The message that changed everything…
Olivia had gone on a business trip to Manchester, leaving her fiancé, James, back in her hometown of Birmingham. Wrapping up early, she decided to return home without telling him, eager to surprise him. James had never given her reason to doubt him, but as the train sped toward home, unsettling thoughts crept into Olivia’s mind—what if she caught him with someone else? She brushed them off, though her pulse quickened. Keeping her return a secret, she imagined his delighted smile. But the surprise would have to wait. The moment she turned on her phone at the station, a message made her blood run cold.
Olivia leaned her forehead against the taxi’s cold window, dismissing her silly worries. Why was she imagining scenes from cheap soap operas? Her life with James was steady, almost dull, which might explain why she conjured drama. The car smelled of old cologne, reminding her of her father. The driver, a man in his sixties with greying hair and a wrinkled neck, yawned and fiddled with his ear—just like her dad when he was tired. His driving was sharp, and Olivia instinctively gripped the door handle.
“What’s your name, love?” the driver asked. “Olivia,” she replied, surprised. “I’m George. Liv, when’s your train? Mind if we stop for petrol?” Her train wasn’t for three hours, so she nodded. “Plenty of time—I always arrive early.” George chuckled. “Women, always the same! My missus does that—shows up five hours early in case of traffic!” Olivia shrugged—she did hate being late. “Actually, it’s Olivia Victoria,” she added, changing the subject. “No kidding? My daughter’s Olivia too. And my mum,” George said, brightening.
He started talking about his life, and Olivia listened, struck by his story. George grew up in a big family, worked from fourteen, missed out on an education, struggled with health, and barely managed his mortgage. His sons from his first marriage refused to speak to him, bitter over him leaving their mum. His only joy was his daughter, whose education he paid for, hoping she’d escape poverty. Olivia wondered—what if this man were her father? The daughter of a wealthy businessman, she probably wouldn’t even be with James, who’d asked about her parents the day they met.
“So, liked our city?” George asked as they neared the station. “Yes, lovely,” Olivia smiled. “Where’re you from?” She said Birmingham. “Blimey, that’s far! Went there once, for my granddad’s funeral. Business, was it?” “Yes, business.” “Come back soon! Here’s my card—still got it at my age!” He handed it over, and Olivia studied him, struck again by how much he moved and spoke like her father—as if some alternate version existed.
On the train, she spun stories, as she had since childhood. She once dreamed of writing, but her father insisted she study economics to take over his firm. Did she regret it? Not really. Her life was mapped out, and that comforted her. She hadn’t told James she was returning early, eager to surprise him. But everything changed when her phone buzzed with a message from her mother: “Dad’s in hospital. Heart attack.”
Olivia had never seen her father weak. He was solid, unshakeable. Now he lay pale on a hospital bed, wires snaking across his chest. Her mother stepped out to speak with the doctor, leaving them alone. “How are you?” she asked, holding back tears. “Fine, love,” he murmured. To keep from crying, she rambled about her trip: “Lovely city, and the taxi driver—George, imagine, your namesake…” Her father cut in: “I was born there.”
Olivia froze. He’d never spoken of his childhood. “And my name isn’t George,” he added, the words hanging like the opening of one of her stories. He went on: “I’ve kept quiet my whole life. Only your mum knows. Even my parents—the ones who raised me—never knew. I was three when it started. Born in Manchester, but my real name’s Thomas. George was my older brother—he raised me. Big family, my dad drank, my mum… I don’t remember. Only thing clear is bread with butter and sugar.”
He told her how his mother once left him alone in a damp, crumbling house. His brother begged her not to abandon him, but she left. Little Thomas, terrified, ran off, lost in a crowd of kids, boarded a bus, and ended up in a village. There, they asked his name. Why he said “George,” he didn’t know. No one searched for his family, or they never reported him missing. A woman there took him in, feeding him pies. She became his mother. “I remember nothing, Liv,” he finished. “Just my brother. Wish I knew what became of him.”
Olivia listened, stunned. What if George the driver was that brother? She recalled his face, his tales of a big family. “Did you ever look for them?” she asked. “Why? I don’t remember them. Just the name ‘Olivia’ in my head—maybe a sister, maybe my mum. That’s all. I wanted my grandkids to remember me. But I’ve got none. Just you to marry off. Humor an old man, Liv—I know weddings aren’t trendy, but why not marry James?”
Olivia sighed. She wasn’t against marriage, but James hadn’t asked. “Get better,” she said. “You’ll get your wedding.” At home, James was gaming on his laptop. “Surprise! Why didn’t you say? I’d have met you!” he grinned. Exhausted, Olivia burst into tears. James held her as she explained about her dad—leaving out his secret—then blurted, “Let’s get married.”
James pulled back, frowning. “Liv, we’re good as we are. Why? Is this your dad’s idea? Think it over.” “So you don’t want to?” Her voice trembled. She’d always suspected he wasn’t ready, but hearing it hurt. “We’ve talked,” he said gently. “Want a kid? Fine, no ring needed. We don’t fight.” Olivia went quiet, but resentment festered.
Once her father recovered, she left for Manchester without telling James. A note read: “Need space.” But her real goal was finding George. She’d lost his card. At the hotel where she’d booked the taxi, receptionist Hazel was on holiday. Olivia begged the girls for her number but got nowhere. Tears came unbidden. “Hazel’s back in two weeks,” they said. Alone in her room, she sobbed, feeling adrift. Why was she here? James had likely left, and her father’s brother was lost.
James texted: “What’s this mean?” “Figure it out,” she replied. “Where are you?” “None of your business. You’re not my husband.” Silence. A knock came—a young receptionist slipped her Hazel’s address. “Don’t tell anyone!” Full of hope, Olivia went the next morning, cancelling taxis three times, hoping for George. But another driver came.
In a shabby neighbourhood, a bloke in a wrinkled T-shirt answered. “Looking for Hazel.” He squinted. “You one of Alex’s?” “Who’s Alex?” Her confusion reassured him. Introducing himself as Liam, he offered coffee. Hazel, he explained, had dated rich Alex, who controlled her, then fell for poor Ryan. Alex caused a scene, so Hazel and Ryan fled to his gran’s, lying about holiday. “Stay clear of Alex,” Liam warned.
A girl barged in, cutting him off. “Megan, this is Hazel’s mate!” Liam shouted, holding her back. Olivia slipped out and ran, desperate to be home. The trip was a bust. No George, a rift with James, and the life she’d wanted to spice up was now chaos.
At home, James met her at the door. “No warning?” He looked tired, and Olivia wondered—had her fears been right? Was he with someone? Tears welled. “My flat—why warn you? Why aren’t you at work?” “It’s Sunday. Hungry? Let’s order.” She realised he hadn’t left. “Pizza,” she muttered, shedding her coat.
“Where’d you go?” he asked. “Not telling.” “Fine. Check that box—cleaned up, kept stuff for you.” He handed her a box. Digging lazily, she froze—George’s card! “James, I searched everywhere for this!” He rolled his eyes. “Keep looking.” She did—and spotted a blue velvet box. Clearly not hers.
Her heart raced. She knew what it meant but couldn’t touch it. “Let me,” James said, opening it. A ring gleamed inside. “Changed your mind?” he teased. Olivia shook her head, tears of joy falling. Her life might’ve been predictable, but now love had its place. And George’s card? She kept it—just in case.
