**The Call of the Heart**
“Next!” called the nurse as another patient stepped out of Dr. Diana Whitmore’s office.
“Good afternoon,” said Oliver, offering a polite smile as he walked to the desk and took a seat.
“Hello,” Diana replied. She was young, and it still felt odd being addressed so formally—only the nurse insisted on it.
When she looked up, her breath caught. Those familiar grey eyes met hers, stirring something deep. She steadied herself.
“Oliver?” It was him—her old schoolmate, the boy she’d once spent every day with.
After school, Diana had left for London to study medicine while Oliver stayed behind in their small market town. His father had been ill, and without the means for university, he’d taken work where he could, eventually training as a lorry driver. His mother had passed six years earlier, leaving just him and his father.
Now here he sat—taller, broader, even more handsome. She doubted it was his health that brought him in, but she asked anyway, “What seems to be the trouble?”
“My heart races—especially when I see you,” he said with a grin.
“Oh, I’ll just be off then,” the nurse muttered, shooting Oliver a knowing look before slipping out. She had no more patients that day.
“Diana, I came because you’ve been avoiding me,” Oliver said, leaning forward. “I leave for a haul in two days. We need to talk. I know what you’ll say—married, kids…”
They’d been inseparable in school—walking together, evenings at the cinema. Everyone assumed they’d marry. But life had other plans. Back then, a girl named Lottie from another class had pursued Oliver relentlessly. He’d ignored her, his eyes only on Diana.
But when Diana left for university, Oliver stayed. He’d served his time in the army, and though they rarely saw each other, he’d held onto hope she might return. Then Lottie sank her claws in deeper.
She worked at the fruit stall—quick-tongued, fond of a drink. One night, Oliver’s mate, Jack, had a birthday at the pub. Lottie sat beside him, and when he stepped out for a smoke, she spiked his pint with vodka. Jack had to call him a cab.
“I’ll take him,” Lottie insisted, waving her phone. She took Oliver to her flat instead.
He woke the next morning beside her, disoriented. Lottie laughed as her mother walked in.
“Look at this! Didn’t expect to find a guest, Lottie,” she’d said before shutting the door.
Oliver, hungover and trapped by his own decency, couldn’t shake her off. When Lottie claimed she was pregnant, he married her.
When Diana heard, she accepted a proposal from her persistent classmate, Edward. She didn’t love him—their marriage was hollow, just two doctors too busy for each other. He refused children, always deferring to some future stability.
Then one evening, a pregnant girl knocked on Diana’s door.
“Evening,” the girl said sweetly. “I’m carrying Edward’s baby. He’s promised to leave you.”
Diana shut the door, let the tears fall, then filed for divorce and moved back home.
Now, Oliver sat across from her, his life in shambles. Lottie drank, neglected their boys—six and two—while her mother covered for her.
“Diana, when I get back, I’m ending this,” he said. “But I need you to stay away from Councillor Hayes. He’s bad news.”
She scoffed. “You’re married with children. Don’t tell me who to see.”
“Just wait for me,” he pleaded.
Three days later, social services arrived at Diana’s clinic. A neighbour had reported children crying alone.
To her horror, the address was Oliver’s.
Lottie was gone. The flat reeked of neglect. The boys—filthy, hungry—huddled together.
“I’ll take them,” Diana said before anyone could argue.
Her parents stared but said nothing as she bathed and fed Oliver’s sons.
“They’ll stay here until he returns,” she declared.
Her mother smiled. She knew.
Now, Oliver and Diana live in a cottage with three children—his boys and their little girl. Finally, her heart is home.
