For the third time in her life, Edith's heart was broken. Once again, she had to watch the man she loved turn his back on her and leave her life for good. She should have ran after to him, said something! It was like she was in some sort of nightmare where she knew that she had to do something, but was unable to move.
She hated Mary. She despised the very ground she walked on. She knew that she hated Mary the moment she saw the look on Bertie's face, when she saw the pain that Mary had intentionally inflicted on an innocent man. How Edith yearned to grab the nearest knife and ram it down Mary's poisonous mouth.
And yet, the pain she felt was duller than the pain she had felt before. After all, when she lost Michael he had died! And Bertie was still alive, so that was an improvement. And she still had her magazine and she still had her darling Marigold. No matter how good a man Bertie was, Marigold was worth fifty of him. Losing Bertie meant she was no worse of than where she started.
But what struck Edith the most was how unlike the first two times, she knew that the pain would leave. When Anthony had jilted her and Michael died, she felt she would spend the rest of her life in mourning. But she didn't. She found happiness after them and she would find happiness again.
Loss was so much easier to bear when you had already born it and knew that happiness was still just around the corner.
Edith thought of her magazine, her flat and Marigold. She already had so much, she didn't need Bertie. She loved him, but she also loved her work. And she loved Marigold and (most importantly) she loved herself.
Edith smiled.
"Bertie who?"
