The dew still clings to the grass as the mist slowly retreats across the riverbank, and the sun edges over the jagged line of the forest.
Edward stands on the porch, breathing in the crisp morning air, admiring the quiet beauty of dawn. Behind him, he hears the soft slap of bare feet. A woman in a nightgown and a shawl draped over her shoulders steps beside him.
“It’s lovely out here,” Edward sighs deeply. “You should go inside—you’ll catch a chill,” he murmurs, adjusting the shawl slipping from her smooth shoulder.
The woman leans into him, wrapping her hands around his arm.
“I don’t want to leave,” Edward says, his voice thick with tenderness.
“Then don’t.” Her voice is sweet, beckoning—like a siren’s call. The thought flashes through his mind: *Stay, but then what?* It snaps him back to reality.
If it were that simple, he would’ve stayed long ago. But twenty-three years of marriage aren’t so easily cast aside, and the children… Emily’s practically moved in with her fiancé, barely home these days. And Oliver, only fourteen—right in the middle of the toughest years.
A lorry driver can find work anywhere, but he won’t earn nearly as much here. Right now, he splashes money around, buys expensive gifts for Lily. But if his pay drops by half—would she still love him the same? Hard to say.
“Don’t start, Lil,” Edward brushes her off.
“Why not? The kids are grown—time to think of yourself. You always say you and your wife are just going through the motions.” Lily pulls away, hurt.
“Ah, if only I’d known I’d meet you sooner…” Edward exhales roughly. “Don’t be cross. I need to go—already running late.” He leans in to kiss her, but she turns her face away. “Lil, I’ve got to drive. Cargo’s waiting, and I’ve a contract to keep.”
“You always make promises. You come, stir everything up, then rush back to her. I’m tired of waiting. Michael’s been asking me to marry him for ages.”
“Then go.” Edward shrugs.
He considers saying more but thinks better of it. Slowly, he steps off the porch, rounds the house, and crosses the garden toward the ring road where his lorry waits, parked far enough not to wake the village at dawn.
He climbs into the cab. Normally, Lily walks him out and kisses him goodbye. But today she doesn’t follow—truly upset, then. Edward settles into the seat, slams the door shut. Before starting the engine, he dials his wife. He’d never call in front of Lily. The line clicks—her phone’s switched off. No missed calls either.
Tossing the phone aside, he revs the engine, listening to its deep, steady growl. The lorry shudders to life, shaking off its slumber, and eases onto the uneven dirt track. A quick beep of the horn, then he presses the accelerator.
The woman on the porch shivers as the engine fades into the distance, then retreats inside.
On the radio, Elton John croons softly—*Your Song*. Edward hums along, thinking of the woman he left behind. But soon his thoughts shift to home. *Why can’t I reach her? Two days, no answer. When I get back, I’ll sort it out.*
Meanwhile, his wife, Eleanor, stirs from anesthesia in a hospital bed—and remembers everything.
***
They’ve been married over twenty years—twenty-four, to be exact. He’s a long-haul driver, earns well, their family’s stable, their flat spacious, two children. Emily’s all grown up, about to marry and move out—finished college, works as a hairdresser. Oliver’s fourteen, dreams of sailing the seas.
And then—that phone call. At first, Eleanor thought it was a prank or a wrong number.
*”Hello, Eleanor. Waiting for your husband? He’s running late…”* The voice was syrupy, slow.
*”What’s happened?”* Eleanor cut in, instantly imagining an accident. The roads are dangerous—anything could’ve gone wrong with precious cargo.
*”Oh, something’s happened. He’s with his mistress,”* the voice purred.
*”Who is this?”* Eleanor screamed into the phone.
*”Just wait, wait…”* A woman’s laughter echoed before the line went dead.
Eleanor dropped the phone, panic seizing her. Images flashed—her husband dead, or worse, in another woman’s arms. Who else knew he was on the road? Only the mistress herself. How dare she call, mock her?
She dialled Edward’s number, then hung up. What if he was driving? And what would she even say? She couldn’t distract him. She’d talk when he returned. She tried to busy herself, but nothing helped—the laughter still rang in her ears.
Of course, neither Emily nor Oliver were home. Emily was out with her boyfriend, and Oliver had gone to a mate’s birthday party the day before.
She needed air. To clear her head. Eleanor grabbed her bag, stepped out. She’d pop to the shop—get mayonnaise, onions, and beer for Edward. He liked a pint or two on his days off.
But the walk was long. She cut through an alley—one side a concrete wall, the other a row of locked garages. Dark, quiet, dangerous, but quicker. She hurried.
Suddenly, someone yanked her bag. Stumbling back, she barely caught herself. She spun—a man sprinting away. *No chance.* Still, she ran after him. Her whole life was in that bag—money, cards, keys, phone.
“Stop!” she yelled, but he vanished around a corner. Then her heel hit a stone—her ankle twisted. She crashed onto the pavement, pain shooting through her hip, her elbow scraped raw. She tried to stand—white-hot agony lanced up her leg. Her ankle swelled, turning purple.
No phone. No help. Panic choked her. No one would hear her here.
Maybe she could crawl? But how far? And who’d stop for a woman dragging herself along?
A car’s headlights cut through the dark. It stopped. A man stepped out, unlocking a garage. She screamed—*”Help!”*
He turned.
“I’m here! Please!” Her voice broke. The man hesitated, then came closer.
“They stole my bag—I fell. Call an ambulance, please!”
He pulled out his phone—then pocketed it. What now? She tensed, searching for something—anything—to defend herself.
Instead, he crouched. “Ambulance’ll take ages. Here—hold onto my neck.”
She nodded, weeping as he lifted her, carrying her to the car.
In the car, he handed her a tissue. “What happened?”
“Someone robbed me. I chased him. Thank you—I’d have been stuck all night.”
He passed her his phone. “Call your family.”
*Not Edward—he’s driving.* She rang Emily.
“Mum?” Music blared in the background.
“I’ve hurt my leg—going to hospital—”
“What? Can’t hear you!”
“Leg! Hospital!”
“Call you back!” The line died.
Oliver didn’t answer.
“Bloody hell!” Eleanor snapped.
“Nothing?” the man asked.
“No one.”
He nodded. “I’m James. You?”
“Eleanor.” And suddenly, she told him everything.
***
She wakes to sunlight. Her head throbs. Her leg is numb, but the pain flares when she moves.
“You’re awake.” A nurse smiles down. “Your husband’s here.”
*Husband?*
James walks in. “Sorry—said I was your husband to get in. How are you?”
“Fine, I think.” She attempts a smile.
“Brought you cherries.” He sets a bag on the table. “Washed. Thought about strawberries, but didn’t know if you’re allergic.”
He leaves an old phone too. “My number’s in there.”
Later, Edward bursts in.
“Emily said you were in hospital! Couldn’t reach you!”
“My phone was stolen. I called from someone else’s.”
“Who was this *husband* then? They wouldn’t let me in till I showed ID!”
“The man who brought me here. Said he was my husband—only way they’d allow him.”
Edward eyes the cherries. “He brought these?”
*James brought fruit. My own husband came empty-handed.*
“Why call Emily, not me?”
“Thought you were driving,” she says weakly.
“I’ve got another run tonight,” he mutters.
“What? You just got here!”
“Leaving at midnight.” He won’t look at her.
*Liar. He’s going to her.*
“Where’s Emily?”
“Dunno. Prob’ly with her bloke.”
“Oliver?”
“Asleep. Right, I’veJames returned the next day with groceries and a quiet determination to help, and Eleanor finally understood that sometimes kindness comes from strangers when family walks away.
