**Waiting to Meet Again**
That September was warm, dry, and golden. The low autumn sun glared, especially in the evening. Roman lowered the sun visor—it shielded his tall frame well, but for Daisy, it was no remedy.
How many times had he asked her to leave the car at home? He’d drive her himself, fetch her in the evenings. But their work hours never aligned.
*”It’s sweet how you fuss over me,”* she’d say, pressing close. *”But I drive carefully—you’ve seen me. I can’t do without the car.”*
*”Fine. But promise you’ll at least wear sunglasses. The rains will start soon, and it’ll turn cold. Though wet roads and puddles are no better than blinding sun—both are dangerous.”*
*”You’re such a worrier. I’ll be fine. Promise,”* Daisy would vow solemnly.
Roman parked outside their building and glanced up at their third-floor flat. The sun glared off the windows, hiding whether the blinds were drawn. If not, the flat would be stifling by now.
Daisy’s car wasn’t there. Odd—she usually beat him home by an hour, dinner waiting. No calls, no texts. He checked his phone again—nothing. With a sigh, he locked the car and headed inside.
***
They’d met a year and a half ago. Roman, driving home, spotted a car pulled over, door open, and a slight, flustered woman beside it. A flat tyre. He stopped to help. They started seeing each other soon after.
Daisy rented a small place then—petite, proud, fiercely independent. With her, Roman felt strong, protective. She chafed at that, insisting she needed no coddling. Eventually, he asked her to move in. Why waste money on rent when she never slept there?
His bachelor’s den transformed under her touch. Throw blankets, cushions, warm lamps appeared. The flat smelled of baked pies and vanilla. It became a home.
Then she brought home a mud-streaked puppy, shivering under a bedraggled bush by the entrance.
*”Daisy, why? He’s filthy, smelly, probably riddled with fleas!”* Roman hated pets—dogs especially.
*”Look at him! He’d have died out there. I’ll wash him, take him to the vet. I’ll clean up after him, I swear.”* She cradled the trembling pup to her chest.
*”Leave him at the clinic tomorrow. I won’t have him here.”*
The look she gave him said it all: defy her, and she’d leave with the dog. And he couldn’t bear that. He’d never loved anyone as he loved this tiny, stubborn woman. He relented.
She named the scrawny thing Rex—a bold name for a pup who barely lifted his ears at it.
*”See? He likes it!”* Daisy beamed.
*”Rex!”* Roman called. The pup ignored him.
Well-fed, Rex grew into a respectable medium-sized dog, his russet fur silky. Some retriever in him, perhaps. Though Roman played with him, Rex adored Daisy, trailing her like a shadow, ignoring Roman’s commands. He even felt a twinge of jealousy.
Life settled. Roman grew content—even with Rex, whom he walked each morning. Children could wait. For now, the three of them were happy.
***
From the stairwell, Roman heard Rex’s howls. The moment the door opened, the dog bolted past him downstairs.
*”Slow down, mate,”* Roman grumbled, locking up. Rex usually waited for the lead, but tonight, he scratched at the door, frantic. Outside, he sprinted ahead, glancing back as if urging Roman to follow.
*”Where’re you off to, then?”*
Rex paused, ears twitching, then tore down the street.
*”Stop! Blast it—where are you going?”*
Roman understood—Rex only ran like this for Daisy. Dread coiled in his gut as he chased the dog through their usual park, then winding side streets. His lungs burned. Ahead, Rex’s barking grew urgent.
Rounding a corner into a lane flanked by old cottages—rare in this busy part of town—Roman saw Rex whining by the roadside, sniffing shattered glass littering the tarmac. The dog’s ragged bark tore at the air.
Roman knew. Why had she taken this route?
A boy, about ten, tinkered behind a fence.
*”Hey, lad—what happened here?”* Roman shouted over passing traffic. Rex’s barks subsided as the boy approached.
*”Crash. Saw the ambulance leave, then a tow truck took the wreck.”*
*”What colour was the car?”*
*”Red, I think.”*
Roman dialled the hospital.
*”Was there a call recently? Which one? Thank you.”*
He regretted not leashing Rex, who refused to leave the spot. No time to argue—Roman sprinted back to his car.
By the time he reached the hospital, night had fallen. The doctor’s weary glance said everything.
*”You are?”*
*”Her husband.”*
*”She didn’t make it.”*
Roman’s heart stalled. *No. Not Daisy. She never drives this way. Call her—*
*”Can I see her?”*
*”You don’t want to.”*
*”What if it’s not her?”*
*”Her ID was found.”*
The morgue’s cold walls closed in. Daisy’s small, broken body lay under a sheet. The world dimmed. A howl tore from his throat—his own.
Outside, he crumpled against the wall, sobbing.
*”Why her?”*
*”No chance,”* the doctor murmured. *”Sun blinded the other driver. She came round the bend…”*
Roman hardly recalled the drive home. Only then did he remember Rex. He returned to the crash site. The dog lay where he’d left him, lifting his head weakly.
*”Rex. Home.”*
No movement.
*”Daisy’s waiting.”* The lie tasted bitter.
Something—her name, his tone—made Rex follow, though he lagged, glancing back.
*”Get in. She’s waiting.”*
At home, Rex sniffed every corner, whimpering. At night, his howls pierced the silence.
*”Quiet. You’ll wake the block.”*
A neighbour banged on the door. *”Keep that dog quiet!”*
*”I’ll try,”* Roman called back.
*”See? Grieve quietly, like me.”*
Rex nosed his knee.
*”You understand, don’t you? Want to leave? Go on, then. Traitor.”* He flung the door open, then followed to unlock the building’s entrance.
Days blurred. Paperwork, funeral plans. Roman drank himself to sleep. One night, Rex’s barking startled him—but the flat was silent. A dream.
After the funeral, Rex reappeared, gaunt and mud-caked. Roman fed him. The dog ate little, curled up by Daisy’s slippers. By morning, he scratched to go out.
*”Abandoning me again? Go on, then. Run.”*
The flat haunted him. Her things everywhere, her absence crushing. He hurled cushions, books—nothing helped. He hadn’t realised how much he loved her.
*Why didn’t I stop her driving? Why didn’t I propose? A child—she’d have stayed home—*
Nights were worse. Paw taps on laminate, the ghost of her shifting in bed. Once, he wandered to the crash site. Rustling—Rex, emaciated, wagged his tail weakly. His ribs barely moved. By dawn, he was still.
*”Lucky you,”* Roman whispered.
He fetched a spade, buried Rex under damp leaves. Dawn broke. Filthy, tear-streaked, shovel in hand, he looked mad. Passers-by skirted him.
Home again, vodka burned his throat. The mirror showed a stranger—red-eyed, dirt-smeared. A knock went unanswered. He was a shell.
Days later, under drizzling rain, he wandered aimlessly to a near-empty pet market. A shivering pup, just like the one Daisy brought home, caught his eye.
*”Buy ‘im, mister. Cheap,”* a boy pleaded. *”Dad’ll drown ‘im otherwise.”*
*”How much?”*
The boy hesitated. *”Not you. You don’t want ‘im.”*
*”I do. More than you know.”*
*”He’s called Rex!”* the boy shouted as Roman walked away.
The pup puddled the floor at home. Roman smirked.
*”No shame? Your predecessor never did that.”*
He cleaned up, fed the dog, remembering how Daisy did it. They slept curled on the sofa.
The old Rex’s barks never haunted him again. But Daisy visited his dreams, smiling. He clung to them, counting hoursAnd so, in the quiet of each dawn, Roman found a flicker of peace—not in forgetting, but in the warm weight of a new Rex curled against his side, as if Daisy had whispered to them both, *”You’ll be alright.”*.
