The dew still clung to the grass, the mist slowly retreated to the far bank of the river, and the sun already peeked over the jagged edge of the forest.
Thomas stood on the porch, admiring the beauty of the early morning and breathing in the crisp air. Behind him, he heard the soft slap of bare feet. A woman in a nightgown, with a shawl draped over her shoulders, stepped up beside him.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Thomas sighed deeply. “You should go inside—you’ll catch a chill,” he said gently, adjusting the shawl that had slipped from her shoulder.
The woman pressed close, wrapping her arms around his.
“Don’t want to leave you,” Thomas murmured, his voice husky with tenderness.
“Then don’t.” Her voice was like a siren’s song, tempting, pulling. *Stay, but then what?* The thought sobered him.
If it were that simple, he would’ve stayed long ago. But twenty-three years with his wife weren’t so easily erased. And the kids… Lucy was practically gone already, spending more nights at her fiancé’s than at home. And Toby was only fourteen—right in the thick of the difficult years.
A lorry driver could find work anywhere, but he wouldn’t make half as much here as he did now. Right now, he could afford to spoil Emma with gifts. But if the money dried up, would she still love him the same? Questionable.
“Don’t start, Em,” Thomas waved her off.
“Why not? The kids are grown—it’s time to think of yourself. You’ve said it yourself, you and your wife are just going through the motions.” Emma pulled away, hurt.
“Ah, if only I’d met you sooner…” Thomas exhaled sharply. “Don’t be cross. I’ve got to go, already running late.” He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her face away. “Em, I’ve got a load to deliver. Got a deadline.”
“You always make promises. You come, stir my heart, then rush back to your wife. I’m tired of waiting. Michael’s been asking me to marry him for ages.”
“Then do it,” Thomas shrugged.
He wanted to say more but thought better of it. Slowly, he stepped off the porch, rounded the house, and made his way through the back garden to the ring road where his lorry was parked. He always left it there to avoid waking the village in the early hours.
He climbed into the cab. Normally, Emma would walk him to the lorry and kiss him goodbye. But today, she stayed behind—really upset this time. He settled in, slammed the door, and before starting the engine, dialed his wife’s number. He never called in front of Emma. The indifferent voice on the line informed him her phone was switched off… No missed calls either.
Thomas tucked his phone away and turned the key, listening to the engine’s deep, steady growl. The lorry shuddered, shaking off its slumber, and rolled forward, bumping along the uneven road. He gave a quick honk and pressed the accelerator.
Back on the porch, the woman shivered, listening to the fading roar of the engine, then turned and went inside.
On the radio, Ed Sheeran’s voice crooned softly. Thomas hummed along, thinking of the woman he’d left behind. But soon, his mind shifted home: *What’s going on there? Can’t reach her for two days. When I get back, we’ll have words…*
Meanwhile, his wife, Louise, was just waking from anaesthesia in a hospital bed—and it all came flooding back…
***
They’d been married over twenty years—twenty-four, to be exact. Thomas was a long-haul lorry driver, earned well, they had a solid home, two kids. Lucy was grown, about to get married, already working as a hairdresser. Toby, fourteen, dreamed of being a sailor.
And then—that call. At first, Louise thought it was a prank.
“Hello, Louise. Waiting for your husband? He’s running late…” The voice was syrupy, dripping with false sympathy.
“What’s happened? Is he hurt?” Louise cut in, already imagining the worst. Long drives, heavy cargo—anything could go wrong.
“Oh, something’s happened alright. He’s with his mistress,” the voice purred.
“Who *is* this?” Louise shouted into the phone.
“Just wait… wait…” A woman’s laugh echoed before the line went dead.
Louise pulled the phone away, stunned. The laughter still rang in her ears. Panic set in, thoughts jumbled—visions of crashes, of another woman in Thomas’s arms. Who else would know her number, know he was on a run? Only the mistress herself. How *dare* she call, mocking her!
She dialed Thomas’s number—then hung up. What if he was driving? And what would she even say? Better to wait till he got home. She tried to distract herself, but her hands shook, her mind wouldn’t settle.
Of course, neither Lucy nor Toby was home. Lucy was out with her boyfriend, Toby at a mate’s birthday party.
She needed air. Louise dressed, grabbed her bag, and stepped out. She’d just pop to the shop—grab mayo, onions, and beer for Thomas. He liked a pint or two on his days off. She wouldn’t have time tomorrow, with cooking. Thomas had promised to be back for supper. *And if he isn’t?* The thought nagged, but she shoved it down.
Walking would clear her head. But the supermarket was far, so she cut through an alley—walled on one side, a row of garages on the other. Empty, dimming. She quickened her pace.
Then—a sharp tug. Her bag was yanked from her hand. Louise lurched back, nearly falling. She spun and saw a man sprinting away. She wouldn’t catch him—but she ran anyway. Her *life* was in that bag: money, cards, keys, phone.
“Stop!” she yelled, but he disappeared around a corner. She kept running—until her heel caught a stone. Her ankle twisted, and she crashed onto the pavement. Pain shot through her hip, her elbow scraped raw. She tried to stand, but a searing bolt shot up her leg. Tears welled. She sat, staring at her ankle—already swelling, bruising.
Worst of all—no phone. No way to call for help. Panic rose, thick and suffocating. No one would hear her here. Maybe… crawl? The wall would end at houses—*someone* might see her. But the image of herself, scrabbling like a drunk, stopped her. No one would help.
She leaned against a rusty garage door, afraid to move. Tears streaked her cheeks.
*All because of that damned call.* Trouble never comes alone. She’d lost her mind, coming out here alone. No one knew where she was. For the first time in over twenty years, she wouldn’t be there when Thomas got home…
Headlights. A car stopped. A man got out, opening a garage. She screamed—*”Help!”*
He turned. She screamed again, coughing, but he walked over.
He studied her. “You okay?”
“Someone stole my bag—I fell—please, call an ambulance!”
He hesitated, then crouched. Even in the dark, her ankle was visibly swollen.
“Ambulance’ll take ages. Here—grab my neck.”
He lifted her, grunting, carried her to his car. Her leg throbbed, heavy with pain.
At the car, he handed her wet wipes. “What happened?”
“Went shopping, took a shortcut. Got mugged.”
He gave her his phone. “Call your husband, family.”
*Husband’s driving.* She called Lucy instead. Music blasted through.
“Who’s this?”
“Lucy, it’s Mum! I’ve hurt my leg—going to hospital!”
“What? Can’t hear—call you back!” The line died.
She tried Toby—no answer.
The man—*John*—drove her to hospital. She told him everything.
***
Louise woke in sunlight. Her head ached, her leg numb until she shifted—then pain flared.
“Awake?” A nurse smiled. “Your husband’s here.”
*Husband?*
John walked in. Saw her disappointment.
“Sorry, said I was your husband so they’d let me in. How are you?”
“Alright, I think.”
“I brought cherries.” He set a bag on the table. “Washed. Almost got strawberries, but didn’t know if you’re allergic.”
He left his old phone, his number saved.
Later, Thomas arrived.
“Lucy called, said you were here. Couldn’t reach you.”
“My phone was stolen.”
“Who was this *husband* visiting you?”
“The man who brought me in. They wouldn’t have let him in otherwise.”
Thomas frowned. “I’m heading out again tonight.”
“*Tonight?* You justLouise watched the door close behind him, the emptiness of the house pressing in like a weight, but then the phone rang—John’s name flashing on the screen, and for the first time in years, she felt something like hope.
