped his coat on, laced his boots, and paused at the doorway.
If I walked out now without saying anything, Id never forgive myself, he began, voice trembling. All week Ive thought of you, Mabel. Its the honest truth. I stole the address from Simon I had to see you.
Mabels cheeks flushed, and she looked down. We barely know each other, she whispered.
It doesnt matter. May I call you you? Im not a perfect gift. I have a little girl, eight, staying with her grandmother at the moment, he confessed, his hands shaking.
A daughter thats wonderful, Mabel said softly, a wistful smile forming. Ive always wanted a child.
Encouraged, Alfie took her hands, pulled her close, and kissed her. When they pulled apart, tears glistened in Mabels eyes.
Am I unpleasant to you? he asked, fear in his tone.
No, the opposite. I never expected this it feels sweet, calm. Im not stealing anyones happiness. She smiled through the tears.
From then on they met every weekend. Two months later they married in the village chapel and settled there. Mabel found a job at the local nursery. A year later she gave birth to a daughter, and soon after, a second child arrived. Both girls grew up loved, the household brimming with affection. Alfie and Mabel grew younger at heart, their love maturing like a fine vintage.
At many family gatherings Simon would wink at Mabel and tease, Well, Mabel, what a husband I set you up with, eh? You keep getting better and better. And Mabel would laugh, squeezing Alfies hand, her eyes warm with a quiet joy shed once thought impossible. The years unfolded gently, like the fields stretching beyond their cottageunassuming, rich, and full of life. She never forgot the ache of those restless days, but now it seemed a distant shadow, softened by the ordinary miracle of being truly seen.
