—Excuse me, miss, you dropped your phone! Wait!—a stranger called out over the noise of the pouring rain.
Emily trudged through the empty streets of Manchester, barely noticing the icy streams running down her face, mingling with her tears. She turned, gave the man a tired, indifferent look, and frowned.
—Is this yours?—he asked, holding out a soaked smartphone with a cracked screen.
—Mine…—Emily whispered, her voice trembling from the cold and the ache inside.
—Why are you out alone in this weather? No umbrella, completely drenched! You’ll catch your death!—There was genuine concern in his voice.
The man didn’t seem pushy, and Emily, following some strange impulse, stepped under the awning of a nearby shop with him. They ducked into a little café on the corner to warm up with a cup of tea.
—I’m James,—he introduced himself with a smile.—And you?
—Emily…—she murmured, staring at the floor.
—What’s got you wandering alone in this downpour? Even a dog wouldn’t be left out in this weather.
—I… I was thrown out like a stray,—the words burst out of her, her voice breaking as the tears welled up.
Memories crashed over her like a storm. Her chest tightened with pain she’d been trying to suppress. She never imagined her life, built so carefully, would collapse in a single moment. She and Tom had been through everything together—bought a house just outside Manchester, opened a little café, dreamed of kids. Emily poured herself into work, climbed the ladder, forgetting herself along the way. And today, Tom had raised his hand to her. She grabbed her coat and ran out into the freezing rain.
All she had was her passport, a bank card, and her phone—now barely working.
—Your phone’s completely soaked,—James noted, trying to change the subject.
Suddenly, Emily realized she had nowhere to go. A strange city, no friends, no family. She was utterly alone, like floating in an empty space. Tears spilled over, and for the first time in years, she let herself cry.
—Are you upset about the phone? I can fix it,—he said gently, trying to comfort her.
—Why should you care? We don’t even know each other!—Emily snapped, but there was more despair than anger in her voice.
—Not angry, just… saw you, knew something was wrong. Wanted to help,—he replied calmly.
Emily took a deep breath, steadied herself, and decided to tell this stranger her story.
—I moved here twelve years ago from Leeds. My parents stayed behind, and we barely talk now. All these years, I lived for work. No friends—never had time for them. Every minute went into projects, the café, dreaming of the future. I thought I was doing the right thing. And today… Tom came home furious. I called him for dinner, and he started yelling that I hadn’t bought his favourite beer. I didn’t—he drinks too much as it is. I stayed quiet, didn’t want to argue, but he… he hit me. My ribs hurt so much it’s hard to breathe.
—Sounds familiar,—James said quietly.—My cousin was with someone like that. I know how hard it is. Let me help.
—Why trouble yourself with my mess?—Emily sighed.—It’s not the first time. I’ll stay with a friend for a day or two, then go back. He’ll call, apologise. Like always.
—But your phone doesn’t work,—he pointed out.
—Then I’ll go and apologise myself,—she gave a bitter laugh.—What else can I do? There’s no other way.
—Or maybe it’s a sign?—he said suddenly.—A sign that it’s time to change. Start fresh.
Emily hesitated. The thought had crossed her mind before, but fear always stopped her. Too much of her life was tied up in the past, too much lost. But now, with the rain hammering outside, James’s words sounded like a lifeline.
—Let me take you somewhere,—he offered.—Somewhere safe, where you can stay as long as you need. I’ll fix your phone, bring it back. Then you can decide what comes next. Deal?
—Thank you…—she whispered, feeling the weight lift just a little for the first time all night.
She exhaled, like shedding a heavy burden. For the first time in years, someone else was looking out for her. She deserved a break, even just for a few days, after all those years of running nonstop.
