(Idea came to me on the bus yesterday, after reading an old book about Margaret Roper. I own nothing. Hope you enjoy. )

6th July 1535

He does not regret the stand he has taken. As he stands on the scaffold this July morning, awaiting death, he does not regret the path that has brought him here. He would never ask another to betray his conscious, the same as if he had signed the Oath, he would be betraying his.

Like those in the crowd, who stare back at him teary eyed, he did not expect his life to end this way. Thomas More was meant to end his days, in his bed at home in Chelsea, surrounded by his family, the way his father had done. But the death he now must take to reach God was one that was forced on him, by a man who he once thought was his friend. Who he once thought shared his dreams and faith but not anymore! No, Thomas More does not regret the way it will end today.

But to say Thomas More goes to his death without regrets would be untrue. He regrets what his stand has done to his family. The pain it has caused Alice, who has made no secret that she cannot understand her husband's refusal to sign. The heartbreak it has caused his children, particularly his beloved Meg, whose heart he has all but broken.

It's almost time. He says his final words, 'I die the King's good servant but God's first,' and goes to kneel before the executioner's block. It is then he sees her. She is stood near the back of the crowd, tears stained on her beautiful face. She looks just like her mother, he thinks, as he goes to say his final prayer. It's then he realises the greatest regret of his life-that he never told his adoptive daughter, Margaret Giggs, the truth about her past.

Margaret had never asked questions. She had always been a happy child and had fitted in well with the rest of the family, with her caring nature and intelligence. She and Meg were closer than sisters, they would do everything together-even finishing each other's sentence when they were little. Poor Jane had adored her, as did Alice. Margaret had never had any need to feel unloved but sometimes, he had noticed, she would seem distant, as though deep in contemplation. He had always thought that one day, when the timing was right, he would tell her the truth, about how she had came to be with them-but it's too late now.

In the finally moment of his life, he realises the first thing he should have told her about her past-about the day he first met her mother.