A Lifetime with My One True Wife: Love, Patience, Broken Porcelain, and the Bittersweet Legacy of a Brother’s Secret Regret

MY OWN WIFE

How have you managed to stay with the same wife all these years? Whats the secret? My brother would always ask the same question whenever he visited our house in Manchester.

Love and an immense amount of patience. Thats all there is to it, I replied every time, never changing my answer.

That would never work for me, hed laugh, shaking his head. I love all women. Each one is a mystery I want to solve. Theres nothing more boring than living with a book youve already read.

My younger brother, Peter, married at eighteen. His bride, Alice, was ten years his senior. She was a sweet, gentle soul whose devotion to Peter was unwavering, but for him, it was little more than a passing amusement.

Alice moved into our rambling family home outside London, where seven other relatives lived. She soon gave birth to their son, Matthew, believing shed finally grasped her own luck. The young couple were given a tiny corner room to call their own.

Alice treasured her collection of porcelain figurines, treating them with a reverence nothing else could match. There were ten, rare and exquisite, arranged with pride atop an ancient chest of drawers. The entire family understood how precious those fragile ornaments were to hershed often pause by the chest, gaze at them with tears of joy, and softly trace their delicate shapes.

At the time, I myself was searching for a wifehoping to find the one. In the end, my wish came true. My own marriage has lasted more than fifty years.

Peters marriage to Alice limped on for a decade. Alice found little to boast about in those years. She poured her whole heart into being a dutiful wife and loving mothergentle, quiet, accommodating. What was Peter missing?

One night, Peter returned home somewhat worse for wear after a night at the pub. Something in Alices manner irked him, and he started needling her, making crude jokes, grabbing her arm. Sensing a looming argument, Alice silently bundled up young Matthew and slipped out into the chilly garden.

Suddenly, a terrible crash split the air. Alice knew instantlyit was her figurines. She rushed back inside and stood frozen at the sight. Her beloved collection lay in a heap on the floor, reduced to pitiful shards. Only one fragile figurine had miraculously survived. Alice picked it up, kissed it softly. She said nothing to her brutish husband. Her eyes, though, brimmed with tears.

From that night on, something broke between Peter and Alice. She may have stayed, continuing to fulfil all her duties as a wife and mother, but there was a heaviness to everything she did. Her spirit seemed crushed, her energy gone.

Peter started drinking more. Soon, he surrounded himself with a crowd of vulgar acquaintances and dubious lady friends. Alice noticed his waywardness, but she grew distant, shutting herself away emotionally. Peter spent less and less time at home, forgetting altogether about his family. Observing all this, Alice realized that chasing after lost wind was fruitless. Eventually, Peter and Alice divorcedquietly, without drama or mutual accusations. Alice took Matthew back to her hometown in Devon. The lone surviving porcelain figurine stood on the chest, left as a memory.

Peter, for his part, wasted no time. He launched into a reckless, untethered lifestyle, unconcerned by responsibility or consequence. He fell in and out of love with a succession of women, never content, always moving on to the next. His life spiralled downward. He married and divorced three times, often drinking to oblivion (despite being considered a sharp and respected economist, even publishing a textbook). Prospects that once glittered before him faded as the drink and chaos took over.

Eventually, our family thought Peter had finally settled down with a remarkable woman. We were relieved. He invited us all to a modest wedding in Oxford. The woman had a seventeen-year-old son, and it was immediately clear that Peter and the boy would never get on. But Peter ignored that fact, thinking nothing of marrying someone with extra baggage. In the end, the stepson was the catalyst for their splitafter a near-fatal fight that left the whole household shaken.

Afterward, Peters life became a blur of fleeting affairsLinda, Kate, Grace Each time, he claimed hed found the one. But fate had other ideas. At fifty-three, Peter fell gravely ill with a disease no doctor could cure. By then, there wasnt a single loving woman left at his side; all had quietly slipped away. Only I and our sisters cared for bedridden Peter.

Simon, theres a suitcase under my bed. Could you get it for me? His voice was weak, every movement a struggle.

I reached under, pulled out a dusty suitcase, opened it, and was astonished. It was packed with porcelain figurines, each carefully wrapped in a soft cloth.

I collected them all for Alice, Peter explained, voice hoarse. Ill never forget the look in her eyes when I smashed hers. She put up with so much. Remember how I travelled all over the country for work? Id buy a figurine wherever I could. Theres a false bottom in the suitcase; take the money from thereits all Ive saved. Give everything to Alice. Ask her to forgive me. Well never meet again. Simon, promise me youll deliver them to her.

I could barely breathe as I nodded, realising my brother was leaving us for good.

Theres an envelope with Alices address under my pillow. Take it, Peter whispered. He never turned to look at mehe couldnt.

Alice still lived in her childhood town. Matthew was gravely ill, and the local doctors were at a loss. They suggested she travel abroad for treatment, perhaps Europe. I learned all this from Alices letter, which had lain under Peters pillow. Apparently, she and Peter had kept contact after the divorceat least, she wrote to him, though he never replied.

After Peters funeral, I gathered the suitcase and set off to fulfil his last wish.

I met Alice at a small railway station, somewhere lost amid the autumn fog. She smiled warmly when she saw me and embraced me tightly.

Oh, Simonyou and Peter look so much alike. Like two peas in a pod.

I handed her the suitcase and, as my brother had asked, offered my apology. Alice, please forgive Peter. He wanted you to have this. Theres money inside, too, and something else from him. Take a look back home, will you? You were always his own dear wife. Never forget.

That was the last time I ever saw Alice.

She sent me one letter, which I cherish.

Simon, thank youfor yourself, and for Peter. I thank God that Peter was part of my life.
Matthew and I sold the figurines to someone who truly appreciated them; I simply couldnt look at them. Each one, Peter must have touched with his own hands. Its such a shame he left us so soon. With the money we earned, we were able to emigrate to Canadamy sister had asked us to come for years. England held nothing left for me. There was always hope Peter might ask us to returnbut he never did. Still, I am glad he considered me his own wife; it means he hadnt completely stopped caring. Matthew is happier here, too, and his health is improving each day. Farewell.

She left no return address.