I Never Took What Wasn’t Mine: The Story of Martha, Anastasia, and the Choices That Changed Their Lives Forever

NEVER CLAIMED ANOTHERS DUE
Even as a schoolgirl, Martha looked down on Anne and, at the same time, envied her. She pitied Anne for her parents, both hopelessly and thoroughly lost to drink. They lived from hand to mouth, making do however they could. Anne was always half-starved, dressed in tatters, bruised in spirit and sometimes in body too. Her father could be cruelsometimes for drinking too much, sometimes for having too littlethat was simply the way it went.
Annes mother never intervened. She was frightened of her husbands heavy hand. Only Annes grandmother brought a glimmer of comfort to her days. Once a month, from her meagre pension, Gran would give Anne a wage for good behaviour. And Anne knew, even if she misbehaved, Gran would only pretend not to notice and would hand over the coins anyway. Five pounds. For Anne, it was a day of delight. Off shed go to the sweetshop, buying ice cream for herself and her gran, a bit of fudge, a few boiled sweets.
Always, Anne hoped to make the treats last the whole month. But after two days, everything had vanished, without fail. Then, Gran would reach into the freezer, hand over her own ice cream, and say:
Here, lovey, have mine. My throat feels a bit sore today.
Strange, Anne would think. Grans throat only ever felt bad on the same day the sweets ran out.
Secretly, Anne had come to count on Grans ice cream.
Marthas family, meanwhile, was entirely the opposite. Their home was one of plenty. Her parents earned decent livings; her mother fussed over Martha, ensuring she had the latest fashionable frocks and new shoes every season. The girls at school would sometimes borrow her clothes, eager to wear something as smart as Marthas. Martha was lacking for nothingwell-fed, well-dressed, and secure.
And yet, she envied Annes rare beauty, her inner glow, her way of making friends with everyone. Martha saw herself as too important to even speak to Anne; when their paths crossed, Martha would look Anne over as if freezing her with a glare. Once, in front of the whole class, Martha spat out,
Pathetic creature!
Anne, in tears, ran home and told Gran what had happened.
Gran sat Anne down, smoothing her hair.
Dont cry, love. Next time, tell her: Youre rightI am with God.
Instantly, Anne felt lighter.
In truth, Martha was handsome herself, but a sort of chill radiated from her beauty, a kind of reserve.
Among the boys in their class, Mark was everyones favouritecheerful and irreverent, never bothered by bad marks or scoldings for poor behaviour. He brought lightness and humour to every room. Teachers, despite painting his record with red strokes of criticism, couldnt help but like Mark for his good nature.
In the senior years, Mark began to walk Martha home from school, waiting for her in the mornings so they could enter the class together, as the others would tease:
Oh! Bride and groom!
Even the teachers sensed something blooming between them.
The final bell rang; the last dance held. The girls and boys scattered from their childhood school into the wider world.
Martha and Mark were wed in haste, the evidence of their love too visible to hideno many-layered dress could conceal it. Five months on, Martha gave birth to a daughter, Sophie.
Anne, finishing school, was forced into work. Her gran had passed on, and her parents, still drinking, expected her support now. Many suitors called on Anne, but never one to truly stir her heart, so she didnt rush. She felt some shame for her familys habits, too.
Ten years meandered by.
Outside the substance abuse clinic stood two pairs: Anne with her mother, Mark with Martha.
Anne recognised Mark at once: hed grown into a fine man. Martha, however, was a shadowthin, trembling, her eyes dull and lifeless, seemingly much older than her twenty-eight years.
Mark looked at Anne, apologetic.
Hullo, old classmate, he managed, clearly uncomfortable at being found here, especially by Anne.
Hello, Mark. Trouble with Martha? Anne swiftly took the measure of things.
For some time now, he answered, embarrassed.
An alcoholic woman is ruin itself. I know it all too well from my own mother. My father all but vanished into the bottle, Anne replied, mourning for both of them.
After that meeting, Mark and Anne swapped numbersfor advice, for consolation. Their troubles were the same, and it felt easier to face them together. Mark would stop by Annes place, seeking advice, and Anne, with sympathy, would share what shed been forced to learn: how to deal with drinkers in the family, what treatments sometimes helped, what never to do For, as shed learned, more men drown in a pint than in the sea.
Finally it came out: Mark and little Sophie had long lived alone, Martha staying with her own parents. Mark had cut Martha off from their daughter after coming home from work one day to find her on the floor, stupefied by drink, while three-year-old Sophie stood tottering at the edge of the upstairs window, ready to fall. That was the last straw. Mark saw that in matters of the heart, appearances meant nothing. One can never truly know what lies inside anothers soul. Most painfully, Martha herself refused help, insisting she could stop any time she liked, when in truth she was being pulled ever deeper.
Their marriage broke apart.
One day, Mark invited Anne to dine at a quiet restaurant. There, over supper, he confessed what hed hidden since their schooldays: he had always been in love with Anne, but had feared her rejection; then, Marthas unexpected pregnancy swept him along. Now, he believed that fateful meeting at the clinic was Providence itself. His heart, he said, had been restored by their conversation.
Mark asked Anne if she would become his wife. He had, at last, found his way into her heart. Anne had always felt something for Mark, too, but it had never crossed her mind to take another womans placecertainly not Marthas. Everything was different now: Mark was free, and in love with her. There were no more obstacles; she could now accept his love and offer hers in return.
Their wedding was quiet and modest; Anne moved in with Mark. Sophie was at first wary of this new woman in their home, recognising that her fathers love must now be shared. But Annes gentle warmth and kindness soon won Sophies heart; in time, the little girl called her Mum. A few years later, Sophie had a baby sister, Mary.
One evening, the doorbell rang at Mark and Annes house. Anne answered, and on the step was Marthaalmost unrecognisable except for her voice, steeped in drink, her body and soul battered by years of self-neglect.
You snake, Martha hissed, you stole my husband and my daughter. Ive hated you all my life!
Anne, composed and graceful, met Marthas venom without flinching.
I never took what wasnt given, Anne replied. You left your family behindnot understanding a thing. I never once spoke ill of you. I truly pity you, Martha
With that, Anne quietly closed the door on her unbidden guest.