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This story takes place in a small town in England, where my father, Mr. James Thompson, ran a successful trading business. John, a loyal and diligent employee, worked for him and managed the operations with great care. My father was so impressed with John that he treated him like a son, welcoming him into our home in Manchester. At the time, I was eighteen, a cheerful young woman with a graceful charm. My name was Emily. I found myself drawn to John, and he seemed to feel the same way about me. One day, I confided in my mother, Elizabeth, that I liked John and, knowing my father admired him, asked her to arrange a proposal.
I pleaded with her, and her heart softened. She spoke to my father, suggesting that John was a good match for me, and it would be wonderful to see us married. My father, it seemed, had been thinking along the same lines. He told my mother to confirm with me, and if I was willing, he’d meet John’s family. There was no need for further discussion—I had already made my feelings clear. John was equally eager, but the challenge lay with his family in Liverpool. He tried to convince them, but they were firmly against the marriage. Only his elder brother-in-law, Thomas, supported him, believing John should marry the woman of his choice.
Despite his family’s disapproval, Thomas and his wife, Mary, visited our home. Thomas explained the situation to my father, assuring him not to worry and promising to persuade John’s parents later. He and Mary stood by John, urging my father to trust them and proceed with the marriage. My father hesitated, but my mother’s love and persuasion won him over. With Thomas and John’s younger brother as representatives, our wedding took place.
After the marriage, John took me to his elder sister Mary’s home in Birmingham, where we stayed for two months. During this time, Mary and Thomas worked tirelessly to convince John’s parents. Eventually, they relented and allowed us to move into their family home in Liverpool. Nervously, we arrived, and John’s parents appeared to accept me, showing no outward resentment. I felt overjoyed, believing I had been welcomed. I considered myself incredibly fortunate to have John’s boundless love. He often said, “Emily, you’re so kind-hearted. From the first day, I was smitten. I prayed to God you’d be my wife, and now I feel like the luckiest man alive.”
John’s one flaw was his inability to hide his affection for me. He openly expressed his love, even in front of his family, which they found irritating. Their attitude toward me began to sour. John advised me to stay patient and silent, to bear their remarks for his sake. I took his words to heart, enduring their cold behavior quietly. After marriage, I discovered John occasionally smoked cannabis. But his care and love for me were so immense that I overlooked this habit. I never shared the family tensions with my parents, not wanting to hurt them or create conflict. I bore everything in silence.
One scorching summer day, the house in Liverpool ran out of water. The taps were dry, and all the containers were empty. There was a well in the backyard, so in the afternoon, while everyone rested, I filled all the pots and jugs despite the heat. Exhausted from the day’s chores, I lay down in a spare room to rest. Soon, John’s middle sister, Sophia, stormed in, switched off the fan, and shouted, “Who do you think you are, sleeping here like a princess? My husband is coming, and he sleeps on this bed. Did you lie here on purpose?” Her words stung deeply, leaving me stunned. I had no idea about her husband’s plans or which room he used. Shocked and humiliated, I sat there, frozen.
Just then, John returned and asked why I was upset. I told him everything. He reassured me, saying, “She’s lying. Her husband isn’t even coming—he’s on duty in another city. She’s just trying to upset you.” I realized Sophia’s cruel intent was to tarnish my image in John’s eyes, but he believed me and comforted me, saying, “I know Sophia’s stirring trouble. Ignore her and don’t worry.” But Sophia didn’t stop. She deliberately spilled all the water I’d fetched from the well, claiming it was “dirty” and ordering me to refill everything. Exhausted, I couldn’t comply, so John stepped in and filled large drums himself.
One day, overwhelmed, John overindulged in cannabis. His mother, seizing the opportunity, sent him to Mary and Thomas’s home in Birmingham, claiming he was troubled because of me and needed to be “fixed.” She blamed our marriage for his struggles, ignoring his need for my support during his fragile state. Separated from me, John’s condition worsened. He missed me terribly, smoking more to cope, but his sister’s family sedated him with injections, thinking sleep would help. No one addressed his true pain—our separation.
Three months passed without his return. I longed for him, desperate to join him, but my mother-in-law forbade it. John would call my name in his haze, and finally, Thomas understood the gravity of the situation. He confronted my mother-in-law, pleading, “Send Emily to him, or he’ll waste away missing her.” She refused. After three months, John returned home, furious with his mother. He declared we’d live separately, packed our belongings, and moved us to a small house nearby in Liverpool. Days later, I visited my in-laws to reconcile, but they humiliated me and threw me out. That was my last visit. John forbade me from returning, and we began a new, peaceful life filled with love.
John gradually quit his habit, and we were blessed with a son. Life felt joyful again. But my in-laws couldn’t bear our happiness. One day, John’s youngest sister, Anna, visited and persuaded him to see his parents, saying they missed him. John went, and they reconciled. Anna’s husband, living in Germany, lured John with promises of wealth and a better life abroad. Convinced, John agreed to move to Berlin. Before leaving, he took me to my parents’ home in Manchester, saying, “You can’t stay alone. Once I’m settled, I’ll bring you over.”
At first, his letters arrived regularly, but they soon stopped. Two years passed with no contact. Whenever I visited my in-laws, they dodged questions about him. Desperate, I returned to my parents. My father reached out to an acquaintance in Germany, who discovered John had remarried with his brother-in-law’s help and was living happily. My in-laws knew but hid it from me. I wrote countless letters to John, but none were answered. I clung to hope, thinking he might return, as men sometimes take second wives. I waited four years, but he neither came nor contacted me.
Finally, my father hired a skilled lawyer, who worked with a German attorney to file a case. It emerged that John had claimed I didn’t exist, justifying his second marriage. I presented myself and our son as proof. The German court, informed of the injustice, prompted John’s second wife to divorce him. Unable to stay in Germany, he returned to England, ashamed. I forgave him with all my heart, and our broken life bloomed anew.
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