**Thursday, 14th September – A Night Like No Other**
*”Miss, you dropped your phone! Wait!”* A stranger’s voice cut through the drumming rain.
Eleanor trudged down the empty streets of Manchester, barely registering the icy trails of water racing down her cheeks, mingling with silent tears. She turned, eyeing the man with weary indifference before frowning.
*”Is this yours?”* he asked, holding out a drenched smartphone, its screen cracked.
*”Mine…”* Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling from the cold and something deeper.
*”Why are you out alone in this downpour? Without an umbrella—you’ll catch your death!”* Genuine concern laced his words.
He didn’t seem the pushy sort, so Eleanor followed him under the awning of a corner shop. They ducked into a small café just ahead, the warmth and scent of tea wrapping around them.
*”I’m Arthur,”* he introduced himself with a small smile. *”And you?”*
*”Eleanor,”* she murmured, eyes fixed on the floor.
*”What brought you out in weather like this? Not even a stray dog would be left out in this.”*
And then it spilled out before she could stop it. *”I was thrown out. Like a stray.”* Her voice broke under the weight of fresh tears.
The memories crashed over her—a storm she couldn’t outrun. Her chest ached with the betrayal she’d tried so hard to bury. She’d never imagined her carefully built life collapsing in a single evening. She and Simon had been through everything together—bought a cottage just outside Manchester, opened a little bookshop, dreamt of starting a family. She’d poured herself into work, climbing the ladder until there was nothing left of her. And today—today Simon had raised his hand to her. She’d grabbed her coat and fled into the freezing rain.
All she had was her passport, a nearly maxed-out card, and a phone that barely functioned.
*”Your phone’s soaked through,”* Arthur noted, trying to shift the mood.
But suddenly, the reality hit her. Nowhere to go. An unfamiliar city, no friends, no family—just emptiness. The tears came then, hot and unrestrained, the first she’d allowed herself in years.
*”Is it about the phone? I can fix it,”* he offered gently.
*”Why do you even care? We’re strangers!”* The outburst held more despair than anger.
*”Not angry,”* he replied calmly. *”Just… saw you, knew something was wrong. Wanted to help.”*
Eleanor took a shaky breath and decided, for once, to trust. She told him everything—how she’d moved here twelve years ago from Newcastle, how her parents still lived there though they barely spoke. How work had consumed her, leaving no room for friends or anything else. Every minute had gone into projects, the bookshop, dreams of a future. She’d thought she was doing everything right.
And today—Simon had come home furious. She’d called him to dinner, and he’d screamed at her for forgetting his favourite whiskey. She hadn’t forgotten—she’d refused to buy it. He drank too much as it was. She’d stayed silent, avoiding a fight, until—until he struck her. Her ribs still burned with every breath.
*”I’ve seen this before,”* Arthur said quietly. *”My cousin lived with a man like that. I know how hard it is. Let me help.”*
*”Why bother with my mess?”* Eleanor sighed. *”It’s not the first time. I’ll stay with a friend for a few days, then go back. He’ll call. He always does.”*
*”Your phone’s dead.”*
*”Then I’ll apologise in person,”* she scoffed bitterly. *”What choice do I have?”*
*”What if this is a sign?”* Arthur’s voice was steady. *”A chance to start over.”*
The words settled over her. She’d had the thought before—fleeting, terrifying—but fear always won. Too much sacrifice, too much lost. Yet here, under the rain’s rhythm, his offer felt like salvation.
*”Let me take you somewhere safe,”* he said. *”You can stay as long as you need. I’ll fix your phone, bring it back. Then you decide what comes next. Deal?”*
*”Thank you…”* Relief, fragile but real, washed over her for the first time that night.
She exhaled, as if shedding years of invisible weight. For once, someone else carried the burden. She deserved this—just a few days of stillness after years of running.
