“Come When You Can”
The familiar voice sent her heart racing, pounding so loudly she feared it might wake her husband. Only the droning television muffled the sound.
“Emily? Are you there?” the voice murmured through the receiver, warm and insistent.
She slipped out of the bedroom, pressing herself against the hallway wall. Her legs felt weak, unsteady.
“I missed you. I couldn’t wait any longer. I’ve thought of nothing but you. Let’s meet,” he said, the words tugging at something buried deep.
She shouldn’t have answered—shouldn’t have even glanced at the screen. For months, she’d tried to forget that reckless night, convincing herself that her marriage was steady, her husband devoted, their life together secure. She needed no one else.
Edward had been her classmate—quiet, bookish, with round spectacles perched perpetually on his nose. The other girls paid him no mind, except to borrow his notes before exams. Emily preferred the bold, charming lads, the ones who made her laugh with their careless confidence.
Years later, they’d bumped into each other by chance. Edward wore contact lenses now, his smile softer. “He’s rather sweet,” she’d thought absently.
He’d finished his degree at Cambridge, while she was still studying medicine. They exchanged numbers—just in case, he said—though she’d no intention of attending the reunion.
But then he rang, inviting her to the cinema. She went, more out of obligation than interest. Her mother’s warnings echoed in her mind: “Go, or you’ll end up a spinster.”
Edward was steady, reliable. When he proposed, she accepted. His career at a prestigious firm promised stability, and her mother approved: “Don’t overthink it—mold him as you like.”
Their days passed smoothly, save for the rare quarrel—always her doing. When their daughter was born, the grandparents doted endlessly. Another child never came—Emily couldn’t bring herself to endure the monotony of their marriage bed again. Even so, she took comfort in his loyalty. Friends whispered of wayward husbands, messy divorces. At least Edward was faithful.
Years slipped by. Their daughter, spirited and free, studied design in London, funded generously by competing grandmothers. “They’ll spoil her rotten,” Emily often sighed.
Then, six months ago, she was promoted to head physician at the clinic, replacing the retiring senior. The role demanded long hours, conferences, meetings—and that was where she’d met Jonathan.
Tall, striking, effortlessly charming—he’d drawn every woman’s attention. When the conference ended with a gala, she nearly left. But her roommate persuaded her: “Stay. You never know who might be useful.”
The evening unspooled in wine and laughter. Jonathan found her retreating from the dance floor.
“Bored?” He grinned. “Let’s escape.”
She followed without protest. His hotel room was identical to hers, save for the bottle of French wine on the table.
When he kissed her, she didn’t pull away.
She’d never known passion like that—never imagined it could exist. By dawn, she was dressing in silence, heart leaden.
“You could stay,” he whispered.
“I’m married,” she said weakly.
“You’re unhappy.”
She left without another word.
At home, Edward asked about the conference. She barely listened. That night, when he reached for her, she turned away.
Months passed. The memory of Jonathan dimmed—until the call came.
“I can’t live without you,” he said. “I’m at the Berg House, near your home. Come when you can.”
Her hands trembled as she folded laundry. She wouldn’t go.
But Edward’s questions grew persistent. “Who phoned earlier?”
“No one,” she lied, avoiding his gaze.
Later, she stood outside the hotel, warring with herself. She’d only say goodbye—only end it properly.
Then Jonathan saw her. His touch sent fire through her veins.
“Come with me,” he pleaded.
At home, Edward waited. “Do you love him?” he asked quietly.
She said nothing.
Morning came. She turned off her phone. Edward watched her, helpless.
But as the clock neared five, she fled—racing to the station, searching the train windows.
Then—there he was.
The train shuddered to a halt. Jonathan leapt onto the platform, ignoring the shouts behind him.
“I knew you’d come,” he whispered, holding her tight.
“What now?” she breathed.
He kissed her tear-streaked face. “We’ll be all right. I love you.”
The train rumbled away, leaving them entwined, the future uncertain but alive with possibility.
