Thoughts jumped from one thing to another. Martha so badly didn’t want to get up and milk the cow, strain the milk, cook, wash the dishes. The same thing, day after day…
But what could she do? Life was life. Country living required strength and care—no time for lying in. Yet Martha felt no joy, just going through the motions, as if living by habit.
*When there’s love in a home, even chores are sweet. But without it, what’s the point?* she thought as she worked. *Who appreciates any of this? Who’ll see how tired I am?*
After straining the milk, she sank into a chair by the table. For some reason, she felt worn out this morning—and at only forty-three…
*Once, Simon would pull me close, stroke my hair, kiss me, let me rest my head on his shoulder. He’d shoulder half the burden, and my weariness would vanish. That was ten years ago. Then, little by little, the warmth faded… until nothing remained.* The thoughts swirled in her head.
Where had she gone wrong? Taken on too much? She could have leaned on her husband, asked for help. But he’d grown distant, cold, almost a stranger. Over time, the fire between them died, and now no spark could relight it.
A misty haze hung over the village, thick with August heat and the scent of ripe apples. Martha slumped onto the bench under the awning, her arms heavy with exhaustion. A deep ache settled in her chest—if only she could escape, just for a week, leave behind these endless, tedious chores.
When their daughter still lived at home, there’d been laughter. But now she was married, gone to live far away. Martha sighed. Just yesterday, Val at work had said,
*Did you know your Simon fixed Veronica’s fence? Then sat with her by the river late last night, arms wrapped around each other. How do you put up with it?*
Martha had said nothing, just bowed her head—but inside, she thought:
*He hardly comes home before dawn now. Why? No one’s keeping him. He might as well move in with that Veronica… Maybe I should just leave. Go back home. Maybe I’ll find love again—or someone who’ll love me. I’m not old at forty-three. Even if Simon keeps saying I’m worthless, like some scarecrow in a field.*
The truth stung. He’d worn her down so much she barely glanced in the mirror anymore. *No wonder I look like a fright, with all this work…*
She and Simon had married for love. They’d been happy once—life of the party at weddings, him on the accordion, her singing in that sweet voice of hers, full of old folk tunes. And how they’d danced! Feet flying, heels tapping.
That evening, she milked the cows, strained the milk, fed the animals, then sat wearily under the awning. Simon wouldn’t be back for hours—if at all. She’d stopped waiting. They lived like strangers under the same roof.
Dark thoughts came, unbidden.
*Maybe I should just walk away.* Her gaze swept over the house, the yard. *Go back to Mum, to the village where I grew up.*
Her sister lived nearby, married, looking after their ageing mother. Martha didn’t worry—her sister would never neglect her.
Twilight deepened when suddenly, from the yard beyond the garden, the sound of an accordion floated through the air.
*Who’s playing? Some celebration?*
Something stirred in Martha—like a gust of wind lifting her up. Without thinking, she hurried inside, shed her dressing gown, slipped into a pale blue polka-dot dress and her good shoes, smoothed her hair. Then, light as a feather, she pushed aside a loose board at the garden’s edge and stepped into the open space near the neighbours’ house, where music and laughter spilled from a crowded table.
Martha took a seat at the edge. Anna, their neighbour, caught her eye and grinned—*Good on you for joining!*
Just then, the music stopped. A hand offered her a glass of wine.
*»To new meetings,»* a voice said.
She turned, took the glass, drank. Then she looked—*really* looked—at the man beside her. Warmth spread through her, something unfamiliar yet thrilling. A handsome sailor in uniform held her gaze.
Anna bounded over.
*»Martha, this is my cousin, Jack. He’s a sailor—gone for months at a time. Just visiting now, first time in ages. Jack, this is Martha.»*
*»Pleasure,»* Jack said, offering his hand. *»Lovely name.»*
*»Nothing special,»* she laughed—was it the wine, or the way he looked at her? *»Born in March. Mum and Dad didn’t fuss.»*
The music swelled again. Everyone danced—everyone but Jack, who stayed at the table, watching her. Anna and her husband, Victor, swept into the center, moving in perfect rhythm, the crowd cheering.
Later, they returned to the table. Jack slid beside her, offered another drink. She took it, surprised at herself—*when was the last time I had wine? Just work, work, work…* Had she sipped it out of defiance or the wild thrill of dancing?
At the far end of the table, a song broke out—voices rising, touching something deep in her chest. Then the accordion player struck up a lively tune, and laughter erupted as Anna launched into a cheeky verse. Soon the group was dancing again, men showing off their fanciest steps.
It felt like the revelry would never end. Night had fully fallen when Jack finally joined the dance, his arm circling Martha’s waist, pulling her close—she didn’t pull away.
When she made to leave, he sensed it. *»Walk with me?»*
She hesitated—then nodded, oblivious to the villagers’ stares.
They slipped past the gardens, toward the river.
*»Where’ve you been all my life?»* Jack murmured, hand tight around hers.
*»Not much of a life,»* she laughed softly. *»Just a tired housewife.»*
He didn’t let her finish. His lips met hers, and suddenly stars spun behind her eyelids. Then his hands cradled her face, kisses tracing her cheeks, her mouth—soft, tender, filling her with warmth she’d long forgotten.
*»Who *are* you?»* she whispered.
Later, by the river, they talked. He didn’t know her—she wasn’t from here, having moved with Simon when he was stationed nearby during his army days. By then, Jack had already left for naval college, then spent years at sea.
He’d married young—a girl named Tess, from his training town. But long deployments wore her down. She left him, took their son, moved on.
*»Captain comes home, wife’s gone,»* he’d joke when asked. *»Just three words left: ‘I’m done. Goodbye.'»*
Years passed. He sailed, returned to an empty house—never finding the woman who could make his pulse race.
Until Martha.
*No way,* he’d thought, watching her dance. *Here? Now?* His heart had hammered—*it’s her.* But she was married. He’d had to ask.
*»Husband waiting at home?»*
*»A husband, yes,»* she’d said. *»But not waiting.»*
Now, under the stars, they sat close, watching moonlight ripple on the water. Martha had never felt so light.
*»How long are you here?»* she asked.
*»Three days. Leave’s almost up—just came to see Anna and Victor.»*
Her heart sank.
Then—movement. A couple stumbled along the riverbank, laughing, arms entangled. Martha stiffened. *Simon. And Veronica.*
Simon froze, eyes darting between her and Jack.
*»What’re *you* doing here?»* he spat.
Martha laughed—low, bitter. *»Same as you.»* Then, tilting her head at Jack: *»Meet my *dear* husband.»*
Simon’s face darkened. *»Let’s go,»* he growled at Veronica, dragging her into the shadows.
Jack exhaled. *»Well. That explains things. How long’s it been like this?»*
*»Years.»* For once, seeing them together didn’t hurt.
*»So what now?»*
*»No going back,»* she said firmly. *»I’m done.»* He heard the resolve, the exhaustion.
*»Come with me,»* Jack said suddenly, hands framing her face. *»I’ll take you away. You won’t mind waiting when I’m at sea—I can tell you’re steady, true. Say yes. I’ll love you right. We’ll be happy—just say yes.»*
She couldn’t speak, stunned by the rush of hope. *We only just met!* But hadn’t she dreamed of change?
*»Martha, I’m taking you awayShe took his hand, stepped into the unknown, and for the first time in years, felt the weight lift—her heart light, her future bright.