In a small town nestled between gloomy forests and grey hills, where the autumn wind chased fallen leaves down the streets, life felt frozen, like a river beneath ice. On the outskirts stood an old house that smelled of aged wood and fireplace smoke, where Edward lived with his parents. They saw in their future daughter-in-law a young woman named Evelyn, a student at the teaching college, whom they invited every Sunday for family dinners. Edward studied medicine, and their year-long love seemed unshakable. One evening, he told her:
“Tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to my family. We always have Sunday roasts.”
“It’s a bit scary,” Evelyn hesitated. “Maybe later?”
“No, they’re expecting you,” Edward said firmly.
The meeting went well, and soon Evelyn became a regular guest in their home. She was certain she would marry Edward, soaking up the warmth of their family traditions. Sunday dinners were sacred: Edward’s father, William, would settle their grandmother in her armchair before taking his place at the table, set with a crisp white cloth. The china gleamed, the food smelled like home, and Evelyn dreamed of a future with them.
She gushed to her roommate and best friend, Lydia, who was far more practical than dreamy Evelyn:
“Trust a man ninety-nine percent,” Lydia warned. “Keep one percent for caution. Love’s blind, Ev.”
Evelyn dismissed her, convinced Edward was perfect. They made plans: after university, they’d go to Africa with Doctors Without Borders. “I’ll train, and you’ll volunteer,” Edward said. “Isn’t that romantic?” Evelyn agreed, just to be near him.
With six weeks left until graduation, they planned to wed after finishing their degrees. Evelyn even browsed wedding dresses. But one Sunday, everything shattered. Over dinner, William asked:
“Son, why haven’t you mentioned your uncle’s offer?”
“What offer?” Evelyn asked, confused.
“Uncle James arranged a fellowship for me at his clinic in London,” Edward explained. “He called last night—I didn’t have time to tell you.”
“Brilliant opportunity,” William interjected. “Research, medicine. London’s the city of dreams, not this backwater town.”
“But what about Africa?” Evelyn faltered.
“London’s better,” she forced a smile, masking her unease. “I’ll find work at a school or nursery.”
Then William’s words struck like lightning:
“Postpone the wedding a year or two. James won’t house you both. Evelyn, don’t fuss. You’re young—plenty of time.”
“We could rent a flat, both work,” she protested.
“The pay’s pennies,” William cut in. “Don’t waste this chance, son. Sacrifices must be made.”
Later, Edward soothed her privately:
“Father’s right. I’ll stay with Uncle James, save up for us. I’ll visit.”
Soon, he left for London. Evelyn became a teacher at the local school. Edward called, visited monthly. They took a holiday together, but he left again. Lydia, now married and expecting, warned:
“Evelyn, just marry him! Long-distance love never ends well.”
“We love each other. It’ll work out,” Evelyn insisted.
But doubts grew. Calls became rare, visits scarcer. On New Year’s Eve, he didn’t call—his phone was dead. Then Edward’s mother dropped the bombshell:
“Edward married a girl from London. They’re on their honeymoon.”
Evelyn froze. *Lydia was right*, she thought. *If he loved me, he wouldn’t have married her.* Pride kept her from confronting him. Edward became a stranger. The pain dulled, but emptiness lingered. Lydia comforted:
“Forget him. He’s not worth your tears. His mate said he married for money—she was already pregnant.”
Evelyn hated him even more. *All that talk of Africa, saving lives—just words.*
Eight years passed. Evelyn lived alone in a flat her parents helped her buy. She wasn’t lonely: work, friends, plans kept her busy. She avoided men, never thought of Edward—until he called, asking to meet.
*Why now?* But curiosity won.
“Hi. Thanks for coming,” Edward murmured at the café.
“Why did you call?” she asked coldly.
“I moved back a year ago. Work at the hospital now. Bought a house. Evelyn, I regret betraying you. I married for money, but it was a lie. The boy wasn’t mine. Five years of filth…”
“Rich wife, then?” she sneered.
“Yes. But I paid for it. Evelyn, I never stopped thinking of you. I was ashamed to call—but I heard you’re single. Maybe we have another chance?”
They talked for hours. Edward suggested:
“Come to mine Saturday. Talk like old times.”
Her anger faded, but her pulse raced. She wrestled with reason screaming *leave* and heart pulling her back. “I need to think,” she said, taking his number.
At home, she studied her reflection—she knew men found her attractive, but she’d kept them distant. This meeting stirred buried feelings. *What if he’d never left?* Years of numbness thawed. She’d worked to avoid love, yet waited for him—the only one.
Friday, she texted him. He met her after work, drove her to his countryside home. The luxury stunned her, but she saw only emptiness.
“My fortress,” he said, helping her out. “Could be yours, if you want. No rush—think about it.”
“Who maintains all this?” she asked.
“My housekeeper, Margaret. She cooks, cleans. Left for the day, but dinner’s ready. Help me warm it?”
Over the meal, she saw love in his eyes—yet he held back. She didn’t resist. That night, they were together again. By morning, she was happy. Edward spoiled her with gifts, nights out. She moved in, basking in his attention.
Evelyn never believed money brought happiness, but it smoothed life’s edges. She admired Edward—saving lives, though he’d come home exhausted, called away at odd hours, patients even visiting.
One evening, while he was out, a woman appeared at the gate with a bag.
“Can I help you?” Evelyn asked.
“Dr. Edward Clarke,” the woman said.
“He’s not here. Try tomorrow.”
“I’ve come far,” the woman wept. “My mum needs surgery—no money. The hospital said the doctor might take… other payment. I’d do anything for her. Oh—who are you? I’ve said too much… He’s kind, but he charges. Others ask for more. Forgive me…”
Evelyn went numb. When Edward returned, she lashed out:
“A woman came. You take money from the desperate—or worse? I respected you, your profession!”
“Evelyn, that’s a lie!” he protested.
“You profit from suffering!”
The fight raged. Evelyn packed and left. Her fairy tale was built on rot. She collapsed on her sofa, slept. Next morning, his message waited: *Forgive me. You’re the only one I love. I’ll wait.*
Days dragged. Edward flooded her with flowers, texts—she ignored them. Then the flowers stopped. One day, he stood at her door with a folder.
“I sold the house—it reminded me of you. Here’s the proof. Yes, I took money, like others, but never slept with them. Believe me. I’ve changed. Let me live with you. We’ll start fresh.”
Evelyn pressed into him, breathing in the familiar scent of antiseptic and cologne. *A fresh start*, she thought. *I’ll help him become the Edward who dreamed of saving the world.*
**Lesson learned:** Love can forgive, but trust must be earned anew. Some second chances are worth taking—others are just ghosts of what could have been.
