The first day of winter began rather poorly. Evelyn had to work, but the weather was dreadful. Snow mixed with rain fell steadily, the temperature hovered around freezing, and it was neither here nor there—just miserable.
A light jacket wouldn’t do, so she bundled up in her thick winter coat and sturdy boots.
It was her first day back after a long break. Over the summer, she had been so blissfully in love with Oliver that she had impulsively quit her job on his advice. He had booked them a seaside holiday, and her boss refused to grant her leave. So she handed in her resignation without a second thought.
Back then, the future had glittered like diamonds. Evelyn was certain Oliver would propose beneath the golden sun, on some distant, sparkling shore. Why bother with work, she had thought, when he’d soon provide for them both? Her meagre wages would be nothing compared to his fortune.
She had dreamed of weddings, of children, of a grand life in his splendid home. Now, she cursed her own recklessness.
No proposal had come. He’d wined and dined her, given her beautiful nights, then brought her home unchanged. True, he hadn’t left her straight away—he’d strung her along for nearly half a year, letting her hope their relationship would culminate in something lasting. But a week ago, she finally cracked and asked outright what his plans were.
“Plans aren’t great, Evelyn,” he admitted. “I’m taking back my ex-wife. My father’s fallen ill—our business is tied up in trusts, all to pass to my son when he comes of age. But if I reconcile with my wife, control reverts to me. Harsh terms, but that’s how it is. I’m sorry, love.”
Then came the usual drivel about love and regret, how powerless and wretched he felt.
Evelyn draped his final gift—a luxurious fur wrap—over her shoulders and uttered only:
“Goodbye.”
She vanished from his life. Oliver? No loss. The wasted time, however, stung deeply.
So she weathered the heartbreak and begged her old boss to take her back. She waited outside his office, exchanging quiet greetings with colleagues as the morning meeting rumbled behind closed doors. The director’s sharp, displeased voice carried—some poor soul was being reprimanded.
When the office emptied, Evelyn stepped inside timidly, mustering her brightest smile. She laid out her plea simply: she needed work. Her romantic life had crumbled.
The director—fond of her, though happily married—studied her with pity.
“I wouldn’t take just anyone back,” he said. “But I’ll have you. Not your old position, mind—that’s filled. My secretary’s going on maternity leave. You can take her desk. No unplanned absences, understood?”
She agreed. Now here she was on her first day: pencil skirt, crisp white blouse, minimal makeup, hair perfectly styled. Her office heels waited in her bag—she’d switch once indoors.
As she hurried to the bus stop, her phone buzzed. A message from the director:
*”Come in early. Urgent briefing.”*
She checked the time—too late to walk. A taxi it was. She paused to hail one when, out of nowhere, a boy on a skateboard clipped her sharply. In this weather!
They sprawled together onto the pavement. Her coat was filthy, her tights ruined, her phone skittering toward the road. All fixable—but the boy whimpered, clutching his leg. With help from passersby, he stood shakily but couldn’t bear weight on it.
Someone handed her the phone. An ambulance arrived.
“Who’s going with him?” the paramedic asked.
The crowd averted their eyes.
Evelyn went. She gathered his skateboard, his torn schoolbag, and climbed in. At the hospital, as the boy was examined, her phone lit up—five missed calls from the director.
She dialled back. No answer. A minute later, a text:
*”Never mind. Changed my mind. Good luck elsewhere.”*
Her career was over. Tears pricked, but she refused to shed them. She’d find secretarial work elsewhere. Though—
Before she could finish the thought, the boy reappeared, wincing as a nurse steadied him.
“Don’t fret, Mum. Not too bad,” said the nurse. “Though it’s reckless letting a child skate in this weather!”
“I’m not his mother. We’re in a hurry. Thank you,” Evelyn replied, guiding him to a seat.
The boy—about fourteen—gave his address. She called a taxi. Meanwhile, he dialled his own phone.
“Gran, don’t panic—just took a tumble skating. Be home soon.”
A shrill voice squawked through the speaker, but the taxi arrived. Leaning on Evelyn, he hobbled in.
His name was Gregory, well-dressed—clearly not from a struggling family. So why call his gran and not his parents?
“Dad’s abroad,” he said. “Left me with Gran.”
At the house, an anxious woman waited on the doorstep. Evelyn explained briefly and was promptly invited in for tea.
She accepted. The flat was tidy, warm. Cradling her cup, Evelyn listened as Gregory’s grandmother scolded him for sneaking out with that “ridiculous board.”
They exchanged numbers before parting.
“I’ll check in,” Evelyn promised. “Call if you need anything.”
But where to go now? Work had slipped through her fingers.
“Maybe for the best,” she mused, heading home.
The week passed in fruitless job hunting. Some roles too distant, others poorly paid, others requiring courses she hadn’t time for.
At week’s end, she texted Gregory. He beat her to it—calling first.
“Evelyn! Gregory here. Leg’s fine. Dad’s back. Fancy coming to my birthday Saturday?”
She hesitated, then agreed. Nice lad, pleasant gran—why not? He brightened, sending an address (not his grandmother’s).
Saturday came. She bought him a fine leather satchel—expensive but worth it—then followed the directions.
The house made her gasp. A handsome new-build, gravel drive, landscaped garden. Gregory’s grandma appeared at the door.
“Evelyn, come in!” she beamed. Gregory grinned behind her.
Inside, Evelyn handed over the gift—only for a man to step forward, offering a smooth hand.
“Daniel Whitcombe. The lad’s father.”
Evelyn froze. He was striking—so striking she flushed. Expecting to meet Gregory’s mother, she glanced around. But the room held only the four of them.
As they settled at the table, she asked after the injury.
“Recoverable,” Daniel said. “Thanks for helping him. Not everyone would.”
The evening unfolded pleasantly—cake, toasts, well-wishes for Gregory. When Evelyn rose to leave, Daniel offered her a lift.
…Fate works in curious ways. That car ride stretched into hours of shared confidences.
A widower, he’d raised Gregory alone since the boy was seven—with occasional help from his mother. His business demanded much, yet his son needed guidance.
“Juggling it all—these trips abroad,” he finished wearily.
Evelyn shared little—only losing her job after missing that first day.
Daniel grew pensive. A week later, he called with a job offer at his firm.
By Christmas, they celebrated together—the joyful gran, delighted Gregory, and Evelyn with Daniel, their new life just beginning. A family formed, bound by care for that clever, kind-eyed boy.
