The Kidnapping of the Century — “I want men to chase after me and weep because they can’t catch up!” Marina read her wish aloud and set the paper aflame, shaking the ashes into her sparkling wine and finishing her glass to the laughter of her friends. The Christmas tree twinkled brighter, the music swelled, glasses clinked, faces blurred together in a festive whirl. Suddenly, the tree showered golden dust—or so it seemed at the time… “Muuum… Mum, wake up!” Marina forced open one eye and found herself facing what looked like a football team of kids. “Who are you? Do I know you, children?” Giggling, the kids introduced themselves while tilting their heads: “Mum, remember—Matthew, 9 years old; Alex, 7; Sam, 5; David, 3!” The whole squad, full of mischief and determination. Not quite the kind of crowd of men Marina had wished would run after her on New Year’s Eve… “And where’s your coach… I mean, your dad?” she croaked. “Give your mum some water…” No sooner had she closed her eyes than—“Mu-um!”—two glasses of water, a clementine, and a mug of pickle juice appeared in her hands. At least the eldest already knew how to resuscitate mum after the holidays. They’re growing up. “Mum, get up. You promised…” the little ones begged. Marina tried to remember how she’d ended up here—and what exactly she had promised. “A film?” “No-oo!” “McDonald’s?” “No!” “The toy store?” “Come on, mum! You’re not fooling anyone! We’re nearly ready to go, but you won’t get up!” “Where are you all going? Can someone please tell your mother?” she finally surrendered. “Sweetheart, get up,” came a low male voice. Into the room walked a tall, dark-haired man with mischievous hazel eyes sparkling with gold flecks. Well now, what a dreamboat! “We’re ready, I’ve packed the car. We’ll stop at the supermarket on the way—then off we go!” Marina valiantly tried to recall who this man was, and why these children called her “mum.” Nothing. Not even a guess. “Mum, don’t forget our swimming trunks! And yours!” yelled someone from the children’s room. So, there’s even a pool? What kind of magic life is this—and why can’t I remember any of it…? Marina glanced around the unfamiliar room. The only familiar thing: a red Christmas poinsettia in a white pot with tiny pearl beads—her gift from last night. She began to retrace the thread of yesterday: a girls’ night out at a restaurant to celebrate New Year’s, Secret Santa like the good old student days—only now with pricey handbags, elaborate hairstyles, and not enough time. Married friends glowing with freedom for a change, while single, independent Marina, “the last of the bachelorettes,” as they call her, had no obligations. She remembered receiving that exact poinsettia, and a bottle of rare sparkling wine straight from a French château. She’d read out a wish or toast from a slip of paper—then…nothing. Blank. As the saying goes: ‘came—fell—woke up—in a cast!’ Looking in the mirror, she saw the same young woman as always—New Year’s makeup still perfect. But whose husband was that? Whose children? She didn’t remember giving birth, never-mind raising any of them. And though she somehow knew all the kids’ names, she didn’t know the husband’s. Something was off… Out in the hall: matching grown-up luggage and three sporty children’s rucksacks on wheels. Not a picnic then, but a proper trip? To where? Her “husband” reappeared; effortlessly hoisted the suitcases—muscle memory—and gently ushered her toward the door. “We’ll be late,” he said. She checked her hand and froze: no wedding ring—on either of them! One more oddity. Or…? The children piled into a big comfy minivan, seatbelts clicking into place with practiced familiarity. Her husband at the wheel, Marina’s heart pounded as she sat up front. He handed her a cup of coffee—white, with milk, which she despised. Oddly, that unsettled her most of all. “Let’s go!” he said cheerily, winking at the kids. As they left the city, Marina grew increasingly anxious. The family felt wrong—like strangers, even as she knew the children’s names! He had kidnapped them! No, they’d kidnapped her! But why could she name all the children? She was completely lost—but decided the only logical explanation was: “This man is a stranger. He’s kidnapped me. I need to act!” She stiffened in her seat, clutched her coffee, and put on her game face—ready for survival. Half an hour later, the kids revolted: “Dad, we need the loo!” “I’m hungry!” They stopped at a service station; everyone piled out. Here was her chance! Heart racing, Marina slipped away and darted to the car—only to find no keys in the ignition. “There you are! We were looking for you,” the man said cheerfully. “Come on then, let’s keep moving.” And off they went. An hour on, the airport loomed: glass, concrete, swarms of people. The “husband” parked, the family spilled out. Marina lagged behind—plotting escape. Suddenly she dashed away: “Help! I’m being kidnapped!” she cried, running to security. Within moments she was tackled, handcuffed, surrounded by guards. The “husband” hurried over. “Wait! It’s just a New Year’s prank—a joke! We’re not armed! It’s not a real kidnapping!” Voices blurred, and suddenly, like a film, she saw them: her friends hiding behind an advert board, giggling, sheepish, nervous and delighted. “Mum!” cried the kids—who promptly ran to one of the other women. Her friends rushed to the guards, overlapping each other with apologies, explanations, laughter: “Let her go!” The handcuffs came off. Her world stopped spinning. She was not a kidnap victim after all—just the subject of an elaborate, collective New Year’s prank with a dash of criminal drama. Her friends started chattering, breathless: they’d long wanted to introduce Marina to “a really nice bloke”—one who’d clearly had his eye on her for years, but never dared approach; he knew what she was like, always independent. So the idea was born, not to set them up, but plunge her straight into “family life”—kids, a calm but attentive man, even the morning coffee she hated. “We wanted you to feel, not overthink,” they confessed. Marina found herself unable to stay angry. Yes, it was drastic; yes, she almost had a heart attack—but it was a true experiment! Sometimes it takes one morning, three children, and a cup of coffee from your “kidnapper” to know if a man is right for you. There he was now: “Her romantic hero,” with that lopsided “Shrek Cat” grin and sparkling hazel eyes. The “kids” were revealed to be his nephews, thrilled to take part in Uncle’s big prank. “Oh, you’ll miss your flight!” the friends cried, bustling her along. “What, another kidnapping?” flashed through her mind. “And where were they planning to take me? The seaside? The Med? Mangoes and swimming?” He offered his hand. “Let’s try this again. I’m Vlad. Permission to ‘kidnap’ you?” he smiled, warm and inviting. Her friends watched, hopeful; the luggage waited. One last glance at those eyes, then the decision— “Let’s go!” said Marina, realising this “kidnapping” was the happiest adventure she could have wished for. And, almost in a whisper, she added: “But only if the kids stay home…” Laughter erupted, the airport blurred, and a new, funny, warm chapter began. Sometimes life doesn’t steal us away. It just whisks us, a bit too roughly, to exactly where we’re meant to be.

The Kidnapping of the Century

I wish men would chase after me and weep because they cant catch up! announced Florence, reading the wish aloud from a slip of paper. She struck a match, let the flame consume her written desire, and dropped the ashes into her glass before knocking back the last of the prosecco amid peals of laughter from her friends.

The Christmas tree twinkled knowingly, and then, as if moved by the mischief, glimmered all the more. The music surged, glasses clinked, faces blurred and danced in a whirl of celebratory light. From the scented branches, gold dust seemed to fallat least, thats how I remember it now, though perhaps it was just the champagne.

Muuum Mum, wake up!

Florence pried open one eyelid with effort. Oh dear, a proper football squad stood towering above her.

Who are you lot? Do I know you, children?

The youngsters, grinning, bowed their heads one by one in mock formality.

Mum, dont be silly. Its OlivernineHarrysevenLucasfiveand Charliethree!

The entire squad, complete, each with a cheeky glint and brimming with determination. These were certainly not the sort of men she wished would be dashing after her on New Years Eve

And wheres your coach I mean, your father? Her voice was husky and dry. Bring me a glass of water, will you dears?

She closed her eyes for but a momentthen, again: Muuum! Instantly, two glasses of water, a clementine, and a mug of pickle brine materialised at her bedside. The eldest already knew how to properly revive a mother after festive antics. They were learning.

Mum, get up. You promised whined the younger ones.

Florence strained to recall how on earth shed ended up here and just what shed promised.

The cinema?

Nooo

McDonalds?

No!

A toy shop?

Oh, Mum! Stop pretending! Were all nearly ready and youre still faffing!

Will someone inform their mother where exactly youre all off to? She was defeated.

Darling, wake up, came a deep voice. Into the room strolled a tall, dark-haired manhis hazel eyes flashed with gold flecks. Goodness, what a handsome devil!

Were sorted, cars packed. Well pop by the supermarket, then off we go!

Florence genuinely tried to recall who this man was and why these children called her mum, but her mind was a perfect blankno explanation surfaced.

Mum, dont forget our trunks! And yours too! one of the boys shouted from the hallway.

Trunks? Is there a swimming pool as well? flickered through her mind. What sort of charmed life have I stumbled into, and why cant I remember any of it?

Opening her eyes, she studied the room carefully. Nothing was familiar: not a photograph, not a scrap of furniture, not those heavy curtains with the strange motif. It was all foreign. All, that is, except for a single point of recognitionthe bright scarlet Christmas poinsettia sat on the windowsill, its velvet-like petals vivid, in a simple white pot adorned with tiny pearly beads. Somehow, that pot seemed almost familiar.

She shut her eyes, gingerly teasing out the beginnings of memory. Yesterday, she and her friends had gathered at their favourite London gastropubringing in the New Year, Secret Santa stylejust as in student days, but now with posh handbags and complicated hairstyles, all constantly short of time.

Her friendswell-dressed, gleeful, tipsy with the rare freedomhad managed to escape, if only for a bit, from the orbit of husbands, kids, lesson plans, nurseries, and pots bubbling on the stove. They glowed with that liberation, like schoolgirls skiving off the last lesson.

But Florence was cool and serene, as ever. She lived alone, answered to no oneno explanations, no waiting up. Last of the bachelorettes, her friends loved to tease as they topped off her glass.

She gifted a friend a fancy skincare set with black caviar and golden threads. They all howled that only such a cream could double up on toast or as a breakfast treat with bubbly. They bantered, snapped photos of the box from every angle as though it were a modern art exhibit rather than just a set of beauty tubs.

In return, Florence received the festive poinsettiathe same one now in her sightand a rare bottle of English sparkling wine from a friends family estate up in Kent, the kind spoken of only in whispers, reserved for momentous occasions.

She read out a slipmaybe a toast, maybe just a wishand then nothing. Like a comedy: walkedfellwoke upbandaged!

She stared at herself in the mirror. The same young woman still, her make-up set just as on New Years. But where had these children come from? This husband? She couldnt remember births, nappy changesshe couldnt even recall marrying the dashing man beside her! And yet, she somehow knew the childrens names but not his. Something didnt add up.

She left the room. In the hall stood wheeled suitcasestwo large, adult-sized, one jet black, one pale beige, sporting a well-known British label. Nearby were three sporty kids rucksacks.

So, not a picnic outing, then. A journeypossibly abroad?

Just then, the husband entered. Calmly, like hed done it a hundred times, he scooped up the cases and gently coaxed her to the door.

Well be late, he said softly, unruffled.

Glancing down she stopped dead: no wedding ring. Not on her finger, nor his. Another oddity. Or was there more to this?

Children piled into a big, comfortable minivan. The rucksacks flew into place, seatbelts clicked, everyone set off with practised efficiency. The man took the wheel with expert calm. Florence sighed and settled into the passenger seat.

He promptly handed her a travel mug of coffeemilky, just how she hated it. Oddly, that unsettled her most of all.

Ready? he grinned, winking at the children. Off they rolled. The farther they journeyed from the house, the more uneasy she felt.

From the back seats came happy babble, whispers, and giggles. The man drove with focus, yet his glances at her danced with mischieflike the two of them shared some secret shed yet to recall.

Florence watched the road go by, feeling rather like Piglet in a fogso much seemed clear: family, a car, a trip. And yet nothing made the slightest sense.

The motorway unfurled, stretching away from the city. Deep inside, Florence was certainthis wasnt her family at all. A stranger, and some unknown children!

Hes kidnapped them!

Nohes kidnapped me!

But then, why did she know the kids names? Utterly muddled, she settled on an uneasy conclusiona stranger had nabbed her, and she needed to act.

Straightening in her seat, tightening her grip on the coffee, she made a show of distraction, all the while readying herself to bolt. Survival mode flickered quietly to life.

Half an hour later, the kids rebelled in chorus.

Dad, loo!

Im thirsty!

Can we have a snack?

The car swung into a service station, the whole swarm tumbled out towards the shop.

Nows my chance! Her heart hammered louder than the traffic. While the others were distracted, she slinked away from the café, ducking low to the car. A dash, then a sprintshe leapt behind the wheel

but of course, the keys werent in the ignition.

There you are, we were looking for you, came the calm voice through the open window. Florence froze.

Right, everyones here, off we go, he said kindly. I’ll drive, you have another rest. And so, once again, they were back on the road.

An hour later, the looming glass-and-steel silhouette of the airport appearedcars, crowds, flashing signs everywhere. They left the minivan in a tight car park and went in with the masses.

Florence was on edge, determined not to be whisked awayshe would defend herself to the last! Quietly, she hung back from the overly well-synchronised family. When the moment struck, she broke away at a run.

This is a kidnapping! Help me! she shrieked, dashing to the nearest security guard.

The guard reacted instantly. In a flash, she was toppled, rolled onto her stomach, hands cuffed behind her back. Armed officers appeared, radios crackling, faces grim.

Wait! Hang on! I can explain! cried the man she assumed her captor.

Its a New Years prank! A joke! Were not armed! This isnt a kidnapping!

Florence heard his voice as though from underwater. Then, as if in a film, she saw themher friends huddled behind an advertising panel: grinning, nervous, shocked, and entirely delighted.

Mum! shouted the children, running instead to a different woman standing among her friends. Other friends hurried over, talking all at once, giggling, apologizing, pleading with the officers to let the kidnapper go.

Flo was hauled up, the cuffs removed. The world righted itself, if madly. Standing in the terminal, hair wild, heart racing, she realisedno one had stolen her.

Shed been set up!

As adrenaline faded and the ringing in her ears ebbed away, Florence at last began to understand.

It was all a prank.
Grand. Lavish. A vast conspiracy with a touch of detective drama.
The friends all spoke at once, overlapping, laughing and apologizing.

Theyd wanted for ages to introduce Florence to a good blokesomeone whod admired her forever, but never dared approachhe knew she didnt take kindly to setups. Because Flo had always made herself clear: No thanks. Im happy as I am.

And her friends knew it, so theyd risked a full demonstrationwhy waste time persuading Florence when you could just drop her straight into the family atmosphere? Heres a family morning: coffee, organised kids, a patient, attentive man who just sorts things with a smile. Oh, and gorgeous hazel eyes, by the way.

We didnt want you to overthink it, her mates confessed. We just wanted you to feel it.

Florence couldnt even muster anger. Female logic is strangeshe didnt like force, but she respected results.
Yes, the method was questionable. Yes, her heart nearly burst. But what a clean experiment! Sometimes, all one needs to decide on a man is a single morning, three borrowed children, and a questionable cup of coffee from a kidnapper.

And there he was, with a grin worthy of Puss in Bootsa twinkle in those golden-hazel eyes. The children swarmed himthey were nephews, thrilled with the drama from their favourite uncle.

Oh, look at the time! her friends suddenly exclaimed. If you dont hurry, youll miss your flight! Go on, get to check-in!

Another kidnapping? Florence thought. And where did they mean to take me? To the seaside? The Med? For mangos and snorkelling?

He reached out his hand.

Lets meet again, properly. Im Edward. May I steal you away? he said, smiling warmly.

Flo glanced at her friendsall frozen, anxious, awaiting her verdict. Then her gaze slid to the suitcases, before returning to those mischievous hazel eyes.

A thought gleamed in her mind: what, after all, was the harm in saying yes?

All right, lets go! she breathed out at last, smiling to herself, realising that this kidnapping was possibly the best adventure yet.

But, almost under her breath, she added, Only if the kids stay home

Everyone burst out laughing, Edwards smile grew even wider, and the airport, the bustle, the rushsuddenly it all felt like the beginning of something newfunny, warm, and, unexpectedly, entirely right.

Sometimes life doesnt steal us away.
It simply moves us, suddenly, to where we shouldve been all along.