She had always dreamed of dancing.
The music stopped, and the hall fell silent. Emily could only hear her own breathing. Then, a single clap broke the quiet, and suddenly, thunderous applause filled the room. The audience rose to their feet, many with tears in their eyes.
Emily glanced up at Anthony. He bent down and kissed her softly, the taste of her tears lingering on his lips. The clapping faded as people began leaving, and Anthony gently pushed her wheelchair toward the exit.
“Tired?” he asked.
“No. I’m happy! Thank you!” She laughed through her tears.
***
Emily was chopping vegetables for dinner, glancing at the clock every few minutes. Daniel would be home soon. She filled the kettle and set it to boil, her hands moving quickly. Another look at the clock. *Late again. Should I call? No—he’ll just say I’m paranoid, that I’m imagining things. I want to believe him. But I can’t. Not anymore.* Her fingers itched to grab her phone. *Is it happening again?*
Her grip tightened on the knife handle until her knuckles turned white. Then, with a sharp exhale, she let go, and the blade clattered onto the counter. The clock’s hands crawled forward, testing her patience. Finally, she gave in and dialed Daniel’s number. *Please answer. Just tell me you’re on your way.* But the ringing only mocked her, over and over, until she flung the phone across the kitchen. It skidded to a stop at the edge of the counter.
“Stay calm,” she told herself. “He’ll be home soon.”
Daniel didn’t come back until past midnight. Exhausted from crying, Emily had fallen asleep, but the sound of keys jingling woke her instantly. A sliver of light crept under the bedroom door. She pushed herself up and flung it open.
Daniel was unlacing his shoes when he jumped at the sudden sight of her. But the surprise passed quickly. “You scared me,” he said lightly. “Why are you up?”
“I just wanted to look you in the eyes,” Emily said, her voice hollow. “You promised you wouldn’t see her again.”
“Not this again,” he sighed. “I was just at the pub with the lads. Had a few pints, watched the match…”
“I can’t take it anymore. I *can’t*,” she cut in, syllables sharp. “I won’t sit here waiting, listening for footsteps. I’m done.” She wrapped her arms around herself and turned away, her whole body sagging as if she could barely hold herself upright.
She collapsed onto the bed, sobbing.
“Emily, I’m sick of this jealousy. You don’t let me breathe. I told you, I was out with the boys—” Daniel approached the bed but didn’t reach for her. He just stood there as she wept.
“And you couldn’t call? Let me guess—your phone died again? Pathetic.” Emily pushed herself up, fury cutting through the grief. “You don’t even smell like beer.”
She stormed past him into the hallway. Realizing what she was doing, Daniel suddenly lunged—but Emily yanked his phone from his jacket pocket before he could stop her.
“Give it!” he shouted, grabbing for it.
Emily twisted away and read the glowing screen aloud, her voice dripping with bitterness. *”Hi love—you home yet? Has the missus started grilling you, or are you saving the drama for morning?”* She looked up, eyes burning. “Which of your *mates* calls you ‘love,’ Daniel?”
He tried to snatch the phone, but Emily shoved it back at him. Then she pushed past, heading straight for the bedroom to pack.
“Tell your little *friend* you’re free,” she spat. “I’m going to my mum’s. I want you *gone* by morning.”
“Come on, Em. It’s the middle of the night. Fine, I wasn’t with the lads—” He faltered.
Emily’s face twisted in disgust. “What more do you *want*?” Her voice was barely a whisper, her body curled in on itself like she’d been punched. “I won’t stay here another second.”
She grabbed her handbag and walked out. Daniel didn’t stop her. On the street, Emily called a cab, then dialed her mum.
“Fighting again?” Her mother’s voice was heavy with disappointment. “I warned you not to trust his promises. You should’ve left the first time.”
“Not now, Mum.” Emily hung up.
But she never made it to her mother’s. The cab sped through the empty streets, until—out of nowhere—a drunk driver in an SUV barreled into them. The impact struck Emily’s side.
Daniel visited every day once she was moved from intensive care, drowning in guilt. If he hadn’t given in to Jenny’s coaxing to stay longer, maybe there wouldn’t have been a fight. Maybe Emily wouldn’t have taken that cab.
The doctors insisted they’d done everything. A few months, they said, and she’d walk again. But a year passed, then two. Hope vanished. She’d spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair.
Daniel stayed. Emily’s mother helped with the housework. But how long could a young man care for an invalid wife? Some wouldn’t leave—but Daniel, used to comfort, with a mistress waiting in the wings, soon realized the burden was too much. How long could he live with that weight? Watching Emily’s despair turn to hate? He walked out, leaving her with her mum.
Dark days followed. Emily thought of ending it—pills or the balcony. But the door was too narrow. Could she even haul herself over the railing? Pills would be better… But her mother never left her alone. She hid the medicine, watching her daughter closely.
One day, they went to the park. Emily’s mum pushed her wheelchair, struggling over the uneven path. A wheel caught in a pothole. She jolted it free—too hard—and the chair tipped dangerously. A man rushed over, steadying it just in time.
“Thank heavens,” her mother gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “You’re a godsend.”
“Let me help you home,” he offered, taking the wheelchair handles with surprising ease.
“You’re good at this,” her mum noted, relieved to walk freely beside them.
“A bit of practice,” he said simply. “After my injury, I pushed lads around in hospital. Couldn’t walk themselves.”
“You were military?”
“Yeah. Served overseas. Got discharged after rehab. They told my mum I was KIA—some mix-up. Her heart gave out. Wife remarried. Tried to jump off a roof once…”
Emily’s mum gasped.
“I don’t believe in signs, but… Felt like someone shoved me back. Chickened out, I guess. Got a job now, council flat while I wait for something permanent.”
Emily listened. Her life wasn’t the only one shattered.
“Emily had an accident. Drunk driver walked away scot-free—now my girl’s like this,” her mother said bitterly.
Anthony—the man’s name—helped navigate the uneven pavements and steep ramp to their building.
“How do you manage?” he asked, panting slightly.
“We manage. Neighbours help, though they complain about the ramp taking up space. Lucky the lift fits the chair.”
Her mother insisted he stay for dinner. He ate hungrily, and she piled his plate high.
“You walk every day? What time?” Anthony asked suddenly. “I could help.”
“Oh, no, we couldn’t ask—”
“Don’t. After losing everything, I… felt like a ghost. Helping makes me feel alive. Please.”
He started joining them often. On one walk, Emily admitted, “I always wanted to dance. Kept putting it off. Now it’s just a dream.”
Anthony said nothing. But two weeks later, he took her to a ballroom competition. He’d arranged with staff—they wheeled her onto the floor, and a dancer spun her chair in time to the music.
The song ended. The crowd rose in a standing ovation, many wiping tears.
We go through life assuming tragedy happens to others. That there’s always time to fix mistakes, chase dreams. But “later” might not come. One accident changes everything. Yet sometimes, by chance, someone walks in—and makes the impossible happen.
