“Life is full of surprises.”
“Mum, I’m off,” said Emily, poking her head into the kitchen.
Lydia turned from the stove and studied her daughter closely.
“What?” Emily sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes.
“Nothing. Where are you off to, all dressed up at this hour? Lipstick on—got a date? Don’t stay out too late, alright?”
“Alright,” Emily muttered, then hurried away.
*She’s grown up so fast,* Lydia thought, sighing to herself. She clapped a lid over the frying pan and walked to the tall mirror in the hall. *Where did my seventeen years go? How quickly time flies. I thought I had my whole life ahead of me, and now more than half is gone. School dragged on forever, and then life just rolled downhill—university, marriage… Happiness peeked out like the sun behind a cloud, then vanished again.* She smoothed her hair. *Well, never mind. My girl’s clever and beautiful… Oh, the potatoes!*
Lydia gasped and bolted to the kitchen. She grabbed the pan lid, nearly dropping it, then hissed in pain, blowing on her burned fingers. *Got carried away at the mirror and nearly burnt dinner…* She scolded herself.
She ate alone, without much appetite, then settled on the sofa to watch a telly programme. Outside, dusk fell fast. She dozed off without realising, then jerked awake at the shrill ring of her mobile. Still groggy, she didn’t check the screen—who else would call at this hour? She had no close friends, just work acquaintances bound by loneliness.
She was stunned to hear a man’s voice.
“Are you Emily Wilkinson’s mother?”
“Who’s this?” Lydia asked cautiously.
“This is Dr. Harris from St. Mary’s Hospital. You need to come in—your daughter’s been in an accident. She needs emergency surgery. As she’s underage, we need your consent—”
“What surgery?” Lydia’s mind refused to catch up, but the line went dead.
She tried to make sense of what she’d heard. *It must be a mistake. She went out for a walk. What accident?* But he’d said her name. Her head, still heavy from sleep, struggled to think. She forced herself to move—called a cab, changed quickly, grabbed her handbag, and dashed out. Skipping the lift, she took the stairs. By the time she reached the pavement, the taxi was already waiting, headlights blinding her.
“Please, hurry… My daughter’s in hospital…” she gasped, still winded from the stairs.
The entire ride, Lydia wavered—urging the driver faster, just to prove it a mistake, then secretly wishing he’d slow down, to delay whatever heartache waited.
She burst into A&E and spotted a lanky lad in a muddy jacket on a gurney. His face was scraped, a plaster over his brow, his eyes dazed.
“Where’s my daughter? What did you do to her?!” She lunged at him, grabbing his jacket.
“I didn’t do anything! A car came round the bend—I swerved, but it clipped us anyway! It wasn’t my fault—”
“Who clipped you? Why?” Lydia shrieked, lost.
“What’s all this shouting?” An older doctor strode in. His bushy blond moustache caught her eye. “You’re Mrs. Wilkinson? Sign here for the surgery.”
“What surgery? Why? Where’s my daughter?!”
“She’s unconscious. Intracranial hematoma—pressure’s rising. If we don’t stop the bleeding, she’ll—sign here.” He thrust a clipboard at her.
The medical jargon swirled in her head, the words blurring. Trembling, she signed and collapsed onto the gurney beside the lad. The doctor vanished.
“I don’t understand… She just went out…” Lydia whispered, rocking.
“We were walking, then I suggested a ride on my bike—”
Lydia whipped around.
“This is all your fault! You—”
The boy flinched from her glare.
“I didn’t do it! The driver didn’t even stop—someone else brought us in! The doctor said ten minutes later, and Emily would’ve—” He broke down.
A tall man entered. “James! You alright?” The boy sprang up and ran to him.
“It wasn’t my fault, Dad! I wasn’t speeding—he came out of nowhere! If I hadn’t swerved, he’d have crushed us—”
The man hugged him, rubbing his shuddering back. “I believe you. Did you catch the car? Colour, make? Where’d it happen? I’ll find him.”
“You’ll find him, sure. Your boy’s fine, but my girl—because of your son—” Lydia choked on tears.
“Who’s this?” the man asked.
“Emily’s mum.”
“Tell me everything,” the father said.
“Go on, tell Daddy how you nearly killed my girl,” Lydia spat.
“Madam, I understand your pain, but let’s get the facts. If James is at fault, he’ll answer for it. Do you know the girl’s address?” The boy nodded, sniffling.
“Here’s my card. Call if you need anything.” He offered it, but Lydia turned away. He tucked it into her open handbag. “Come on, let’s go home.”
“What about Emily?”
“Her mum’s here. They won’t let you see her anyway.” He glanced at Lydia. “Need a lift?”
She didn’t answer, arms wrapped around herself.
When they’d gone, Lydia scanned the empty room. Her gaze caught on a tiny paper prayer card tucked behind a mirror. She staggered to it.
“Please… save my girl. She’s only seventeen. I can’t live without her… Take anything, do anything, just save her…”
She lost track of time, repeating the plea like a mantra. Voices came and went, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“You’re still here? The op went well—bleeding’s stopped, hematoma removed…” Lydia spun round. The doctor stood before her, weary, his moustache drooping. His face looked grey in the dawn light.
“She’s alive—” Fear released its grip, her legs buckling.
“Sit.” The doctor nudged a chair under her, murmuring reassurance she couldn’t absorb. He offered water; she knocked it, spilling it over his hand.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Go home. Rest. She’ll sleep till morning. Come back then.”
“Can’t I stay?”
“No. She’s sedated. We need the space. Go.”
Obediently, she stepped outside. Her legs gave way; she sank onto a bench by the road. Soon, she shivered in the cold. The sky lightened; birds sang. She stood and walked back in.
The A&E doors were unlocked. Empty. She tiptoed through, settling on a sofa in a hall, closing her eyes…
“You never left?” She startled awake. The doctor stood over her.
“How’s Emily?”
“Stable, still asleep. Come, I’ll get you coffee. You know the Harringtons?”
“Who?”
“Your daughter was with James Harrington—his father’s in business. The boy’s decent—got banged up himself but carried her to the road. A passer-by drove them in. Saved time waiting for an ambulance. You owe him thanks.”
Lydia recalled the skinny lad on the gurney.
“He’s at her school,” she said.
“Parents are the last to know—” The doctor sighed. “My son’s married now, but back then—”
A nurse interrupted. “Dr. Harris, new patient.”
He stepped out, then returned. “She’s awake. Two minutes—no tears, no fuss.”
Lydia froze in the doorway. Emily’s head was bandaged, her face bruised.
“Mum,” she whispered.
“Oh, thank God—!” Lydia clasped her hand.
“Mum, where’s James?”
“James? His dad took him home. Just scrapes. You never said you were seeing a Harrington.”
“That’s enough—she needs rest.” The doctor led her out.
***
Six months later…
Lydia was cooking when a Skype call rang out behind her. Val answered—his son.
“Dad, who’s in the kitchen?”
Lydia ducked out of frame.
“Who d’you think? How are you?”
“Miss you. Can I come for holidays?”
“Course. How’s school? Your mum?”
“Dad—who’s cooking? Please don’t say you’re back with Victoria?”
“No. It’s Lydia. Emily’s mum. Remember?”
“Nice. Is Emily there too? I liked her. Hope this doesn’t mess things up for us? Say hi.”
“Tell her yourself. Bye, son.”
“You told him?” Lydia sat beside Val.
“Had to. Folks will guess soon enough.” He rested a handShe leaned into his touch, smiling as she felt the baby kick, knowing their unlikely love had brought them all together—past wounds, sudden joys, and the quiet promise of a future none of them had seen coming.
