“Come When You Can”
“Hello, Emily?” The familiar voice sent a jolt through her. A sudden rush of emotion caught in her throat, her heart pounding so loudly she feared her husband would wake. If not for the hum of the TV, the sound might have betrayed her.
“I’ve missed you. I couldn’t wait any longer. I can’t stop thinking about you. Let’s meet,” the warm voice on the phone pleaded.
Emily stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the wall, her legs suddenly weak and unsteady.
“Emily, are you there?” His voice—tempting, frighteningly real—called to her.
She shouldn’t have answered. Shouldn’t have picked up without checking the caller. She’d tried so hard to forget him, that reckless night. She had a stable marriage, a good man, years of shared life. She didn’t need anything—or anyone—else.
She and Victor had been classmates. He’d been the quiet, clever one, excelling in maths and physics. By sixth form, his glasses earned him the nickname “Brainbox”—and not unfairly. With his round cheeks and steady demeanour, he was more bookish than dashing.
Like the other girls, Emily had never seen him as more than a study partner. If she needed help with an equation or a nudge during an exam, he was dependable. But she’d always been drawn to the confident, athletic types—boys with charm and a touch of swagger.
They’d bumped into each other years later, catching up over old school memories. Victor had swapped his glasses for contacts. “He’s actually quite sweet,” Emily had thought.
He’d graduated from Cambridge; she was finishing med school. They exchanged numbers—just in case. A reunion was coming up. Victor promised to call with details. Emily gave him her number but had no intention of going. She forgot about him the moment they parted.
Then he rang, asking her to the cinema. She’d had flings before—nothing serious. The men she liked never returned her interest, and those who pursued her left her cold.
“Go, or you’ll end up alone,” her mother warned.
So she went. That’s how it started. Victor confessed his love soon after and proposed. He was steady, climbing the ranks at a prestigious firm.
“Don’t overthink it. You could do worse,” her mother advised.
Emily agreed.
Their marriage was comfortable. If they argued, it was always her doing.
Then their daughter arrived. Her mother-in-law never interfered but doted on the baby. Her parents were always willing to help.
A second child never happened. The passion between them had long faded—if it was ever there. Victor was reserved even in bed. Their intimacy was sparse, routine. But at least she could trust him. Many of her colleagues wept over cheating husbands, messy divorces, single motherhood.
Their daughter grew up, went to university in London—studying design, living a life far removed from theirs. When Emily asked if she needed money, she’d laugh. “Gran and Nan spoil me rotten. They compete over who loves me more.”
The grandmas adored their only granddaughter. Once, her mother-in-law had urged her to have another—so each could have a grandchild to spoil. Emily never regretted her choice. She often wondered how her vibrant daughter had come from such a passionless union.
Life went on. Six months ago, Emily was promoted to head of the clinic. The new role was demanding—meetings, conferences, endless responsibilities.
At one such conference, she met Daniel. Men were outnumbered, and he stood out—tall, polished, effortlessly charming. The older women cooed maternally; the younger ones flirted shamelessly.
The closing gala was boozy. Emily planned to slip away—she hated these affairs. But her roommate persuaded her.
“The real networking happens here. You never know who might be useful.”
So she stayed.
The keynote speaker droned on. By the time he finished, the room was tipsy. Soon, dignified professionals were swapping raucous medical anecdotes. Emily sipped her wine, laughing politely.
When the dancing started, she retreated, wishing she’d left.
“Bored?” Daniel appeared beside her. “Let’s escape.”
Grateful, she followed.
In the lift, he talked about his work. The muffled music faded as they walked the carpeted halls.
“Come to my room. I’ve got a bottle of Bordeaux—no one to share it with. There’s more to tell.”
She went. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe loneliness. Maybe attraction.
The kiss surprised her—but she didn’t pull away. Later, tangled in his sheets, she thought: *I’ve never felt this alive.*
But dawn came. The gala was over; checkout loomed.
“Stay another day,” Daniel begged. “Forget the train. I can’t lose you.”
Every woman loves to hear those words.
But Emily knew—this had no future.
“I’m married,” she murmured.
“You’re unhappy. I can tell.”
“No.” She dressed quickly. “Your train leaves soon.”
She didn’t ask if *he* was married. What did it matter?
Back in her room, she packed. Her roommate gave her a look but said nothing.
On the train, she steeled herself: *Forget last night.* But her skin still burned with the memory.
Victor met her at the station. He chatted about work; she barely listened. That night, when he reached for her, she turned away.
“Not tonight. I’m exhausted.”
Life resumed. Work piled up. Daniel’s face blurred in her mind—until *that call*.
“I’m at the Rosewood, near your house. Come when you can.”
She hung up, steadying her breath. *I won’t go.*
Victor stirred. “Who called?”
“No one. Just the telly.”
But later, she lied—said her sister needed help with a sick child—and fled.
Victor stopped her at the door. “You said no one called.”
She couldn’t hide it anymore.
*What am I doing? This isn’t fair.* But some force pulled her out. *One last time. To end it properly.*
Outside the hotel, she hesitated. Daniel saw her through the glass.
“Come with me,” he whispered, pulling her close.
Her body betrayed her.
“Leave. Forget me,” she said, but her hands clung to him.
By dawn, she returned. Victor was waiting.
“You love him?” he asked quietly.
She said nothing. No shame in love—only regret it had come too late.
*What if it doesn’t work?* But how could she stay, feeling nothing?
“Don’t leave me,” Victor whispered.
She knew he meant it.
“Let’s sleep.”
The next day, she ignored Daniel’s calls. Victor hovered, clumsy with worry.
“Stop! I’m not leaving,” she snapped.
But as the hours slipped by, she couldn’t resist. She ran—just as the train pulled out.
Daniel saw her. The train screeched to a halt. He jumped down, ignoring the shouts.
“I knew you’d come,” he murmured, kissing her tears.
“What now?”
“Everything will be fine.”
The train vanished into the distance. They stood entwined, unable—and unwilling—to let go.
*Love isn’t always fair. But it demands to be felt.*
