The dew still clung to the grass, and the mist slowly retreated across the river as the sun rose above the jagged treeline.
Edward stood on the porch, admiring the quiet beauty of the early morning and breathing in the fresh air. Behind him came the soft slap of bare feet. A woman in a nightgown with a shawl draped over her shoulders stepped out and stood beside him.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Edward sighed deeply. “You’ll catch cold—go back inside,” he said gently, adjusting the shawl that had slipped from her pale, rounded shoulder.
The woman pressed closer, looping her arm through his.
“Don’t want to leave you,” Edward murmured, his voice thick with tenderness.
“Then don’t.” Her voice was honeyed, tempting as a siren’s call. *Stay, and what then?* The thought sobered him.
If it were that simple, he’d have left everything behind long ago. But twenty-three years of marriage couldn’t just be tossed aside, and the children… Lucy was practically gone already, spending more nights at her fiancé’s than at home, wedding bells soon to ring. Then there was Tommy, just fourteen—right at that awkward age.
A lorry driver could find work anywhere, but the wages here were slim. Right now, he could splash cash on Jenny, buy her expensive gifts. But if his pay halved—or worse—would she still want him? Doubtful.
“Don’t start, Jen,” Edward muttered, shaking his head.
“Why not? The kids are grown—time to think of yourself. You’ve said it yourself, you and your wife only stay together out of habit.” Jenny pulled away, hurt.
“Christ, if I’d known I’d meet you sooner…” Edward exhaled sharply. “Don’t be upset. I should go—already running late.” He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her face away. “Jen, I’ve got to head off if I want to make it home by evening. Got a load, a contract.”
“You always promise. You come, stir everything up, then rush back to *her*. I’m sick of waiting. Michael’s been asking me to marry him for ages.”
“Then go ahead.” Edward shrugged.
He bit back the rest of his words, then slowly stepped off the porch, rounded the house, and cut across the back garden to the ring road where his lorry waited parked on the verge—kept there to avoid waking the village at dawn.
Climbing into the cab, he noticed Jenny hadn’t followed. Usually, she’d walk him to the lorry and kiss him goodbye. Today, she’d really had enough. Edward settled in, slammed the door, and before starting the engine, dialled his wife. He never called her in front of Jenny—too awkward. A cool automated voice answered: *The number you have dialled is currently switched off…* No missed calls either.
He pocketed the phone, fired up the engine, and listened to its deep, steady growl. The lorry shuddered awake, inching forward onto the uneven dirt track. Edward gave a short blast of the horn, then pressed the accelerator.
On the porch, the woman shivered as the engine noise faded and went back inside.
The radio played Elton John’s *Your Song*. Edward hummed along absently, thoughts lingering on the woman he’d left behind—until they shifted homeward. *Why can’t I reach them? Second day running. I’ll sort it when I get back.*
Meanwhile, Pauline, Edward’s wife, stirred from anaesthesia in a hospital bed—and remembered everything.
***
They’d been married over twenty years—twenty-four, to be exact. Edward was a long-haul trucker, earned good money, solid family, nice house, two kids. Lucy was all grown up, about to marry and move out, had finished college, worked as a hairdresser. Tommy was fourteen, dreaming of joining the navy.
Then came the call. At first, Pauline thought it was a prank, a wrong number.
“Hello, Pauline. Waiting for your husband? He’s running late…” The voice was syrupy, dripping like treacle.
“What’s happened?” Pauline snapped, her mind jumping to an accident. A long drive, anything could go wrong—expensive cargo, big responsibility.
“He’s delayed. With his mistress,” the voice purred.
“Who is this?” Pauline shrieked.
“Oh, just wait, wait…” The line dissolved into laughter.
Pauline pulled the phone away, ended the call. But the laughter echoed in her ears. Panic set in. Her thoughts tangled—visions of crashes, another woman in Edward’s arms. Who else knew her number, that he was on a trip? Only the mistress herself. How dare she call, laugh at her!
Pauline dialled Edward’s number, then hung up. What if he was driving? What would she even say? Couldn’t distract him. He’d be back soon—then they’d talk. She tried to busy herself, but everything slipped through her fingers. That mocking voice clung to her thoughts.
Of course, neither Lucy nor Tommy was home. Lucy was out with her boyfriend, and Tommy had gone to a mate’s birthday party the night before.
She needed air, a distraction. Pauline changed, grabbed her bag, and headed out. She’d nip to the shop for mayo, onions, and beer—Edward liked a couple of tins on his days off. No time for shopping tomorrow with cooking to do. He’d promised to be back for dinner. *And if he isn’t?* The unwelcome thought surfaced, but she shoved it down.
She decided to walk, calm her nerves. But the supermarket was a trek, so she took a shortcut—an alley flanked by a concrete wall on one side and a row of locked garages on the other. Deserted, dimming light, but half the distance. She could make it before full dark. She sped up.
Then—suddenly—someone yanked her bag from behind. Pauline stumbled back, nearly fell, spun around, and saw the back of a man sprinting away. *No chance.* But she ran anyway. The bag had everything—cash, cards, house keys, phone. Her whole life.
“Stop!” she shouted, but he rounded the wall and vanished. She kept running, then—*thud*—her heel caught a stone, her ankle twisted, and she crashed onto the pavement. Pain shot through her hip, elbow stinging. She tried to stand, but the burst of agony stopped her. Tears welled. She sat, looked at her leg—her ankle was already swelling, turning purple.
Worse—no phone. No way to call for help. The panic was suffocating. No one would hear her shouts here, not past that wall. Only drunks and troublemakers lurked in places like this.
Could she crawl? The wall ended further down, near houses. Someone might spot her. But the image of herself—scraped knees, torn clothes—made her wince. People would assume she was drunk. So she waited, hoping someone would park in the garages. And if no one came? She sobbed.
All because of that damn phone call. Trouble really did come in threes. She must’ve lost her mind, walking out alone in the dark, taking shortcuts. No one knew where she was. No way to tell them. For the first time in over twenty years, she wouldn’t be there when Edward came home…
She sat slumped against a rusted garage door, afraid to move and trigger fresh pain. Tears streaked her face; she wiped them with dirty hands.
Then—headlights. A car rolled up, stopped. A man got out, unlocked a garage. Pauline saw him clearly in the light. But he wouldn’t spot her in the shadows.
She drew a breath and screamed, “Help!”
The man turned. She yelled again, voice breaking, coughing—but he was walking toward her. He stopped just short.
“Someone mugged me—took my bag. I’ve hurt my ankle. Please, call an ambulance…”
He glanced around, pulled out his phone—then pocketed it again. What now? Pauline tensed, fingers searching for a rock, a stick.
He crouched, inspected her swollen ankle. Even in the dim light, the bruising was obvious.
“Ambulance’ll take ages. I’ll lift you—hold onto my neck,” he said.
Pauline nodded, still crying. One arm around her waist, the other under her knees, he heaved her up, straining, then carried her to the car. She felt his effort, the throbbing weight of her leg.
At the car, he warned her he’d need to set her down to open the door. She balanced on one foot, leaning on the bonnet.
Inside, he handed her wet wipes from the glovebox. “Clean up,” he said.
“What happened?” he asked once behind the wheel, still catching his breath.
“I was going to the shops, took a shortcut. A man grabbed my bag. I chased him…”
He passed her his phone. “Call your husband, family.”
*Husband’s away. Can’t disturb him.* She dialled Lucy.
“Lucy? It’s Mum—”Pauline stared at Ivan, the kindness in his eyes offering a quiet promise of hope, and for the first time in years, she felt something unravel inside her—a fragile, flickering warmth that whispered of new beginnings.
