Everything Will Be…
The car sped through the night streets of London. Inside were two people—a man and a woman. To an outsider, they might have looked like a married couple hurrying home to their waiting children.
“Can you drive any faster?” the woman asked nervously.
“It’s too dangerous. The city only looks empty. When are you finally going to tell him about us? How long will we keep sneaking around, afraid of being caught? Why are you delaying? It’ll be better for everyone if you just tell him—simpler, too,” the man said.
“Simpler? For whom? For you and me, maybe. But what about Emily? She loves her father. And he loves her. What will happen to them when they find out? It’s cruel,” the woman argued.
“And lying all this time—that isn’t cruel? Do you really think he doesn’t suspect? I’m tired of sharing you with him. If you won’t tell him, I will—man to man.”
“Don’t. Please. I’ll do it. Just give me time.” The woman reached for the driver’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “I love you too. But don’t rush me. I promise… I’ll talk to my husband soon.”
The man turned to her, caught her gaze, and leaned in to kiss her.
From around the bend, a black SUV swerved into their path, bringing unavoidable death. The woman’s scream was swallowed by the roar of twisting metal.
***
The shrill ringtone of his phone pierced through Edward’s shallow sleep. For a moment, he hovered between dreams and wakefulness before forcing his eyes open.
Sarah had called at eight in the evening, saying she’d be late. A friend was in trouble—she couldn’t leave her alone. She’d explain everything later. He hadn’t even had time to ask which friend, what kind of trouble? Of course, he could’ve called around, checked with the few acquaintances whose numbers he had. But the thought of it felt humiliating—for himself, for his wife.
Edward had first suspected something was wrong two months ago. Too many late nights, too many sudden weekend outings. Too many “friends” with emergencies that only Sarah could help.
He fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen. His chest tightened with foreboding.
“Hello?” Edward answered, his voice rough with sleep.
“Detective Roberts. Are you the husband of Sarah Elizabeth Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
“Your wife has been in an accident. She’s been taken to King’s College Hospital in critical condition.”
“Is she alive?” Edward’s voice trembled.
“Yes, but—”
“Dad, is that Mum?” Ten-year-old Emily stood in the bedroom doorway, her wide eyes locked on him.
Edward swallowed around the lump in his throat.
“No. It’s… Mum’s in hospital. There was an accident.”
“Is she dead?”
“No, no, of course not. She’s alive.” He hurried to reassure her.
“But you asked… Dad—” Emily rushed forward, wrapping her arms so tightly around his neck he nearly choked. “Take me to her. I’m scared.”
Gently, Edward pried her hands loose and sat her down beside him.
“Not now. Visiting hours are over—they won’t let us in. We’ll go first thing in the morning. You need to sleep, or we’ll both be exhausted when we see her. What would Mum say then?” He forced a smile.
Emily nodded and shuffled back to her room. He lay down again, though dawn was already creeping through the curtains. He remembered glancing at the time on his phone before answering—half past two.
He needed to calm himself. Pressing a hand to his chest, he felt his heart pounding against his palm.
The next morning, they drove to the hospital in silence. Leaving Emily in the corridor, Edward stepped into the doctor’s office.
“You’re the husband?” The doctor, a man about his age, looked up.
“Yes. How is she?”
“We’ve operated. Severe head trauma, multiple fractures… She’s in a coma.”
“How did this happen? She doesn’t drive.”
The doctor shrugged. “All I know is the car she was in collided with an SUV. Both drivers died on impact. Your wife was lucky. That said, her condition is grave. We’re doing everything we can. She’s young—there’s a chance.”
“Can I see her? My daughter’s outside.”
“That’s your decision. You should know, she doesn’t look well. But sometimes, having family nearby helps. Come with me.” The doctor gestured toward the door.
“Who was in the car with her?” Edward asked as they walked to the ICU.
“You’d have to ask the police. And don’t stay long—she’s unresponsive.” The doctor opened the door.
Edward barely recognized Sarah. Bandages covered most of her face; the rest was bruised and scraped. She looked distant, unreal. Above the sheets, her left hand lay still, her wedding ring gleaming dully.
“Mum!” Emily rushed to the bed, touching her mother’s fingers. “Is she asleep?” she asked, turning to Edward.
“Yes. The surgery took a lot out of her. We can only stay for a little while.”
They rode home without speaking. Edward called Sarah’s mother, explained what had happened, and asked her to come stay with Emily. He needed to go to work.
Margaret Whitmore arrived, dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes with a damp handkerchief.
“Maybe I should take Emily for a while? You’ve got enough to worry about,” she said once she’d composed herself. “Would you like to come stay with me, love?”
Emily nodded.
“I warned her. But would she listen?” Margaret choked out before catching Edward’s sharp look.
“Margaret, what did you warn her about?”
She shook her head, twisting the handkerchief in her hands. “Forgive me, Edward. I told her it would end badly. Pleaded with her.” She waved a helpless hand. “She just kept saying, ‘I love him, I can’t live without him.’ Like she’d lost her mind. Oh, Edward, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said it like this. Better if Sarah had—”
A dull ache spread through Edward’s chest. He inhaled carefully, wincing. He’d sensed the change in Sarah, noticed the distance—but he’d refused to face it, shoving his suspicions aside.
“Who was it?” he asked flatly.
“Daniel Hart. He was in love with her back in school. Left for a while—abroad, I think. When he came back, that’s when it started.”
Hart. Edward had seen him once. Sometimes, if he had time, he’d pick Sarah up after work. He’d wait in the car park, watching as she rushed to him like he was some precious gift.
Two months ago, he’d gone to fetch her and saw Sarah with a man. The way they looked at each other—it was obvious there was more than friendship between them.
Edward had stepped out of the car and approached. Sarah had frozen, guilt flashing across her face before she forced a smile and introduced them—her husband and her old schoolmate. She’d used his surname, he thought. The men had sized each other up, neither offering a hand. The dislike had been instant, mutual.
“It’s so good you came! Emily’s birthday’s coming up—I was just looking at presents…” Sarah had looped her arm through Edward’s, steering him away.
Before driving off, Edward had glanced back. Hart was already gone. The whole ride home, Sarah had chattered nervously, laughing at nothing.
“She wasn’t with friends. She was with him. Sleeping with him. For how long? Were they planning a future? Talking about me? Comparing us?” Edward’s breath came short, pain throbbing in his ribs.
“I’d like to take Emily to the hospital tomorrow. Will they let us in?” His mother-in-law’s voice dragged him back.
Sarah was still in a coma.
“What do I do with this? How do we move forward? Wallow in anger? What if she never wakes up?” The thoughts swirled. “Her lover’s dead. I’m still here. We have Emily. If she wakes up… we’ll figure it out.”
He told Margaret they’d be allowed in. The doctor hadn’t forbidden visits, had even said talking might help.
“Should I tell her I know? Let the anger out while she can’t respond? But what if she dies with my words ringing in her ears?” He shut down the thought. “No. She has to wake up. For Emily. For me.”
The next day, during his lunch break, he returned to the hospital. Emily and Margaret were already there. Once they left, he studied Sarah’s swollen, bruised face. Then, haltingly, as if the words fought him, he told her he was trying to forgive her, that he wanted her to come home. He meant to say he loved her—but the words stuck.
The following morning, the hospital calledAs the years passed, the scars—both seen and unseen—faded, and in the quiet moments between the laughter of their grandchildren, Edward and Sarah would sometimes exchange a glance that held all the forgiveness and love they had fought so hard to rebuild.
