A Message That Changed Everything…
Olivia had gone on a business trip to Manchester, leaving her fiancé James behind in her hometown of Bristol. Wrapping up early, she decided to return home without warning him, hoping to surprise him. James had never given her reason to doubt him, but as the train carried her home, uneasy thoughts flickered through Olivia’s mind—what if she found him with someone else? She brushed them off, but her heart raced. Determined to keep her return a secret, she imagined his startled smile. But the surprise would have to wait. The moment she turned on her phone at the station, a message flashed on the screen, freezing her blood.
Olivia pressed her forehead against the taxi’s cold window, willing away the foolish thoughts. Why was she conjuring scenes from cheap dramas? Her life with James was steady, almost dull, and maybe that was why she invented tension. The cab smelled of old cologne, reminding her of her father. The driver, a man in his sixties with silver hair and a wrinkled neck, yawned and fiddled with his ear—just like her dad when he was tired. His driving was sharp, and Olivia instinctively gripped the door handle.
“What’s your name, love?” the driver asked. “Olivia,” she replied, surprised. “I’m Victor. Liv, when’s your train? Mind if we stop for petrol?” The train wasn’t for three hours, so she nodded. “Plenty of time—I always arrive early.” Victor chuckled. “Women, always the same! My wife’s like that—five hours early, in case of traffic!” Olivia shrugged—she did hate being late. “Actually, it’s Olivia Victoria,” she added, changing the subject. “No kidding? My daughter’s Olivia too. And my mum,” Victor said, brightening.
He started talking about his life, and Olivia listened, stunned. Victor had grown up in a big family, started working at fourteen, never got an education, struggled with health, and barely kept up with the mortgage. His sons from his first marriage wouldn’t speak to him, blaming him for leaving their mother. His only joy was his daughter—he paid for her education, hoping she’d escape poverty. Olivia couldn’t help but wonder: what if this man had been her father? The daughter of a wealthy businessman, she doubted she’d have ever met James—he’d asked about her family and schooling when they first met.
“So, did you like our city?” Victor asked as they neared the station. “Yes, it’s lovely,” Olivia smiled. “Where are you from?” She said Bristol. “Blimey, that’s far! Been there once, for my grandad’s funeral. Business trip?” “Yes, work.” “Come back soon! Here’s my card—I’m a proper cabbie, age is just a number!” He handed her the card, and Olivia studied him—his mannerisms, his voice. Like a doppelgänger of her father existed somewhere in the world.
On the train, she spun stories like she had as a child. She’d dreamed of being a writer, but her father insisted on economics so she could inherit his firm. Did she regret it? Not really. Her life was mapped out, and that comforted her. She hadn’t told James about her early return, relishing the thought of surprising him. But everything changed when her phone buzzed with a message from her mother: “Dad’s in hospital. Heart attack.”
Olivia had never seen her father weak. He was unshakable, invincible. Now he lay on a hospital bed, pale, wires crisscrossing his chest. Her mother stepped out to speak with the doctor, leaving them alone. “How are you?” she asked, fighting tears. “Fine, love,” he murmured. To distract herself, she talked about her trip: “The city’s lovely, and the cabbie—can you believe it? His name was Victor…” Her father suddenly cut in: “I was born there.”
Olivia 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 made-up tales. He went on: “I’ve kept quiet my whole life. Only your mum knows. Even my parents—the ones who raised me—don’t. I was three when it started. Born in Manchester, but my real name’s William. Victor was my older brother—he raised me. Big family, drunk dad, mum… I don’t remember. The clearest memory is bread with butter and sugar.”
He told her how his mother once left him alone in a damp, crumbling house. His brother begged her not to abandon him, but she left. Terrified, little William ran off, lost in a crowd of children, and ended up on a bus to a village. When found, they asked his name. Why he said “Victor,” he didn’t know. No one looked for him—or they never reported him missing. A woman there took him in, feeding him pies. She became his mother. “I remember nothing else, Liv,” he finished. “Just my brother. I’d like to know what happened to him.”
Olivia listened, disbelieving. What if Victor the cabbie was that brother? She recalled his face, his stories of a big family. “Did you ever look for them?” she asked. “Why? I don’t remember them. Only the name Olivia echoes—maybe a sister, maybe my mum. But that’s it. I want my grandchildren to remember me. But I don’t have any. And I want to see you married. Pity an old man, Liv—I know weddings aren’t in fashion, but marry James.”
Olivia sighed. She wasn’t against marriage, but James hadn’t asked. “Get better,” she said. “You’ll get your wedding.” At home, James greeted her at his laptop, gaming. “What a surprise! Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have met you!” he grinned. Exhausted, Olivia suddenly burst into tears. James held her as she explained about her father—leaving out his secret—then blurted, “Let’s get married!”
James pulled back, frowning. “Liv, we’re happy. Why rush? This is your dad’s idea—you’re emotional. Cool off.” “So you don’t want to?” Her voice trembled. She’d suspected he wasn’t ready, but hearing it hurt. “We’ve talked about this,” he said gently. “Want a kid? We’ll have one, no ring needed. We don’t fight.” Olivia went quiet, but resentment took root.
When her father recovered, she left for Manchester again without telling James, leaving a note: “Need to think about us.” But her real goal was finding Victor. She’d lost his card, tearing her luggage apart. At the hotel where she’d booked the cab, the receptionist, Grace, was on holiday. Olivia begged the staff for her number but got nowhere. Tears came unbidden. “Grace is back in two weeks,” they said. In her room, she sobbed, feeling lost. Why was she here? James had probably left, and her father’s brother was unfindable.
James texted: “What’s this mean?” “Take it how you want,” she replied. “Where are you?” “None of your business. You’re not my husband.” He went quiet. A knock came—a young receptionist whispered, “Here’s Grace’s address. Don’t tell anyone!” Full of hope, Olivia went the next morning, canceling cabs three times, hoping Victor would show. But another driver came.
In a rundown neighborhood, a guy in a wrinkled vest opened the door. “Looking for Grace,” Olivia said. He squinted. “From Alex?” “What Alex?” Her confusion relaxed him, and he introduced himself as Liam, offering coffee. He explained Grace had dated rich Alex, who controlled her, then fell for poor Ethan. Alex caused a scene, so Grace and Ethan fled to his gran’s, lying about a holiday. “Don’t mess with Alex,” Liam warned.
A girl barged in, cutting him off. “Molly, this is Grace’s mate!” Liam shouted, grabbing her. Olivia slipped into the hall and ran, desperate to be home. The trip was a failure. She hadn’t found Victor, had fought with James, and the life she’d wanted to spice up had spiraled into chaos.
At home, James met her at the door. “Why no warning?” He looked tired, and Olivia wondered—had her fantasy come true? Was he seeing someone? Tears welled. “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 food.” Olivia realized he hadn’t left. “Pizza,” she muttered, shrugging off her coat.
“Where’d you go?” James asked. “Not telling.” “Fine. Check that box—I tidied, didn’t throw your stuff out.” He handed her a box, and Olivia, halfheartedly digging, froze. “Victor T. Wilson”—the cabbie’s name she’d hunted! “James, I searched everywhere for this!” she cried. He rolled his eyes. “LookShe clutched the card tightly, realizing that sometimes the answers we seek are right where we least expect them, waiting for us to come home.
