**Belated Happiness**
Boris wandered for hours through the unfamiliar sprawl of the city before finally reaching the station. His feet hummed with exhaustion, and his mood was foul. He had set out with such joy—never dreaming he’d be slinking back like a scolded cat, guilty of nothing yet fleeing all the same.
A free bench in the waiting area caught his eye. He slumped onto it, sighing. *Breathe. Then check for tickets. Five minutes won’t change anything. At least I didn’t book a return. Planned to stay a week… Well, no matter.*
When the ache in his legs dulled, he heaved his impossibly heavy gym bag onto his shoulder and shuffled toward the ticket counters. As he queued, he watched the station’s chaos unfold, already rehearsing what he’d do if no trains were running. But the clerk handed him a ticket—though he’d have to wait over three hours. No matter. He had it. He was going home.
Tucking the ticket and passport into his jacket, Boris glanced back. His bench had been claimed. He stepped outside, where the platform benches stood empty. A sleek express train idled by one track, its digital board flashing departure times. Everyone had boarded; the station’s sour cocktail of creosote, cigarette smoke, and unwashed bodies lingered undisturbed by the open air.
He chose a bench with a clear view of the boards and settled in, replaying his conversation with Galina’s grandson, scrambling for the right words—words that had abandoned him when he needed them most.
“Mind if I sit?” A crisp voice cut through his thoughts.
Boris looked up. A young man in a sharp suit stood before him, wheeling a small suitcase.
“Plenty of room,” Boris said, shifting slightly despite the space. The man sat at the far end, loosening his tie before tucking his case beside him.
“Business trip?” Boris asked, desperate for conversation.
“Heading home from one,” the man replied, eyeing him briefly.
“Same here.” Boris exhaled.
The man’s skepticism prickled. “Also business?”
“No. Visiting. Meant to stay a week. Didn’t work out.” Boris hunched forward.
“They kicked you out?” The stranger almost sounded sympathetic.
“Something like that. Waiting for the Edinburgh train. You?”
“Bad luck for both of us. I had to leave early—changed my ticket. Coach eleven.”
Boris perked up. “Same as mine. What cabin? Not number five?”
“Five.” The man frowned, patting his pocket to check his ticket before nodding. He clapped his hands on his knees. “Strange coincidence. Just bought yours?”
“Yes.”
“I was supposed to leave in two days. Wife called—our daughter’s ill. She wouldn’t even say what it was, just cried. Had to cut the trip short.”
“Could’ve flown,” Boris offered.
“Hate planes. Trains are safer.”
A phone buzzed in the man’s jacket. He answered it, and Boris turned away politely.
“Hey. Yeah, at the station, got the ticket… I’d hoped so too… Miss you. Don’t cry. I’ll try to slip away… I’ll call if anything changes. Love you. Bye.” He hung up, his face darkening. Silence stretched between them.
“Don’t pretend you don’t get it,” the man snapped suddenly. “Don’t judge, old man. You don’t know a thing.”
“Not judging. None of my business.”
“Good. I’d tear anyone apart for my daughter. But my wife—I fell for her like a schoolboy. Happen to you?” He turned, waiting.
“Once or twice. Never cheated, though. You marry, you take responsibility. What if she’d strayed? How d’you live with that?” Boris met his gaze. “So the ‘business trips’…?”
“Every six months. Lets me breathe.” His eyes glazed over. “Then I can go back.”
“Daughter’s age?”
“Twelve. And you? Kids boot you out?”
“Son lives in London with his family. Always begging me to visit. Why? They’ve got their own lives. I won’t intrude.”
“Smart.” The man nodded.
“Wife died three years back. Married her to spite another love. When she was gone, I wanted to follow. Couldn’t stand being alone. Maybe I loved her without realizing. Love’s strange like that. But I manage. If you don’t poke the wound, it aches less.”
“Visiting family?”
Human nature, Boris supposed. Another’s pain always dulls your own.
“No. Visiting the one person who ever mattered.”
“Tell me. Three hours to kill. Name’s Oliver.” He offered a hand.
“Boris.” They shook.
“Listen—Alina packed me roast chicken, pies. Cooks like a dream. Fancy a beer?” Oliver grinned like they were old mates.
“Don’t drink. Not hungry either. Help yourself.”
“Fair enough. So—talk.” Oliver lounged back, knee propped up.
Boris sighed. “Loved a girl in school. Lost my head every time I saw her. She never noticed. Never confessed. Joined the army—thought about deserting, mad with jealousy. She married while I was gone. My best friend. When I got back, they already had a daughter. I confronted him. He asked if the kid was mine.” Boris’s jaw tightened. “I hit him.”
“Was it yours?” Oliver leaned in.
“Never even kissed her. Loved her from afar.” Boris glared. “Suffered for years. Bit my lips bloody seeing them together. Avoided their street. Thought marrying would fix it. Didn’t.”
“Valerie was a good wife. Knew I didn’t love her but tried anyway. Didn’t deserve her. My mother adored her. But the heart’s stubborn. Couldn’t forget Galina. Almost moved cities to escape her.”
“They left for London. Got easier. Valerie had our son—proudest day of my life. But we were never a family. Always dreaming of Galina. When Valerie died, I nearly followed. Turns out life meant nothing without her.”
“Son moved to London, left me a laptop for video calls. Taught me to use it. Started browsing, social media. Found Galina.”
“I messaged. No reply. Figured she’d forgotten me. Then she wrote—short note, said she remembered. Happy. We wrote for a year. Finally told her I’d loved her in school. She asked why I never said anything. Turns out she’d liked me too.”
“Decades wasted. But no complaints—Valerie was good to me. Galina had divorced. Alone all those years. We started video calls. Talked for hours. Then her grandson moved in—closer to uni, he said. Think her daughter suspected us. With him around, Galina grew shy on camera. We talked less.”
“So I visited. Nervous as a schoolboy. But it was perfect. Hugged like old friends. Talked all night. Didn’t sleep. Just being near her was enough.”
“Three days flew. On the fourth, the grandson faked illness. Galina ran to the pharmacy. He cornered me—said he saw right through me. The flat was his. I was trespassing.”
“Told him I didn’t want it. Had my own place. Wouldn’t move to London. He threatened police. Said he’d have us declared insane.”
“Left in a rage. Not for me—for her. Regret it now. What if he’s hurting her? Should’ve stayed. Warned her.”
“Bloody soap opera,” Oliver muttered. “What’ll you do?”
“Write. Explain.”
“He was scared you’d interfere. Hate to say it—but she might be in danger.”
“Same thought. She’s home by now—what’s he told her? Listen—cherish your family. You’re needed. This Alina—she’s on best behavior during ‘business trips.’ Live with her full-time, paying child support? She’ll change.” Boris nodded at the board. “Our train’s coming.”
Oliver stood, distracted. “A love like that…” The train’s horn drowned him out as passengers swarmed the platform.
“Go ahead. Need a minute.” Boris pressed a hand to his chest.
“You alright?”
“Fine. Go. I’ll catch up.”
Oliver left. Boris hesitated. *Should I go back? No—her own grandson wouldn’t hurt her.*
He grabbed his bag, counting carriages along the platform—then froze at a shout:
“Boris! Boris!”
He turned. Galina hurried toward him, a heavy bag weighing her down, her unbuttoned coat flapping like wings. She stared only at him, careless of her footing. *She’ll fall,* he thought, sprinting to meet her.
“Came straight from the shops?” He took the bag.
“Wait—let me breathe.” She gasped, clutching her side.
“Why’d you leaveShe looked up at him with tears in her eyes and whispered, “Because I couldn’t let you go alone this time.”
