She dreamed of dancing.
The music stopped, and the hall fell silent. Elaine heard nothing but her own breath. Then, a lone clap shattered the stillness, and in an instant, a storm of applause deafened her. The audience rose to their feet, many with tears in their eyes.
Elaine glanced at Anthony. He bent down and kissed her, his lips tasting the salt of her tears. As the applause faded and the crowd began to leave, Anthony pushed her wheelchair toward the exit.
“Tired?”
“No. I’m happy. Thank you,” she laughed through her tears.
***
Elaine was preparing dinner, glancing at the clock. Daniel would be home soon. She put the kettle on the hob, hastily chopped vegetables for the salad, then checked the time again. “Late again. Should I call? No. He’ll just say I’m imagining things, that I’m paranoid. I want to believe him… but I can’t. Not anymore.” Her fingers itched to grab the phone. “Is it happening again?”
The knife handle bit into her palm, her knuckles whitening. Then she released her grip, and the blade clattered onto the table. She glared at the clock, its hands dragging as if testing her patience. Finally, she dialled his number. “Please answer. Just say you’re nearly home,” she begged the endless ringing. But it mocked her, hammering against her eardrums.
She flung the phone. It skidded across the counter and teetered at the edge. “Calm down. Don’t lose it. He’ll be back soon,” she told herself.
Daniel returned just past midnight. Exhausted from crying, Elaine had fallen asleep, but the scrape of his key in the lock jolted her awake. A sliver of light stretched under the door. She flung it open. Daniel was untying his shoes and flinched at the sudden noise.
“You scared me,” he said, feigning innocence. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
“I want to look you in the eye. You promised you wouldn’t see her again.”
“Not this again. I was just watching football with the lads, had a few pints—”
“I can’t do this anymore,” Elaine cut him off, her voice brittle. “I can’t keep waiting, listening for footsteps. I’m done.” She wrapped her arms around herself, bent as if carrying a weight, and turned toward the bedroom.
Curled on the bed, she wept.
“Elaine, I’m sick of your jealousy,” Daniel said, looming over her but making no move to comfort her. “I told you, we just lost track of time.”
“And you couldn’t call? Your phone died again, did it? I’m tired of your lies,” she spat, sitting up sharply. “You don’t even smell of beer.”
When she lunged for his coat in the hallway, he moved too late. Elaine pulled out his phone, and the screen lit up.
“Give that back!” He snatched at it, but she twisted away.
*”Darling, are you home yet? Has your wife started the interrogation, or is it saved for morning?”* she read aloud, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Which of your *mates* calls you *darling*?”
Daniel grabbed for it again, but this time she let him take it. Shoving past him, she stormed to the bedroom and began dressing.
“Tell your *darling* you’re free. I’m going to Mum’s. And by morning, I want you and your things gone.”
“Stop it, Elaine. It’s the middle of the night. Fine, alright, I wasn’t with the lads—” He broke off.
Her face twisted in disgust.
“What else do you want?” she whispered, bending again as if in pain. “I can’t live like this. Not one more second.”
She grabbed her handbag and walked out. Daniel didn’t stop her. Outside, she called a cab, then rang her mother.
“You’ve argued again? I warned you not to trust his promises. You should have left the first time,” her mother scolded.
“Not now, Mum,” Elaine said, hanging up.
But she never made it to her mother’s house. The cab raced through the sleeping city when a drunk driver in an SUV ploughed into them from the side. The impact struck Elaine’s side.
Daniel visited the hospital every day after she was moved from intensive care. Guilt gnawed at him. If he hadn’t stayed with Jessica, there wouldn’t have been a fight. Elaine wouldn’t have taken that cab.
The doctors assured him she would walk again in a few months. But after half a year, then a year, hope vanished. She would spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair.
Daniel stayed—at first. Elaine’s mother helped with the household, but how long could a young man care for a disabled wife? Some might endure it. He wanted to believe he could. But accustomed to comfort, with a mistress who was young and healthy, Daniel soon realised the burden was too great. How long could he live with guilt, watching his wife’s despair turn to hatred? He left her with her mother and walked away.
Despair and depression followed. Elaine considered ending it—pills or the balcony. But the balcony door was narrow. Even if she dragged herself out, could she heave her lifeless body over the rail? Pills would be easier. But her mother never left her alone, hiding the medicine out of reach.
One day, they walked in the park. Her mother pushed the wheelchair over uneven paths when a pothole caught the wheel. A sharp jolt sent the chair lurching toward the kerb. A man rushed forward, steadying it before it toppled.
“Thank you,” Elaine’s mother gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “God sent you to us.”
“Let me take you home,” he offered, guiding the chair with surprising ease.
“You’ve done this before,” her mother remarked.
“After my injury, I pushed lads in hospital who couldn’t walk,” he said simply.
“You were in the army?”
“Afghanistan. Discharged after I was wounded. They told my mother I’d died. A mistake, but her heart gave out. My wife remarried. One night, I stood on a rooftop—”
Elaine’s mother gasped.
“I don’t believe in miracles, but… it was like someone shoved me back. I sat down, shaking. Maybe I just chickened out. Got a job, a temporary place from the council.”
Elaine listened silently. Her life was hard, but his was worse—no mother, no wife, no home. No self.
“Elaine was in an accident,” her mother said. “The driver walked away. My daughter didn’t.”
Anthony—the man’s name—helped them home. The ramp to the lift was steep.
“How do you manage?” he asked, straining.
“We manage,” her mother puffed. “Neighbours help, though they grumble about the ramp.”
She insisted he stay for dinner. He ate ravenously, and she piled his plate again.
“What time do you usually go out?” he asked. “I could help.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask—”
“Don’t. After everything I lost, I felt like a ghost. Helping makes me feel alive. Please.”
He visited often, taking Elaine on walks. Once, she confessed, “I always dreamed of dancing. Kept putting it off for *someday*. Now it’ll never happen.” She sighed. “Never wait. I learned too late.”
Anthony said nothing. But two weeks later, he took her to a ballroom dance competition. The organisers lifted her onto the stage, and a dancer spun her wheelchair in time with the music.
The music faded, the hall hushed, then erupted in applause. The audience stood, many in tears.
We all think tragedy happens to others—never us. We believe we have endless time to mend mistakes, to chase dreams. We postpone life, assuming *later* will come. But fate intervenes, changing everything in an instant. And sometimes, that same fate brings someone who helps make the impossible possible.
