Never Stop Believing in Happiness!

Do not stop believing in happiness

Once, in the reckless days of her youth, Eleanor Whitaker wandered into the bustling fair at Brighton Pier. A gypsy woman with eyes as dark as a tempest grabbed Eleanors wrist and sang:

Beautiful one, youll live in a sunlit land, where the air smells of sea and vines.

Eleanor laughed, her voice ringing over the rides:

Dont be daft! Ill never leave my town!

Life rolled on. She married Simon Whitaker for love, welcomed a daughter named Emily, and dreamed of a second child. Yet before that, Eleanor kept a job, thinking, Five or six years, then maybe Ill think about a son.

Then a business trip arrived that shattered every plan. Her neighbour, Mrs. Barker, a nurse, called in a panic:

Eleanor, theyve taken Simon to the hospital! An ambulance turned up at a strange address on the other side of the road.

Family secrets have a way of surfacing in the most unexpected places.

The drive home felt like a scene from a bad thriller. That very evening Eleanor sped to the hospital, her heart hammering in her throat. Simon lay pale, his arm bandaged, avoiding her gaze.

Where did they bring you from? she whispered.

Silence answered louder than any words.

It turned out the address belonged to a solitary woman, a colleague of Simons, whose friendship had stretched over a year.

Everyones temperament differed. Some turned a blind eye, others erupted in outrage, then, teeth clenched, served the cheater a bowl of soup. Eleanor, however, was forged from a different steel. She didnt wait for Simons dischargethere was a wounded husband to tend.

Grabbing Emilys trembling hand, she packed the essentials into an old suitcase, slipped out of their shared flat, and never looked back.

Were starting fresh, my love, she said, squeezing the little palm tightly.

Their mother took them in at first. Soon after, Eleanor divorced, split the flat with Simon, and signed a mortgage on a modest house in Surrey. She ran on autopilot, striving to secure a future for herself and her daughter.

Years later, exhausted by work and solitude, Eleanor flew to the English countryside, staying at the welcoming cottage of her old friend Olivia, just a stones throw from the rolling hills of the Cotswolds. She had been saving every penny for a holiday, but the pressure finally snapped, and she bought a ticket at the last minute, hoping the English sunshine might melt the ice in her heart.

Olivia listened to Eleanors bitter confessionsIll never learn to trust again, Love no longer exists for meand could hold on no longer. She quietly rang a contact, the owner of a local vineyard:

George, find me a man named Liam. Tell him I have a bride waiting.

Eleanors thoughts were far from romance. She was already in her nightgown, a soft cardigan wrapped around her, a book in hand, trying to chase away the gloom. Outside, the night lay thick and black over the south of England.

A sudden knock shattered the silence. A minute later, Olivia burst into the bedroom, eyes alight:

Eleanor, get up! Your fiancé has arrived!

What nonsense is this? Eleanor chuckled, but she tossed on the cardigan and stepped into the living room.

There he stood: tall, silver at the temples, eyes sparkling with mischief. Liam. In his hands he cradled a battered motorcycle helmet; behind him, leaned against the cottage wall, a weatherworn bike. Hed ridden twenty miles up a winding hill road under a starfilled sky just to meet a stranger.

Olivia told me youre a proper English lady? he said in halting English, his accent a curious melody.

Eleanor, stunned, reached for a handshake. Liam instead took her in his large, warm hands and held on. They sank onto the sofa, fingers interlaced, refusing to let go. He barely spoke English; she knew not a word of Italianor even the local dialect. Yet their conversation of gestures, smiles, and lingering glances crackled with a fierce, immediate connection. Olivia smiled, stepped back, and left them alone with the birth of something new.

At dawn Liam slipped away, straddling his iron steed once more. Later Eleanor learned his life had been a string of misfortunes: two failed marriages, no children, no home. He lived in a cramped flat above his brothers garage and had almost given up on happiness.

Ten days before his departure they agreed on everything. Ill come back, Eleanor said simply, answering his offer. Well live together.

The months that followed back home whirled in a frenzy: job loss, packing, arduous talks with relatives who could not grasp her madness. Her phone buzzed nonstop:

My love, how are you? I miss you. Liam

Our new window looks out onto an olive grove. Your room awaits. Your Liam

The sevenyear age gapshe was olderdidnt bother him, nor the twelveyearold Emily he would have to love.

One sundrenched afternoon, perched on the terrace of their new house, Eleanor wrapped her arms around Liams shoulders and asked:

Liam, why did you trust us so quickly? Why werent you scared?

He turned, and the Tuscanlike sea of his eyes reflected the hills of the Downs:

An old winemaker once told me Id meet a woman from the east. A woman with a stormy soul and a heart seeking calm. He said shed bring the luck Ive been planting in my vines all my life but never finding. That woman is you, Eleanor.

And? she whispered, tears welling.

Did you find that luck? Liam asked, his voice soft.

He gave her no answer, only drew her close and kissed her as if it were both their first and last kiss. Then, with a radiant smile, he said:

You found me yourself! Im endlessly happy.

Life settled into a gentle rhythm. They secured a mortgage on a cottage with a view of the rolling hills. Liam grew fond of his stepdaughter Emily, who now devoured Italian lessons with gusto. Each morning he slipped a cinnamonspiced coffee into Eleanors bed; evenings filled the house with the scent of his divine pasta dishes. His love manifested in bouquets of wildflowers on the table, tender touches, and the caring gaze that bid her good morning.

Eleanor blossomed. She could not believe she once thought joint happiness was a myth. Now she knows: happiness isnt a legend. It walks the world, stubbornly hunting its halves, and when it finds them, it binds them together with a force that no storm can break.