No one can explain why fate is kind to some—granting them love, happiness, and every dream fulfilled—while it is merciless to others. It doesn’t matter if you’re good-hearted or bitter. Often, the ones who suffer most are the women who give everything to their families.
Victoria was one of those women whom fate had not favoured. She wasn’t lacking in beauty—tall, striking, meticulous, her home gleaming from the moment she married. Cheerful by nature, warm, and effortlessly domestic, she had married for love. Her husband, James, worked at the factory while she kept the books at the office.
They raised two children, a daughter and a son. The little girl was preparing for her nursery graduation, about to start school, when fate twisted sharply. James died in an accident at work—electrocuted by high voltage. Victoria was left alone with two children.
Though his colleagues and the factory management helped with the funeral, the grief lodged in her heart like a splinter. It took her months to surface from the despair. Thank God her mother lived nearby, stepping in to care for the children while Victoria pieced herself back together.
«Darling, I understand,» her mother whispered, stroking her hair. «Losing the man you love is unbearable. I’ve been there. But you must think of the children. Look how they’re suffering—you barely speak to them. You have to live for them. They’re pieces of James, his blood. Pull yourself together. Your leave’s ending soon—going back to work will help.»
«Thank you, Mum,» Victoria sobbed. «I know you’re right, but my heart won’t accept he’s gone.»
«Time will soften the pain. Trust me.»
When Victoria returned to the office, her colleagues wouldn’t let her drown in silence. They talked, laughed, brought her tea. Slowly, she thawed.
«Girls, thank you,» she murmured one day, a ghost of a smile on her lips. «I don’t know what I’d do without you. Mum was right—being here helps.»
Her daughter started primary school, bright-eyed and eager.
«Mummy, Miss Eleanor is so clever and kind! She knows everything!» the little girl gushed.
«That’s what teachers do, love,» Victoria said gently. «They learn, then pass it on. Pay attention, and you’ll be just as wise one day.»
Three years passed. The ache of loss dulled, tucked away deep inside. Then, unexpectedly, a new man joined the office—Michael, the health and safety inspector. Serious, divorced, he’d moved back to town to care for his elderly mother.
The moment he stepped into accounts and saw Victoria, warmth flooded him.
«Lovely woman,» he thought. «But why does she look so sad?»
«Morning,» he greeted the room. «Michael Hartley—health and safety. Just ‘Michael’ is fine.»
His easy grin lit up the room. They joked, offered coffee (which he declined—»Next time, promise. The boss is waiting.»), and when he left, the women exhaled.
«God, he’s cheerful. And handsome,» sighed Irene.
Michael couldn’t stay away. He found excuses to visit accounts, lingering near Victoria’s desk. One evening, he waited for her in the lobby.
«Victoria—let me walk you home?»
To her surprise, she smiled. «Alright.»
That night, they talked for hours. When she finally glanced at her watch, she gasped. «I have to go—Mum’s with the kids.»
He walked her home. And just like that, something began.
Michael never pushed. He knew about James. But in time, he asked her to marry him. She said yes.
He was a good man—patient, kind. The children adored him, especially the boy, starved for a father’s attention. Even Michael’s mother embraced them, becoming «Gran» to the little ones.
They raised the children together. No blood of his own, but he loved them fiercely. When they grew up—the daughter married, moved away; the son settled nearby—Victoria and Michael were left in the quiet of their home.
Then, at fifty-three, fate struck again. Michael didn’t wake up. A heart attack, silent and sudden.
Victoria raged at the sky. «Why? Both my husbands were good men. Why take them from me?»
Her colleagues soothed her. «Life’s cruel sometimes. But you’ve walked this road before. You’ll survive.»
She did. Years slid by. Loneliness gnawed at her. She missed companionship, a man’s presence—but the decent ones her age were married, and the single ones? Drinkers, freeloaders, dragging debt behind them.
Then relatives introduced her to Edward. A widower, five years older, but vigorous—still skiing in winter, cycling in summer. No vices, just quiet strength. Handsome, with the manners of a gentleman.
They fit. He drove over daily, phoned constantly.
«Victoria, let’s go to the cinema tonight. Dinner after?»
«Gladly,» she’d say, starved for excitement.
They walked in the park, talked for hours. She glowed, astonished at herself.
«Love at my age? And he’s *good*.»
Edward felt it too. Flowers, gifts, errands run without asking. Three blissful months—then, too smoothly, the crack appeared.
One evening, he confessed, «Before you, there was a woman—Natalie. We loved each other, but fought constantly. Five years on and off. Then she betrayed me. I walked away… but I wanted you to know.»
Natalie heard about Victoria. Panicked, she ambushed Edward at his flat, begging.
«Darling, I’ve changed! I can’t live without you!»
And Edward, honest to a fault, called Victoria.
«I’m sorry. I tried to move on, but… it’s her. I can’t help it.»
Victoria hung up without a word.
The betrayal carved her hollow. Ice filled her chest. Never again.
Now she tends her garden, waits for grandchildren, pours love into family. They, at least, will never betray her.