**A Change of Heart**
After his divorce, Harold left his village and moved to Sheffield. He missed his son, Paul, but he couldn’t stand his ex-wife Geraldine’s antics anymore. Once they moved in together, Harold realised his mistake. The sweet girl he’d dated for a year had turned into a right nightmare—nothing was ever good enough.
«Harold, get up and feed the livestock!» she’d bark at dawn, though she was dead lazy herself and loved a lie-in.
That set the tone for their marriage. Geraldine bossed, Harold obeyed. She nitpicked everything—he didn’t mop right, didn’t scrub the dishes properly, didn’t sweep the yard the way she liked—even though he was the one working while she refused.
«You can see I’m expecting, can’t you? I’m not working—I’m looking after myself and our baby,» she’d say.
When their son Paul was born, Geraldine dumped most of her chores on Harold. She wouldn’t even get up at night for the baby.
«Gerry, wake up, he’s hungry,» Harold would nudge her in the early hours when Paul wouldn’t settle, but she’d sleep through an earthquake.
Six miserable years later, Harold left. He felt terrible for Paul, but his patience had run out—he was scared he’d snap and raise a hand to her. Geraldine pushed him at every turn. He moved to Sheffield with a mate, filed for divorce, and landed a job in construction. Luck struck when he got a council flat.
Soon, Harold remarried—a kind colleague—and settled into a proper happy life. He never abandoned Paul, paying child support, staying in touch, even attending his wedding years later. He even gave Paul and his bride the flat he’d rented out. He adored Paul’s wife, Tilly.
«Sweet, pretty Tilly—good lad, Paul. Picked a winner. Not like me, eh? Thought I’d struck gold with Geraldine—she was bonny enough—but surprise, surprise. Turned into a right shrew the minute we tied the knot. Nasty and bone idle,» Harold mused at the wedding.
So Paul and Tilly ended up in Sheffield too. They were from the same village, and Geraldine had actually picked Tilly for her son. She’d clocked the girl was quiet, modest, and easy on the eye. Paul was three years older, freshly back from the army when Tilly was finishing school and eyeing uni. But then Paul swooped in with roses and chocolates, and she believed it was love.
«Paul’s so thoughtful,» Tilly sighed, gushing to her mum.
«Sweetheart, first love’s all roses,» her mum warned. «Paul’s his mother’s son—same mould. I don’t fancy you marrying him.»
Her mum saw it coming. When Paul proposed—with a catch—Tilly, smitten, said yes.
«You’re not going to uni. No prancing about for other lads. School’s enough.»
He’d only done his GCSEs and didn’t want a wife with more brains. Once married, Paul started calling Tilly a «backwater bumpkin.» Army life made him worldly, or so he thought, and he reckoned himself miles cleverer than her.
Her mum had warned her, but it was too late now. The only upside? Moving to Sheffield, away from dreaded Geraldine. Her mother-in-law had started sniping from day one—»useless,» «clumsy»—no matter how hard Tilly tried. Geraldine was impossible to please, and Paul was her spitting image.
Tilly’s heart sank when she realised Paul had married her because his mum picked her—not for love. Just a docile lamb. But when they moved, she hoped living alone might soften his heart.
Paul never stopped belittling her.
«Country simpleton, living in my palace,» he’d sneer at their tiny two-bed (a hand-me-down from his dad). «Can’t even talk proper—embarrassing.»
He’d convinced her she was worthless. Even blamed her for not having kids.
«It’s not me—the doctor said we’re fine, it’ll happen,» she protested.
Five years on, still no baby. Paul earned peanuts as a night porter; Tilly painted walls. He reckoned his job was gruelling—unlike her «doddle» with a brush.
Sometimes she wondered—
«Maybe no kids is a blessing. Should they grow up watching their dad bully their mum? Should I leave? But where’d I go? Can’t go home—Mum’s place is tiny, two younger brothers still there. At least here’s a roof.»
One evening, Paul stormed in. «Got train tickets—we’re visiting Mum. Holiday.» He shoved them at her; she set them on the table.
«Why’d you leave ’em there? Lose ’em, will you?» he grumbled, snatching them back.
Two days later, they missed their train. The platform was empty—no passengers, no tea trolleys. Just them, squabbling by the benches. Nearby, a rail worker lurked by the bushes.
Paul ranted; Tilly swallowed tears.
«Couldn’t pack tickets yesterday? Useless! You should be grateful we dragged you out of the muck!»
She peeked up. «You took them. I never saw them again.»
They’d torn the house apart looking, then missed the train. And this «holiday»? Tilly dreaded Geraldine’s «Poor Paul, rest up!» while she slaved in the garden. Coming home was her real break—though «home» wasn’t much better. Paul snatched her wages, doled out food money with a sneer—»Sponger. My roof.»
Paul stomped off for new tickets. Tilly wiped her eyes.
«Why’d I get him? Home was happy—Mum and Dad never fought. Never knew life could be like this.»
A quiet voice behind her—»Alright?»
She turned. A tall bloke with kind eyes watched her.
«That your husband?»
She nodded.
«Want me to sort him? No one should take that.»
She shook her head.
«Pity. You’re lovely—like a fairy. If you were mine, I’d treasure you. I’m Ethan.»
«Tilly,» she whispered.
«Run with me. I won’t hurt you. You don’t deserve this.»
She listened, then smiled. No one had ever made her feel so light.
«You’d not leave me after?»
Instead of answering, Ethan grabbed her hand—she snatched her bag just in time (Paul insisted on separate luggage). They ran, not looking back. Round the corner, Ethan spun her, laughing.
«Alright, wife?»
«Yes!» she giggled.
Hand in hand, they disappeared into the city. Paul, raging, found only her abandoned bag.
He’d never understand why she left. He and Geraldine would curse «that useless cow» who didn’t know her luck.
Tilly and Ethan lived happily ever after—three sons, a big house, and never a glance back at that bench. Ethan kept his promise—his fairy was safe.