The Message That Changed Everything…
Catherine had left for a business trip to Leeds, leaving her fiancé Anthony behind in Manchester. Finishing her work early, she decided to return unannounced, eager to surprise him. Anthony had never given her reason to doubt him, yet on the train home, restless thoughts nagged at her—what if she found him with someone else? She brushed them aside, but her pulse quickened anyway. She imagined his startled smile, savoring the secrecy. But the surprise would have to wait. As soon as she turned on her phone at the station, a message froze her blood.
Catherine pressed her forehead to the cold taxi window, scolding herself for weaving cheap soap opera plots. Her life with Anthony was stable, almost dull—perhaps that was why she conjured up drama. The cab smelled of old cologne, reminding her of her father. The driver, a grey-haired man in his sixties with a wrinkled neck, yawned and rubbed his ear—just like her father when weary. His driving was erratic, and Catherine gripped the door handle.
“Your name, miss?” the driver asked. “Catherine,” she replied, surprised. “I’m Victor. So, Cathy, when’s your train? Mind if we stop for petrol?” The train wasn’t for three hours, so she nodded. “I like arriving early.” Victor chuckled. “Women, always the same! My missus—five hours early, just in case!” Catherine shrugged—she did hate being late. “Actually, it’s Catherine Victoria,” she added, changing the subject. “No! My daughter’s a Cathy, and so was my mother,” Victor said, brightening.
He began to share his life story, and Catherine listened, stunned. Victor had grown up in a large family, started working at fourteen, never got an education, struggled with health, and barely managed his mortgage. His sons from his first marriage refused to speak to him for leaving their mother. His only joy was his daughter, whose studies he paid for, hoping she’d escape poverty. Catherine couldn’t help wondering—what if this man had been her father? As the daughter of a wealthy businessman, she doubted she’d have ever met Anthony, who’d immediately asked about her parents and schooling when they first met.
“Well, did you like our city?” Victor asked as they neared the station. “It’s lovely,” Catherine smiled. “Where are you from?” “Manchester.” “Ah, bit of a journey! Been there once, for my granddad’s funeral. Business, was it?” “Yes, work.” “Come back soon! Here’s my card—I’m an old hand at this, age doesn’t slow me down!” He handed her the card, and Catherine studied him—his mannerisms, his voice. It was as if her father had a double somewhere in the world.
On the train, she spun stories in her head, as she had since childhood. She’d dreamed of being a writer, but her father insisted on a business degree so she could inherit his company. Did she regret it? Not really. Her life was neatly planned, and that comforted her. She hadn’t told Anthony about her early return, relishing the thought of his shock. But everything changed when her phone buzzed with a message from her mother: “Dad’s in hospital. Heart attack.”
Catherine had never seen her father weak. He was unshakable, invincible. Now he lay pale and wired to machines. Her mother stepped out to speak with the doctor, leaving them alone. “How are you?” she asked, fighting tears. “Alright, love,” he murmured. To keep from crying, she babbled about her trip. “The city’s nice, and the cabbie—can you believe it? His name was Victor.” Her father suddenly cut in. “I was born there.”
Catherine froze. He’d never spoken of his childhood. “And my name isn’t Victor,” he added, the words hanging like the opening of one of her tales. His voice was quiet. “I’ve kept this secret all my life. Only your mother knows. Not even the people who raised me. I was three when it happened. I was born in Leeds, but my real name is Alexander. Victor was my older brother—he raised me. Our family was poor, our father drank, our mother… I don’t remember her. Just bread with butter and sugar.”
He told her how his mother once left him alone in a damp, rotting house. His brother begged her not to abandon him, but she left. Terrified, little Alexander ran off, lost in a crowd of children, boarded a bus, and ended up in a village. When found, he gave his brother’s name. No one searched for his family, or they never reported him missing. A kind woman took him in, feeding him pies. She became his mother. “I remember nothing, Cathy. Just my brother. I’d like to know what became of him.”
Catherine sat in stunned silence. What if Victor the cabbie was that brother? His face, his stories about a large family—could it be? “You never looked for them?” she asked. “Why? I don’t remember them. Just the name Catherine in my head—maybe a sister, maybe my mother. But that’s all. I want my grandchildren to remember me. But there are none. And I want to see you wed. I know weddings aren’t the fashion, but marry Anthony, for an old man’s sake.”
Catherine sighed. She didn’t oppose marriage—but Anthony had never asked. “Get well,” she said. “You’ll have your wedding.” At home, Anthony greeted her at his laptop, playing a shooter game. “What a surprise! Why didn’t you say? I’d have met you!” he beamed. Exhausted, Catherine burst into tears. He held her as she told him about her father—but omitted his secret. Then, suddenly, she blurted, “Let’s get married.”
Anthony pulled back, frowning. “Cathy, we’re fine as we are. Your dad put you up to this—you’re emotional. Let’s talk later.” “So you don’t want to marry me?” Her voice wavered. She’d always suspected his reluctance, but hearing it stung. “We’ve talked about this,” he said gently. “Want kids? We’ll have them—no paperwork. We don’t argue.” She fell silent, resentment settling in her chest.
When her father recovered, she left for Leeds again without telling Anthony—just a note: “Need to think about us.” But her real goal was to find Victor. She’d lost his card, tearing her luggage apart. At the hotel where she’d booked the taxi, the receptionist, Grace, was on leave. Catherine begged the other staff for Grace’s number, but they refused. Tears spilled over. “Grace is back in two weeks,” they said. In her room, she sobbed, feeling utterly lost. What was she doing here? Anthony had probably moved on, and her father’s brother was nowhere to be found.
Anthony texted: “What’s this mean?” “Whatever you want,” she replied. “Where are you?” “None of your business. You’re not my husband.” He went quiet. Then a knock—a young receptionist slipped her Grace’s address. “Don’t tell anyone!”
The next morning, Catherine canceled three cabs, hoping Victor would show. But another driver arrived.
In a run-down part of town, a man in a wrinkled T-shirt answered the door. “Looking for Grace,” she said. He squinted. “You one of Alex’s girls?” “Who’s Alex?” Her confusion eased his suspicion, and he introduced himself as Liam, offering coffee. Grace, he explained, had dated wealthy Alex, who controlled her life—until she fell for poor Jack. Alex caused a scene, so Grace and Jack fled to his grandmother’s, lying about a holiday. “Stay away from Alex,” Liam warned.
A girl burst in—Molly, Liam’s girlfriend. “She’s Grace’s friend!” Liam yelled, barely restraining her. Catherine slipped out and fled, longing for home. The trip was a disaster. No Victor, a fight with Anthony—her quest for excitement had become chaos.
At home, Anthony met her at the door. “Why no warning?” He looked weary, and Catherine wondered if her earlier fears had come true—had he been with someone? Tears threatened. “It’s my flat—why warn you?” she snapped. “Why aren’t you at work?” “It’s Sunday,” he said calmly. “Hungry? Let’s order in.” She realized he hadn’t left. “Pizza,” she muttered, shrugging off her coat.
“Where’d you go?” he asked. “Not telling.” “Fine. Check the box—I tidied up, didn’t throw anything out.” He handed her a box, and Catherine rummaged halfheartedly—then froze. “Tarrant, Victor James”—the cabbie’s card! “Anthony, I searched everywhere for this!” He rolled his eyes. “Keep looking, might find something better.” She did—and froze. A small blue velvet box, unmistakably not hers.
Her heart raced. She knew what it meant but couldn’t bring herself to touch it. “Let me,” Anthony said, flipping it open. InsideInside glimmered a ring, and Anthony murmured, “Turns out I’d already bought it weeks ago—just needed you to stop running away long enough to ask properly.”
