Torn Bonds: A Drama of Returning to Family
William stood in the snow-covered yard, feeling the cold bite through his thin jacket. He’d had a row with his wife, Catherine, and had spent the last week at his father’s place on the other side of the village, Redhill. That morning, while Catherine was at the market, William crept back to his own house like a thief, heart pounding with resentment and nerves. He slipped into the shed, swung open the door, and released his geese into the powdery snow. The birds honked joyfully at their freedom, and the old grouse waddled up to William, settling beside him and stretching out its long neck as if to embrace him. It was this tender scene that Catherine and their daughter, Lily, walked into upon returning from the market.
“Well, I never! Love and hugs!” Lily exclaimed, her eyes bright with delight. “Dad, are you back?”
William stayed silent, casting a sullen glance at his wife.
“Hungry?” Catherine asked softly, studying his face. “We’ve got a proper Sunday roast today. Didn’t you remember?”
“Remember what?” William grumbled, baffled.
William and Catherine had been married sixteen years. They lived in the picturesque village of Redhill, where woods and lakes gave the place a storybook charm. The river winding past their street was perfect for fishing, and the countryside had convinced Catherine to stay rather than move to the city where her parents lived.
William was a local. His father, Thomas Wilson, lived nearby, alone since the passing of his wife years before William’s wedding. Guilt over his father’s loneliness had made William persuade Catherine to settle in the village. She’d loved their cosy cottage, bought with wedding money, and threw herself into homemaking—tending the garden, growing vegetables, turning the place into a little paradise.
William visited his father often, especially when Thomas was missing his late wife. Sometimes they’d have a pint together, which always led to rows. Thomas swore he’d stop, but William kept catching him with a bottle. They’d argue, make up by staring at his mother’s portrait on the wall, but Thomas’s grief never lifted.
“Maybe he ought to find a lady?” Catherine suggested once.
“He won’t hear of it,” William replied.
“He’ll drink himself to death,” she sighed.
Time passed. Thomas worked, kept his house tidy, and William helped. But the arguments with Catherine grew more frequent. She couldn’t stand her husband and father-in-law drinking together.
“You used to berate him for it!” she scolded. “Now you’re doing the same!”
William would stay silent, making excuses about his father’s loneliness, but Catherine wouldn’t let it go. Sometimes, mid-row, he’d storm off to his dad’s for a day or two. Neighbours whispered:
“There goes William, off to escape his wife again. How long this time?”
He’d hole up at his dad’s, helping with chores, then return with little gifts for Lily. She’d fling her arms around him, and Catherine’s heart would soften.
“If it weren’t for Lily, I’d show you!” she’d fume—but soon enough, William would hug her, help around the house, and peace was restored.
Then one day, Catherine spotted William in the pub with mates, beers in hand, and snapped.
“How much longer? Lily’s just ten! What sort of father do you want her to remember?” she shouted. “Go to your dad’s, and if you don’t sort yourself out, don’t bother coming back!”
Fuming, William packed a bag and left.
“Surely she doesn’t mean it?” Thomas said. “She’ll calm down—she always does. What’ll she do without you running the place?”
“Dunno,” William muttered, pouring himself a whiskey. “Left the dog and cat there, too…”
“You’re a good man,” Thomas reassured. “She doesn’t appreciate you. Everyone does it! What’s the harm in a drink or two? You bring home your wages!”
William nodded, but homesickness gnawed at him. At dusk, he’d creep back, peering through windows, stroking the dog, who’d lick his hands wildly.
“Back again?” Catherine asked once, stepping into the yard. “Miss the dog?”
“At least she doesn’t nag me,” William shot back.
He took the dog to his dad’s. Days later, she had four puppies.
“What’ll you do with them all?” Thomas wondered.
“Find good homes,” William said.
Lily visited to fuss over the puppies, feeding and petting them.
“Dad… are you staying away long?” she asked once. “It’s scary without the dog…”
“Isn’t it scary without your dad?” William said bitterly. “How’s your mum? Give her my best.”
“Tell her yourself,” Lily huffed and left.
That Sunday, while Catherine was at the market, William slipped home. He opened the shed, releasing five hens and the old grouse. The birds honked happily, and the grouse waddled over, wrapping its neck around William as if hugging him. That was the sight Catherine and Lily walked in on.
“Now that’s love!” Lily laughed. “Dad, are you back?”
William stayed quiet, watching Catherine. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, but surprisingly, she seemed calm.
“Hungry?” she asked. “We’ve a Sunday roast today. Didn’t you remember?”
“Remember what?” William faltered.
Then it hit him. It was their wedding anniversary!
“Course I did!” he breathed. “I’ll fetch Dad, yeah?”
“Come, both of you,” Catherine smiled. “Just family today.”
William headed for the gate, the grouse waddling after him.
“Where you off to, mate?” William chuckled. “Can’t have you out here. Wait—I’ll be back.”
Dinner was warm, full of chatter. No beer on the table—just roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, and a Victoria sponge.
“Well, we’re getting on now,” Catherine sighed. “Ought to stick together, look after each other…”
Her eyes glistened as she watched William and Thomas tuck into the homemade meal.
“Cathy, I’ve something to say,” William began. “No more drinking. Done with running off. I promise—to you, to Lily—things’ll be right.”
“My fault too,” Thomas muttered. “We’ll both do better.”
“Good,” Catherine smiled. “Can’t set a bad example for the children.”
“Right,” William nodded—then froze. “We haven’t got a son.”
“Not yet,” Catherine said, mysterious. “But seven months from now, maybe.”
William leapt up:
“You serious? You—”
“Dead serious,” she nodded. “Time to wise up. Got a new little one to prepare for.”
Lily squealed, bouncing:
“Even if it’s a sister, still brill!”
That night, the family reunited. William’s only regret was Catherine asking not to announce the pregnancy yet. But two months later, her waistline betrayed the secret. To Catherine’s surprise, both William and Thomas stopped drinking, fixing up the nursery.
By summer, a dark-haired, loud little lad arrived—William’s spitting image. Lily doted on him, helping Catherine. Thomas was desperate to play grandpa, making them laugh.
“Give him time,” Catherine teased.
But soon she let Thomas push the pram. Proud as punch, he whispered to neighbours about his grandson—how he ate, slept, what a fine little chap he was. Neighbours grinned, the women joking:
“Thomas, you ought to find yourself a wife!”
“Who’d have me?” he’d wave them off. “Twice a granddad now!”
Yet at the lad’s first birthday, Thomas arrived with a woman his age—an old friend he’d recently reconnected with. Like that, William’s father had a new family.
The rows became a thing of the past. Only once did Catherine tell a neighbour:
“William’s given up the drink. Got a boy to raise, teach the ways. His dad’s the same. Both mad for the little one, and he adores them.”
The house grew peaceful. Was it the baby that bound them, or had William and Catherine mellowed? Neighbours wondered, but all that mattered was the happiness inside—where love was enough.
