**Mending Mistakes**
The ambulance raced through London, its siren wailing, its lights flashing red against the night. Cars swerved aside, hugging the kerbs as it tore down the centre of the road.
*”Dad, please… just stay with me. Don’t leave me.”* The girl’s whisper trembled as she clutched the stretcher.
He didn’t hear her. His vision blurred, dissolving into another face—another girl. She smiled at him, her eyes glowing like warm sunlight, pulling him in. He didn’t resist. He *wanted* to follow that light, to dissolve into it. His body felt so light, as if it barely existed.
But something held him back—anchored him away—jerking him violently into darkness. He tried to speak, but his tongue was lead. Then—*pain*. A brutal shock to his chest, yanking him back into his body, now heavy, numb. Did stone feel pain?
Sounds crept back first. Someone crying. A voice calling his name. Fingers gripping his hand, desperate. He wanted to beg them to let go, to run back towards the light, towards *Emily*—but then, darkness swallowed him whole, deeper than before. Emptier.
***
**The Day Before**
*”Dad, can I go to Cornwall with Sophie and Emma? Emma’s family have a cottage there. I just need money for the train, maybe a bit extra.”* Her voice was honeyed, pleading.
William always knew when she lied. Sometimes he played along—but not today. He set aside the newspaper, studying Lily’s face. The flickering gaze, the nervous twist of her skirt between her fingers. *Liar.*
*”How long?”* he asked, tone flat.
*”Two weeks?”* She perked up. *”Fresh air, the sea. I’m sick of London.”*
*”With Sophie and Emma?”*
She stiffened. The sarcasm in his voice had cut through.
*”You’re terrible at lying. I spoke to Emma’s father yesterday. They’re going to the Lake District.”*
Lily’s face burned crimson. She lifted her chin, defiant. *”Fine. I knew you wouldn’t let me go with Daniel, so I lied. His aunt *does* live in Cornwall.”*
*”And you’re right. I won’t let you.”* William’s voice was steel. *”You think this is love. I think it’s recklessness.”*
*”I *love* him!”* Her voice cracked.
*”You might. Does he?”* William exhaled slowly. *”When a boy asks you to travel alone with him, it’s not romance he’s after.”*
*”So that’s it? You won’t change your mind?”*
*”No. We’ll go ourselves next month.”*
Lily chewed her lip—just like her mother used to. William’s chest ached. *So grown up.* How could he explain that after losing so much, he couldn’t bear to lose her?
*”Dad, please. We’d only be alone on the train. After that, we’d stay with his family.”*
*”No.”*
*”I *hate* this!”* She stormed off, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
William dropped the newspaper. How could he focus on headlines when his world was splintering?
***
**How long had it been?** A lifetime ago, he’d begged Emily to sneak off to Brighton for the weekend. Had she lied to her parents? Had they even cared?
They’d returned euphoric, changed—or so he’d thought. Then Emily left for university in Manchester. He stayed behind, buried himself in studies, met *Charlotte*. Love had blinded him. He’d forgotten Brighton, forgotten Emily—forgotten his own promises.
Then Emily returned, trembling, *pregnant*. He’d panicked—not at the child, but at losing Charlotte. *”You can’t keep it,”* he’d hissed. *”We’re too young. It’s not safe after twelve weeks—”*
She’d left in tears. He’d convinced himself she’d ended it. Three years of silence confirmed it.
Until the knock at the door.
Charlotte had been packing for their honeymoon—flights booked, suitcases half-filled. The woman on their doorstep was a ghost of Emily. Thin. Pale. A little girl clinging to her hand.
*”Hello,”* Emily had whispered.
*”Who is this?”* Charlotte’s voice cut through the doorway.
William had turned just in time to see the horror in his wife’s eyes—fixed on the child.
*”An old friend,”* he’d stammered.
Emily’s eyes had brimmed with pain. The shame had been suffocating.
*”I can’t take her with me,”* Emily had said, nudging the girl forward. *”If I come back… I’ll reclaim her.”*
She’d left without a backward glance.
The fallout had been swift. Charlotte had screamed, demanded answers. William had dug out the birth certificate—his name etched in ink. Three days of chaos followed. Exhaustion. Despair.
Then Charlotte returned. She’d tried—*really* tried—to love the girl. But after six years, she’d left. William hadn’t stopped her. He’d seen the toll it took.
***
Now, he stood in Lily’s room, watching her feign disinterest behind her headphones. He told her everything anyway—about Emily, about Charlotte, about the guilt and the grief.
*”There are contraceptives now,”* Lily muttered, pulling off her headphones.
*”Yes. But at eighteen, you don’t believe mistakes last forever.”*
He’d left her there, silent.
The next morning, she’d been the one to break the silence. *”You can’t shield me from every mistake. It’s my life. You never married again because you were afraid—afraid no one could love me like a real mother. Charlotte proved that. But mistakes don’t just happen on holiday. Dad—I’m not *yours* to control. Mum would’ve understood!”*
*”But she’s not here,”* he’d snapped.
*”I’m going. You can’t stop me. I love Daniel. We’ll be fine.”*
Then—panic. Her breath had hitched, choked. She’d lurched towards the window, gasping for air.
William’s heart had *stopped*.
*”Lily!”* He’d lunged—
Then—**white-hot agony**. A knife in his chest, searing through bone. The world had dissolved into soundless weight.
***
Consciousness returned in fragments. Muffled voices. The rhythmic beep of machines.
*”Dad? Can you hear me?”*
Lily’s face swam into view, tear-streaked. *”You woke up! The doctors said you had a heart attack, but you’ll be okay. I’m so sorry. I won’t leave you.”*
*”What about Daniel?”* he’d croaked the next day.
*”He stayed. Didn’t go without me.”*
The words had been a punch. Daniel had *chosen* her. And William? He’d nearly killed himself with fear.
*”Invite him over when I’m discharged,”* he’d said.
She’d kissed his stubbled cheek. *”You’re the best dad in the world.”*
Three weeks later, they’d met. William had studied the boy—his earnestness, his quiet confidence.
Maybe this generation *was* different. Maybe mistakes weren’t something to fear, but something to survive.
It was better to live, even imperfectly, than to never live at all.
