The Betrothal
«One of the most common mistakes is to think of people as simply good or evil, foolish or wise. A person is always changingfull of possibilities. A fool may grow clever, a cruel heart may turn kind, and the opposite is just as true. That is the greatness of humanity. And for that reason, we must never judge too hastily. You condemn someone, only to find theyve already become someone else.»
So wrote Leo Tolstoy in his diaries long ago, and who can argue with such wisdom? Life proves him right time and againif only we look closely enough, sifting the wheat from the chaff until the heart of the truth becomes clear.
But today, such weighty thoughts feel distant. The morning burns with the heat of midsummer, the air thick and heavy, as if the sun has pressed it down onto the scorching pavement. Its the kind of day where even the breeze surrenders.
Yet inside Emily, it is winter. A bitter, biting cold. This summer passes without her.
School is behind her now, and the question of university lingers, as it should for any graduate. But Emily is pregnant. University is out of the question. And George, the boy she trusted, turned out to be a coward. When she told him about the baby, he only bit his lip, turned to the window, and said:
«Sure, I was the first… but whos to say I was the only one?»
Emily didnt even cry then. She just stood there, staring at his backso calm, so steady, his breathing even. She wanted to say more, to ask what she was supposed to do now, but then the doorbell rang. Her mother was home. George went to answer it, exchanged polite words in the hallway, and left.
Her mother walked straight into Emilys room and demanded to know what was wrong. Stunned, Emily blurted it out:
«Nothings wrong. Im just… pregnant.»
Her mother stared into her eyes. Then she shoutedthough Emily didnt hear the words, because the sharp crack of a slap drowned them out.
That was when winter truly settled inside Emily. A blizzard howled through her, burying her under snow, leaving her hollow and numb. Her mother kept yelling, but the words didnt reach her. Emily sank onto the edge of her bed, tears freezing before they could fall, crystallising in her heart like shards of ice.
Her mother stormed out, the front door slamming behind her. Silence. Emily was alone with her frozen grief in the sweltering July evening.
She curled up on the bed and finally let the tears comea messy, girlhood sort of weeping, all sniffles and hiccuping sobs. And oh, how her heart ached! Not for herself, but for the little one who wasnt even born yet and already unwanted. Not by its father, not by its grandmother, not even by her, its foolish mother.
She fell asleep while the sun still hung in the sky, drifting into hazy dreams. When she woke, someone was beside her, stroking her hair.
Her mother had returned.
«Em, love… forgive me,» she murmured. «Im a fool, though not so old I cant learn. I should be happymy girls all grown up. Soon to be a mother herself. And here I…»
Her voice broke. Tears streaked her cheeks as she kept talking, hands trembling.
«Just promise me one thing, darling. Let it be a girl. Please, not a boy. Because menall of themnever understand. Never truly know how to love, how to care. Not your father… not mine either…»
Then Emily was crying too, loud and unashamed. She clung to her mother, her dearest person in the world, and together they weptfor the past, for the future, for the sorrows women bear. But at least they had each other. And outside, summer still burned bright.
Thenanother knock at the door.
Her mother sniffled, wiped her face, and pressed Emily back down. «Stay here, love. Ill get it.» She smoothed her hair as she wentbecause even in grief, one mustnt face a man looking a mess.
She opened the door. And there, indeed, stood not one man, but two. George, and in front of himhis father.
«Good evening, Mrs. Whitmore,» the older man began. «Forgive the lateness. But my lad here… well, hes told me everything. No secrets left, or so I hope.» He turned to George and raised a brow. «Or was there more, future granddad?»
George hung his head. His father sighed.
«Right, then. Weve come to ask for your daughters handif Emily can find it in her heart to forgive this fool for the words he spoke. And if she cant…» He cuffed George lightly upside the head. «Then hes no son of mine!»
… People change. We stumble, we falter, we say things we dont mean. But thank goodness for mothers and fathersthey know how to set us right again.
