**The One That Got Away**
Why did he look back? He should’ve just walked on by.
When we make a choice, we convince ourselves it’s the right one. At first, we worry—what if karma comes knocking? But when nothing happens, we relax, pat ourselves on the back, and carry on, shoving the guilt into some dark corner of our minds.
Then one day, the past comes calling.
They met in the early 2000s. James was waiting at the bus stop when he spotted her—just another girl, really, nothing special. But his heart gave a loud, inconvenient thud. *If I don’t say something, she’ll get on that bus, and I’ll never see her again.* He glanced over his shoulder—a bus was idling at the traffic lights. His pulse quickened, nudging him forward.
“Hi. Which bus are you waiting for?”
She studied him, trying to place him, while he stared into her eyes and knew, right then, he’d never forget them.
“I’m James. You’re not waiting for the 205, are you?”
“No,” she finally smiled. “The 30.”
Relief. No bus in sight yet—still time.
“You live in Southside?” he tried again.
“No, visiting my gran.”
“In a hurry?” he asked, already resigned.
“Not really. Why?”
His voice betrayed his eagerness: “Fancy walking to the next stop?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
And just like that, they walked. And walked. And kept walking, right past the next stop, all the way to her gran’s neighbourhood, neither noticing the miles or the time slipping by.
When they finally stopped outside her gran’s, it was like they’d known each other forever. Numbers exchanged, futures sealed. A year later, they were married. First, they lived with her gran, then, once they’d graduated and found jobs, they took out a mortgage on a two-bed flat—*planning ahead*.
When Emily told him she was pregnant, James’ heart slammed against his ribs, just like the day they’d met. *Well, get a move on, Dad!* He grinned like an idiot. A father. Unreal. Terrifying. Wonderful.
Life sped up after that. They debated names, pram brands, crib placements. James stopped random mums in the street for advice. Friends offloaded hand-me-down onesies. They couldn’t wait to meet their little boy.
And then he was here—blue-eyed, perfect. The nursery was ready: a cot with plush bumpers, tiny socks stacked neatly, a state-of-the-art pram by the door.
Then the first paediatrician’s visit. Emily’s voice wobbled: “Is something wrong?”
Tests. More tests. A diagnosis.
James clenched his jaw while Emily sobbed. *No, not possible. Not us. We’re young, healthy—how?*
“Difficult labour. Birth injury,” the doctor said wearily.
His mother’s suggestion—*”Put him in a home. Try again.”*
James didn’t look at Emily’s tear-streaked face when he said, “Tommy stays.”
Tommy grew. Smiled. Seemed fine—until he didn’t walk.
“No guarantees he ever will,” specialists said. “Be grateful his mind’s intact.”
Therapy. Massages. Exercises. Emily quit her job to care for him. James’ salary vanished into medical bills and mortgage payments. His parents helped where they could.
One weekend, Emily asked him to take Tommy to the park.
“*You* go,” James said. “I’ll clean. I can’t—I can’t watch other kids running around while he’s stuck in a pram. The stares…”
First red flag.
Years passed.
“Let’s sell the flat,” Emily said one evening. “Buy a house. We’ll install ramps—Tommy could go outside on his own. It’s better for him. He *knows* he’s different.”
James looked away. “Yeah. But… it won’t change much. I can’t do this anymore.”
Emily let him go. Her eyes were wide, panicked—but dry. He tried not to think about what she’d face alone.
***
Seventeen years later
After work, James stopped at a department store, hunting for his dad’s birthday gift. Nothing caught his eye.
A woman in a sleek green trouser suit walked ahead of him. *God, she’s stunning.* He trailed her, mesmerised, until she paused to rummage in her handbag. He sidestepped her—then froze.
*That voice. Those eyes.*
“Emily?”
She looked up. Recognised him. Her lips twitched—no smile.
“Hi, James.”
She’d filled out a little, ageing gracefully. Hair shorter, curled at the ends. Same eyes, though.
His stomach lurched. He’d thought about her so often lately—even walked past their old house, hoping for a *chance* encounter.
“You in a hurry?” he asked, déjà vu hitting hard.
“Not really.”
“Fancy a coffee?”
The café was awkward. She studied him—no tremor in her voice now, no flicker of the old spark. Just polite curiosity.
“You look good,” he said.
“So do you. Married?”
“Divorced. Two daughters—they call when they need money. You?”
“No. Here buying trainers for Tommy.”
“Tommy… walks?”
“Sort of. Burns through shoes, though. Got a girlfriend. Just graduated—works from home, programming. Runs a blog. Our main breadwinner, actually.”
Her eyes glowed. Pride.
“I’m glad. Really.”
“It wasn’t easy. After you left, Mum retired to help. Sold our flats, bought a house. Dad built ramps. He died three years ago.”
“You’re amazing. I was a coward. I thought life was passing me by—”
“Don’t. I forgave you years ago.”
“Can I see Tommy?”
A beat.
“He hasn’t forgiven you.”
James swallowed. “Right.”
Her phone buzzed. “That’s him. I’d better go.”
No hug. No lingering. Just her half-finished coffee.
He bolted after her—just in time to see her drive off.
Home. His Labrador wagged furiously.
“Give me a minute,” James muttered, slumping onto the sofa.
He called his eldest.
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“Just wanted to hear your voice. Mum okay?”
“She’s fine. New boyfriend. Jess is on a school trip.”
“Visit sometime?”
“Too busy. Love you, bye.”
The dog whined.
“Yeah. I’m a failure. Walk?”
That night, James tossed and turned. His Labrador watched, ears twitching at every sigh.
*Why did I look back?* The jealousy hit him then—sharp, unexpected. *Look what I threw away.*
For the first time, he wondered: *What if I hadn’t?*
