So, you know how everything happens in its own time, right? Well, Seraphina never knew her dad. Folks in the village said her mum had her by some passing bloke way back when, almost by accident. But whatever the story, Seraphina was born and grew up strong—like, freakishly strong for a kid. Tall, broad-shouldered, tougher than any of the lads, let alone the girls. Nobody messed with her.
When she was fifteen, her mum went blind. Completely. Seraphina had to look after her like a child, especially at first. Later, her mum figured things out a bit, but still, most of the work fell to Seraphina.
«Love, it’s all on you now,» her mum would sigh. «I can’t even milk the cow anymore. Lord knows why He’s punishing me like this.»
«Alright, Mum, alright,» Seraphina would say, all grown-up about it. «This is just our lot in life, isn’t it? Some paths are set for us.»
«Aye, love… you’ll have to plough, chop firewood, carry the weight—everything the men do in other houses.»
And she did. Seraphina grew up, but she never stopped being the man of the house. She was built like an ox—tall, broad, hands like shovels. Not pretty, but strong. Splitting logs? Easy. Hauling carts out of mud? No sweat. The farm lads would call, «Sim, give us a hand with this wagon!» and she’d heave it free while they all shook their heads. «Bloody hell, she’s a tank!»
But no bloke in the village would marry her. Too rough-looking, too fiery-tempered. «Cross Sim and you’ll regret it,» they’d mutter. Her mum tried to comfort her: «Don’t fret, love. Fate’ll smile on you one day.»
And it did—sort of. Their neighbour, Ignatius, a widower with a toddler, asked her to mind his boy one night while he worked. His own mum was poorly, so who else could he ask? Seraphina agreed. But once she stepped into that house, little Timmy clung to her skirt and howled when she tried to leave. So she stayed. And Ignatius—not out of love, mind, but for his son’s sake—asked her to stay for good. No big wedding, just a quiet registry office do.
Life rolled on. No kids of their own, but Seraphina adored Timmy like he was hers. Ignatius? Well, they rubbed along fine, but there was no spark—just necessity. He had a housekeeper; she had a roof over her head.
Timmy grew up strapping, handsome. Girls in the village swooned. Seraphina swelled with pride. He helped her with everything—hauling water, chopping wood. «That’s not women’s work, Mum,» he’d say, taking the axe from her.
But then he fell for *her*—Ursula. Skinny little thing, not the sturdy farm girl Seraphina had hoped for. «Son, she can’t lift a sack, let alone milk a cow! What good’s a wife like that?» But Timmy wouldn’t hear it. «Mum, I love her. End of.»
The wedding was merry, packed with villagers raising pints to the happy couple. Only Seraphina sat grim-faced. Ursula caught her glower and shrank. She *knew* she wasn’t the daughter-in-law Seraphina wanted.
Life under the same roof wasn’t easy. Timmy doted on Ursula, but when he got called up for National Service, she was left alone with Seraphina. Nights were lonely, tearful. But then—Ursula was pregnant. Terrified, she kept it secret until Seraphima noticed her sneaking pickles. «Ah. So that’s it.»
No fuss, just extra stew on Ursula’s plate. «Eat. You’re feeding two now.»
When labour hit, Seraphima carried her to the midwife herself. «Christ, woman, I could’ve walked!» the midwife scolded. Seraphina just prayed: «Lord, let them both live.»
And they did—a healthy grandson, little Stephen. Ursula’s mum offered to take her in, but Ursula refused. «I owe her my life,» she said. Seraphina nearly wept.
Time passed. Ursula bloomed—stronger, surer. The house sparkled, meals were hearty, even the water buckets didn’t spill. Then Timmy came home, saw his boy (his *spitting image*), his glowing wife, and cried. Seraphina’s heart swelled.
Later, a granddaughter arrived, pretty as her mum. And life? Well, it just got sweeter.
Funny, isn’t it? How things work out in the end.