**Diary Entry – A Lesson in Waiting**
The dew hadn’t yet lifted from the grass, and the mist clung lazily to the far bank of the river as the sun edged above the jagged treeline.
Edward stood on the porch, breathing in the crisp morning air, savoring the quiet beauty of dawn. Behind him came the soft slap of bare feet. A woman in a nightdress and a shawl draped over her shoulders stepped beside him.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Edward exhaled deeply. “You’ll catch cold out here,” he murmured, adjusting her shawl where it had slipped from her pale shoulder.
She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his.
“Don’t want to leave you,” Edward said, his voice thick with tenderness.
“Then don’t.” Her tone was honeyed, seductive, like a siren’s call. *Stay. But then what?* The thought sobered him.
If it were that simple, he’d have stayed long ago. But twenty-three years with Margaret—they couldn’t just be erased. And the kids… Lucy was practically grown, spending more nights at her fiancé’s than at home. And Toby, only fourteen, just hitting those difficult teenage years.
A trucker could find work anywhere, but not for the money he made now. Right now, he could splurge—buy Emily expensive gifts. But if his pay halved, would she still look at him the same way?
“Don’t start, Em,” Edward brushed her off.
“Why not? The kids are grown. Time to think of yourself. You’ve said it—staying with her’s just habit.” Emily pulled away, offended.
“If only I’d met you sooner…” Edward sighed. “Don’t be cross. I’ve overstayed—got to get back. Got a load to deliver.” He tried to kiss her, but she turned her face away.
“Always promises. You come, stir everything up, then rush back to her. I’m tired of waiting. Michael’s been asking me to marry him.”
“Then go.” Edward shrugged.
He hesitated but didn’t say more. Slowly, he stepped off the porch, skirted the side of the house, and trudged down the dirt path toward the A-road where his lorry waited. He always parked there—didn’t want to wake the village at dawn.
He hauled himself into the cab. Usually, Emily walked him to the truck, kissed him goodbye. Not today. She must really be angry. Edward settled in, slammed the door, and, before firing up the engine, dialed Margaret. He’d never call her in front of Emily. A toneless voice informed him the phone was switched off. No missed calls either.
He pocketed the phone, started the engine, listening to its deep, steady growl. The lorry jerked awake, rolling forward with a shudder. Edward honked once, briefly, then pressed the accelerator.
On the porch, Emily hugged herself, listening until the engine faded. Then she went inside.
The radio played Elton John—*Your Song*—and Edward hummed along, thinking of the woman he’d left behind. But soon his thoughts turned home. *Why hasn’t she answered for two days? When I get back, we’ll have words…*
Meanwhile, Margaret stirred from anesthesia in a hospital bed—and everything came rushing back.
***
They’d been married twenty-four years. Edward was a long-haul trucker, good money, solid family—big house, two kids. Lucy was grown, engaged, working as a hairdresser. Toby, fourteen, dreamed of joining the navy.
Then *that* call. At first, Margaret thought it was a prank.
“Hello, Margaret. Waiting for your husband? He’s… delayed.” The voice oozed like syrup.
“What’s happened?” Margaret snapped, thinking accident, imagining wreckage.
“Oh, nothing like that. He’s with his mistress.”
“Who *is* this?”
“Just wait… *wait*…” The line filled with laughter.
Margaret hung up, but the mocking echo clung. Panic seized her. Was it true? Who else would know Edward was on the road? Only *her*.
She tried calling Edward, then canceled. What if he was driving? She’d talk when he got back.
Distraction. She grabbed her bag, headed to the shops—beer for Edward, mayo, onions. He liked a pint on his days off.
She took the shortcut—narrow alley, garages on one side, high wall on the other. Empty. Nearly dark.
A hand wrenched her bag away. She stumbled, twisted—saw a man sprinting. *No chance.* Still, she chased. Her *life* was in that bag: phone, keys, cards.
“Stop!” He vanished around the corner. Then—*pain*. Her ankle gave. She fell hard, elbow scraped raw. Tried to stand. Fire shot up her leg. The swelling rose purple before her eyes.
No phone. No help.
A car. Headlights. A man stepping out.
“*Help!*”
He turned. Came closer.
“Please—I’ve been robbed. My ankle—”
He hesitated. Then lifted her. Carried her to his car.
“Call someone,” he said, handing her his phone.
Lucy didn’t hear over music. Toby didn’t answer.
“Bloody hell,” she choked.
“John,” he said. “You?”
“Margaret.” And suddenly, she told him everything.
***
She woke to sunlight. Head throbbing. Foot numb until she moved—then *pain*.
“Awake?” A nurse smiled. “Your husband’s here.”
“Edward?”
John stepped in. “Sorry. Said I was him—they wouldn’t let me in otherwise.”
He’d brought cherries. “Thought you might like them.”
When he left, she dozed. Woke to Edward.
“Lucy said you were in hospital. Couldn’t reach you.”
“My phone was stolen. Who was this ‘husband’ visiting you?”
“John. The man who brought me here.”
“He brought *cherries*?” Edward scoffed.
*He brought kindness. You brought nothing.*
“I’ve another haul tonight.”
“*Tonight?*”
“Late shift.” His eyes skated past her. *Liar.*
“Where’s Lucy?”
“With her bloke, probably.”
“Toby?”
“Asleep. Right, I’m off.”
“Edward—buy me a phone. The cheapest one.”
“Fine.”
He left. She cried.
Lucy visited that evening. “Dad got you a phone. I took it. Brought you mine instead.”
She ate the cherries without asking.
Three days later, Margaret convinced them to discharge her. John drove her home. Peered into the empty fridge. “Need shopping?”
“No.”
Edward returned a week later. Rested. Well-fed.
“Anything to eat?”
“You weren’t working. You were with *her*.”
His face flickered. “Who, *Emily*?”
*So it’s Emily.*
“Right. Then I’ll go. Won’t drag it out.”
As he packed, Margaret thought, *This is it. Love vanishes like smoke, but troubles multiply. What now? Who for?*
“Taking Toby fishing. He’s been asking.”
She waited until the door shut. Then wept.
The knock came later.
John stood there. “Thought you might need help.”
—
**Lesson:** Sometimes the kindness of strangers outlasts the love of those who were meant to stay.
