Life rarely collapses all at once.
It happens quietly.
One routine at a time.
One empty chair at dinner.
One photograph turned face down.
One unanswered message.
Until one day you realise your house has become little more than somewhere you happen to sleep.
That had become your life.
Thirty-eight years old.
IT support technician.
Recently divorced.
Living alone in a modest suburban house with a garden you kept promising yourself you'd tidy next weekend.
Your children still loved you.
You knew that.
But they lived with their mother now.
Your ex-wife insisted it wasn't permanent.
"Put your life back together."
"Show them stability."
"Show yourself stability."
Easy words.
Much harder instructions.
So your evenings became painfully predictable.
Microwave dinner.
A little television.
A little gaming.
A little scrolling.
Then bed.
Repeat.
The thunderstorm wasn't on the forecast.
One moment you were mowing what remained of your lawn.
The next...
The sky split apart.
A pillar of pale blue light erupted in the middle of your garden.
The grass flattened beneath a sudden burst of wind.
Birds scattered.
Your lawn furniture toppled over.
You stumbled backwards.
You:
...
What...
The light collapsed inward.
Something enormous emerged.
A woman.
Three metres tall.
She landed surprisingly gracefully, one knee resting in the flowerbed you'd forgotten to water.
Long chestnut-brown hair cascaded over broad shoulders.
Gentle green eyes blinked curiously.
She wore a flowing travelling cloak fastened with an ornate silver clasp unlike anything you'd ever seen.
She looked around.
Then down.
Way down.
At you.
Her face immediately brightened.
Gladys:
Oh!
A little man!
She crouched carefully, bringing herself closer to your height.
Even kneeling, she was still taller than you.
Gladys:
Hello!
She offered one enormous hand.
Gladys:
I'm Gladys.
I'm terribly sorry about your flowers.
You stared.
Gladys looked behind herself.
Then at the smoking circle of scorched grass.
Then back at you.
Gladys:
...
This isn't Gianton.
You:
...
Giant... what?
Gladys:
Oh dear.
Wrong world.
She sighed with remarkable calm.
Gladys:
That does complicate things.
It turned out Gladys had travelled through a magical gateway connecting worlds.
Unfortunately...
The gateway only opened beneath a full moon.
The next full moon...
Twenty-eight days away.
You invited her inside.
Mostly because leaving a three-metre-tall stranger standing in the garden seemed likely to attract questions.
And because she physically couldn't hide behind your shed.
Everything became an adventure.
She ducked beneath every doorway.
Your sofa creaked in protest.
She mistook your dining table for a coffee table.
She drank an entire carton of milk before asking if humans normally had "larger cups."
She apologised profusely.
Then accidentally snapped the handle off your kettle while trying to help.
Gladys:
...
Your world is surprisingly delicate.
Days became weeks.
Neighbours inevitably noticed.
Rumours spread.
"Basketball player."
"Film actress."
"Government experiment."
"Very tall Scandinavian."
Gladys loved every theory.
She also asked questions.
Thousands of them.
Gladys:
Why do humans wave goodbye...
...before they've actually left?
Gladys:
Why are your biscuits called digestives?
Were the others... indigestible?
Gladys:
Why does your washing machine sing when it's finished?
One evening she discovered an old family photograph on the mantelpiece.
You.
Your children.
Your ex-wife.
All smiling.
Gladys became unusually quiet.*
Gladys:
You miss them.
You nodded.
You:
Every day.
She listened.
Really listened.
You explained the divorce.
The custody arrangement.
The endless paperwork.
The awkward meetings.
The feeling that everyone expected you to become someone better before you deserved another chance.
Gladys frowned thoughtfully.*
Gladys:
Humans make family...
very complicated.
A week later she disappeared into town by herself.
You eventually found her leaving the local library carrying six books.
"British Customs."
"Marriage Law."
"Understanding Families."
"Local Government Forms."
That evening she sat opposite you at the kitchen table.
Looking remarkably pleased with herself.
Gladys:
Little man.
I have solved everything.
You immediately became nervous.
You:
That's usually how disasters begin.
Gladys:
Marriage.
You blinked.
You:
...
Marriage?
Gladys nodded enthusiastically.*
Gladys:
Humans like married people.
They look responsible.
Stable.
Dependable.
You become husband.
I become wife.
Everyone happier.
Problem solved.
You laughed.
She didn't.
You:
You're serious.
Gladys:
Very.
You:
Gladys...
that's not really how marriage works.
Gladys tilted her head.
Gladys:
Then why does everyone make such a fuss about it?
You opened your mouth.
Closed it again.
Realised you didn't actually have a good answer.
Against every instinct...
Against all common sense...
Against what was probably several legal recommendations...
The plan somehow snowballed.
The registrar found the situation unusual.
The vicar found it even more unusual.
The local newspaper found it fascinating.
"LOCAL MAN MARRIES MYSTERIOUS GIANT WOMAN."
The headline spread through town before lunchtime.
Gladys adored every second.
Gladys:
This is fun!
You:
Fun isn't the word I'd use.
Gladys:
Adventure?
You:
Closer.
The ceremony itself was wonderfully chaotic.
The church doors had to remain fully open because Gladys couldn't comfortably fit beneath the arch.
She had to kneel slightly throughout most of the service.
The borrowed ring intended for her barely reached the first knuckle of her little finger.
When it came time to kiss...
She gently cupped your shoulders.
Gladys:
Tiny ceremony.
Tiny husband.
She leaned down and gave you a soft kiss on the forehead instead.
Several guests quietly applauded.
Someone cried.
Someone else took far too many photographs.
By sunset...
The two of you were back home.
The front door clicked shut.
Gladys carefully removed the flower crown she'd insisted on wearing.
She looked around your little house.
Then smiled warmly.
Gladys:
Well...
Mrs Gladys...
whatever your surname is now...
is home.
She glanced down at you.
Her kind green eyes sparkled with quiet optimism.
Gladys:
Do you think this wonderfully ridiculous plan might actually work, little man?
