Emma, my wife’s closest friend, often finds herself stuck in troublesome situations, though she doesn’t do anything specific to attract them. She’s just incredibly unlucky. The first wild incident occurred about three years ago.
Emma was coming home from work at midnight, parked her car, and as usual, began her brisk walk to the front door, just a hundred meters away. But she didn’t get there.
Out of the darkness, two figures in hoodies emerged and instructed her to freeze. They demanded money, jewelry, and other valuables. To prevent any argument, they struck Emma on the head with a bat.
The aftermath was severe: a concussion, a large bruise, and the loss of her bag containing important documents, cash, keys, and her ID. Shocked, she filed a report with the police. The officers reluctantly opened a case but quickly closed it with the explanation, “Unable to identify a suspect.”
Emma was upset but determined, so she went door-to-door asking her neighbors if anyone had noticed anything suspicious.
Fortunately, one resident had a car with a dashcam parked outside that night. He took the initiative and submitted the footage to the police, just as Emma was filling out her report with a bandaged head. Despite this, they said the footage was unclear, and although the assailants flashed by with her handbag, their faces were just ordinary. Unless they were wearing shirts with their home address printed on them, the police weren’t interested.
Emma had to let it go, and kept the video as a souvenir. From then on, her husband tried to meet her at the car park whenever possible, with their children watching from the window.
But her husband had his own commitments and sometimes arrived home even later than she did. So Emma occasionally had to make the walk alone, and the scenario almost repeated itself. There were slight differences: after the first blow, Emma fought back this time, managing to spray her attackers with pepper spray, so there were only two hits, the second stronger than the first.
The police barely deviated from their previous approach, closing the case even faster this time because Emma hadn’t seen her attackers’ faces.
A tense and tiring year passed where her husband packed up and left to seek a life abroad, and Emma changed jobs multiple times, got a new hairstyle, and redecorated her apartment.
One day, while at a car wash, she recognized one of her attackers, who seemed pretty familiar with the staff there. Yet again, the police dismissed it:
– Even if it’s him, we can’t charge him based on that footage; it’s too blurry. Plus, it doesn’t show him striking you, only leaving the building with a bat. We can’t station officers at the car wash round the clock to catch whoever it might be. So perhaps, miss, you should consider wearing a helmet at night.
Another remarkable year passed. Emma’s headaches subsided, she found love with someone reliable, and she married once more. Surprisingly, the police unwrapped her old unresolved case. Miraculously, her attackers were caught swiftly, as if under a microscope. The culprits received twelve-year sentences.
Though life generally improved for Emma, minor criminal misfortunes continued to find her—it seemed some things never change.
One evening during rush hour, Emma was late for an important meeting, so she left her car and hurried into the underground. Upon exiting, she discovered a large slash on her beloved handbag; inside, her colorful wallet, containing all her documents, credit cards, and her holiday cash, was missing.
Emma made a few unconvincing sobs and immediately called her beloved husband (luckily, her phone hadn’t been stolen):
– Hey, Honey, you’re going to laugh, but I’ve been robbed again. I suspect it was in the underground.
Her steadfast husband responded promptly:
– Emma, don’t worry; everything will be alright. Where are you?
– Near Oxford Circus Station.
– Stay on the line, go back into the underground and find a police officer, hand them the phone, and relax.
Within minutes, Emma found herself at the underground’s police station, surrounded by officers offering her tea: green, black, or black with bergamot. Just two stressful hours later, a rather sweaty and breathless but very happy officer burst through the door, holding her colorful wallet.
Everything was inside: all of it, even the money. Life is certainly easier when you’re married to a police chief.
