**Waiting for a Reunion**
September had been warm, dry, and bright. The low autumn sun glared into my eyes, especially in the evening. I lowered the sun visor—tall enough that it shielded me, but Daisy…
How many times had I told her to leave the car at home? I’d drive her to work, pick her up. But our shifts never quite aligned.
*”It’s sweet you worry,” she’d say, nuzzling against me. “But I drive carefully—you’ve seen me. I can’t live without my car.”*
*”Fine, just promise to wear sunglasses. The rain’s coming next week. Though wet roads and slick tarmac are just as bad as blinding sun.”*
*”You’re such a worrier. It’ll be fine. Promise.”*
I parked outside the house, glancing up at our third-floor flat. Sunlight glared off the windows—were the blinds down? If not, the place would be sweltering, the heat unbearable after hours trapped inside.
Daisy’s car wasn’t there. She usually beat me home, dinner ready by the time I walked in. Strange she hadn’t called. I checked my phone—no missed calls, no texts.
With a sigh, I locked the car and went inside.
***
We’d met a year and a half ago. I spotted her stranded roadside, her car door open, a petite woman looking utterly lost. A flat tyre, obviously. I pulled over, helped her change it. We started seeing each other.
She’d been renting a tiny flat—small, proud, fiercely independent. With her, I felt strong, protective. She hated being coddled, insisting she didn’t need saving. Still, I convinced her to move in. Why waste money on rent when she spent every night at mine?
My bachelor pad transformed under her touch—throws, cushions, soft lamps. The flat smelled of baking and vanilla. It wasn’t just a flat anymore; it was home.
Then she brought home the puppy.
*”Daisy, why? It’s filthy, probably flea-ridden. Might be sick.”* I never cared for pets.
*”Look at him, he’s freezing!” She cradled the shivering mutt against her jumper. “I’ll wash him, take him to the vet. He’s adorable, isn’t he?”*
*”Drop him at the clinic tomorrow. I don’t want a dog.”*
The way she looked at me—I knew she’d leave with him if I refused. And I couldn’t lose her. So we kept the scruffy thing. She named him Rex—ridiculously grand for a stray. He perked up at the sound, as if agreeing.
Rex ballooned into a stocky, ginger-coated mongrel, some retriever in the mix. I played with him, but his loyalty was all Daisy’s. He ignored my commands, trailing after her like a shadow. I hated admitting it, but I was jealous.
Life settled. Even Rex grew on me. I walked him mornings, resigned to the routine. Kids could wait. We were happy as we were.
***
Rex was howling when I unlocked the door. He shot past me down the stairs before I could leash him.
*”Slow down, mate,”* I muttered as he clawed at the front door.
He never bolted like this. Outside, he darted ahead, glancing back—urging me to follow.
*”Where the hell are you going?”*
His ears twitched, then he tore off down the street.
*”Rex! Stop!”*
He paused just enough to check I was chasing him before racing on, some invisible compass guiding him.
Dread coiled in my gut. Rex only ran like this for Daisy.
We cut through the park, across streets, my lungs burning. Rex’s bark echoed ahead. I sprinted, swearing I’d take up running.
We reached a winding road in the last scrap of untouched neighbourhood. Rex stood on the kerb, sniffing asphalt littered with shattered glass. He whined, then barked hoarsely. A boy fiddled with something beyond a fence.
*”What happened here?”* I shouted over Rex’s noise.
*”Crash. Saw the ambulance leave. Then a tow truck took the wreck.”*
*”What colour was the car?”*
*”Red, I think.”*
My hands shook dialling the hospital.
*”Was there a call recently? Which one? Thanks.”*
Rex refused to move. I left him, sprinted back for the car.
By the time I reached the hospital, night had fallen. The doctor’s tired glance said everything.
*”You are?”*
*”Her husband.”*
*”No good news. She died en route.”*
The world tilted. *Not her.* *She never drove that way.* *Call her—*
*”Can I see her?”*
*”Nothing to see. Face is… gone.”*
*”What if it’s not her?”*
*”Her ID was found.”*
The morgue’s sterile silence swallowed me. I recognised her by the small frame, the bloodied scrap of jumper. Darkness swallowed my vision. The howl I heard was mine.
I crumpled against the morgue wall, sobbing.
*”No chance,”* the doctor said. *”Sun blinded the other driver. She came around the bend—”*
***
I don’t remember driving home. Only then did I remember Rex. He was still at the crash site, lying by the road. He lifted his head at my approach—*Did you find her?*
*”Come on, Rex. Daisy’s waiting.”*
The lie worked. He trudged after me, pausing to glance back.
At home, he sniffed every corner, whining. That night, he howled by the door until neighbours banged on the wall.
*”Quiet. You think I’m not grieving too?”*
Next morning, I let him out.
*”Go, then. Abandon me like everyone else.”*
I buried myself in funeral arrangements, drank myself to sleep. Rex vanished after the burial. He returned days later, gaunt and matted, ate a little, then slept curled beside Daisy’s slippers.
The flat was a shrine to her absence. I tore through her things—pillows, books, trinkets—but the emptiness remained. Why hadn’t I stopped her driving? Why hadn’t I proposed? If we’d had a kid, she’d have been home—
Nightmares jolted me awake—Rex’s nails on laminate, Daisy shifting beside me. One night, I walked to the crash site. Something rustled in the dark. My phone’s light found Rex—ribs jutting, tail twitching faintly.
I lay beside him on the damp grass, the sky choked with clouds. I woke stiff with cold. Rex’s side didn’t move.
*”Lucky bastard,”* I whispered.
I dug a shallow grave under the bushes, covered him with leaves. Dawn crept in as I trudged home, filthy, tear-streaked, shovel in hand. Passers-by skirted wide.
Days blurred. I drank until my stomach rebelled. One rainy Saturday, I wandered aimlessly to the market. A boy clutched a shivering pup.
*”Buy him, mister. Dad’ll drown him otherwise.”*
*”How much?”*
*”Never mind.”* The boy hugged the pup tighter. *”You don’t want him.”*
*”You’ve no idea how much I do.”*
I pressed a crumpled £20 note into his hand. He hesitated, then passed me the pup.
*”His name’s Rex!”* he called after me.
I flinched but didn’t turn.
At home, the pup piddled on the floor.
*”No shame? Your predecessor never did that.”*
I cleaned up, fed him the way Daisy used to. We fell asleep on the sofa.
Now, at night, I don’t hear Rex’s barks. But Daisy visits my dreams—smiling, just out of reach. I chase sleep, impatient for nightfall, aching for the next reunion.
