The car sped through the empty streets of London at night. Inside sat a man and a woman—to any passerby, they might’ve looked like a married couple rushing home to their waiting children.
“Can you drive any faster?” the woman asked, her voice tense.
“It’s risky. The city only *looks* empty. When are you going to tell him about us? How much longer will we keep sneaking around? Just say it. It’ll be easier for everyone,” the man replied, gripping the wheel.
“Easier? For who? For you and me, maybe. But what about Emily? She adores her dad. And he loves her too. What happens to them when they find out? It’s cruel.”
“And lying all this time *isn’t* cruel? You think he doesn’t suspect? I’m done sharing you. Do you want *me* to tell him? Man to man?”
“Don’t. Please. Let me do it. Just give me time.” She reached over, squeezing his hand on the gearshift. “I love you. But don’t rush me. I promise I’ll talk to my husband soon.”
He turned, catching her gaze, and leaned in for a kiss.
Around the bend, a black SUV roared into their path. Her scream drowned in the deafening crunch of metal.
***
The shrill ringtone clawed James out of sleep. For a moment, he hovered between dreams and wakefulness before forcing his eyes open.
Sophie had called at eight the evening before, saying she’d be late—something about a friend in crisis. She’d promised to explain later. He hadn’t asked *which* friend or *what* crisis. He *could’ve* called around, checked the numbers in his phone, but the thought made him cringe.
His suspicions had started two months ago. Too many late nights. Too many sudden outings. Too many “emergencies” only Sophie could handle.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand. An unknown number. His chest tightened.
“Hello?” His voice was rough with sleep.
“Detective Harris. Are you the husband of Sophie Elizabeth Carter?”
“Yes.”
“Your wife was in a car accident. She’s been taken to St. Mary’s in critical condition—”
“Is she alive?” His voice cracked.
“Yes, but—”
“Dad, is that Mum?” Ten-year-old Emily stood in the doorway, eyes wide with fear.
James swallowed hard.
“No. It’s—she’s in hospital. There was an accident.”
“Is she dead?”
“No, love. She’s alive.” He forced a smile.
“But you *asked*— Dad!” She flung herself at him, arms locking around his neck so tight he couldn’t breathe. “Let’s go see her. I’m scared.”
Gently, he peeled her off and sat her down beside him.
“Not tonight, sweetheart. Hospitals have rules. We’ll go first thing. Now, back to bed. We don’t want Mum seeing us all tired, do we?”
Emily nodded and shuffled off. He lay back down. Dawn already peeked through the curtains. He’d seen the time when he answered—half past two.
His pulse hammered under his palm.
***
The next morning, they drove to the hospital. James left Emily in the hallway and stepped into the doctor’s office.
“You’re the husband?” The doctor, a man about his age, looked up.
“Yes. How is she?”
“We’ve operated. Severe head trauma, multiple fractures… She’s in a coma.”
“But she doesn’t drive. How did it happen?”
The doctor shrugged. “All I know is an SUV hit her car. Both drivers died on impact. Your wife was lucky. I won’t sugarcoat it—she’s in bad shape. But she’s young. There’s a chance.”
“Can I see her? My daughter’s outside.”
“Your call. She… doesn’t look great. But family helps. Come on.”
“Who was in the car with her?” James asked as they walked.
“Ask the police. And don’t stay long—she’s under.” The doctor pushed open the door.
James barely recognised Sophie. Bandages, bruises, a stranger’s stillness. Her wedding ring glinted on a limp hand.
“Mum!” Emily darted forward, clutching her fingers. “Is she sleeping?”
“Yes, love. They fixed her up. We can’t stay.”
***
The drive home was silent. James called Sophie’s mother, Margaret, and asked her to stay with Emily. He needed to go to work.
Margaret arrived clutching a damp handkerchief.
“Maybe I’ll take Emily for a bit? You’ve got enough on your plate.”
Emily nodded.
“I *told* her this would end badly,” Margaret muttered, then froze under James’s sharp look.
“Told her *what*?”
She sniffed. “She kept saying she loved him, couldn’t live without him… Like she’d lost her mind. Oh, James, I’m sorry—”
His chest ached. He’d *known*, hadn’t he? Noticed the changes but looked away.
“Who is he?”
“Edward Graves. Had a crush on her in school. Went abroad, then came back last year and—well.”
*Graves.* James had seen him once. He sometimes picked Sophie up from work, waiting in the car park. She’d run to him like he was a prize.
Two months ago, he’d stopped by unannounced. Saw them standing too close, eyes locked. Sophie had faltered, then forced a smile. Introduced them—just an old classmate, she’d said. They’d sized each other up, silently agreeing: *enemies.*
“Let’s go, love. We’ve got Emily’s birthday presents to pick!” She’d dragged James away, babbling the whole drive home.
He exhaled sharply. *All those “girls’ nights.” All those lies.*
Margaret’s voice snapped him back. “Can we visit tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Doctor said talking might help.”
*Should I tell her I know?* he wondered. *What if she dies hearing it? No. Just wake up. For Emily. For me.*
***
The next day, he found Emily and Margaret already at Sophie’s bedside when he arrived. Once they left, he studied her battered face.
“I’m trying to forgive you,” he whispered. “Just come home.”
He wanted to say *I love you*. The words stuck.
***
A call came the next morning: Sophie had woken. He raced to the hospital, then hesitated outside her room. *What if she hates me? What if she’s grieving him?*
The doctor warned him: *Stay calm. She’s fragile.*
James stepped in. “Sophie?”
Her eyes fluttered open, filled with pain—and something else he couldn’t name.
“I was so scared,” he said. “Emily and your mum will be here soon.”
She stared, unblinking.
“Don’t torture yourself. I know. But you’ll get through this.” He looked away. “We need you. *I* need you.”
“Mum!” Emily burst in.
James slipped out, collapsing onto a chair in the hall. *She’s alive. Why does it still hurt so much?*
***
Days later, Sophie could speak. The bandages came off.
“I have to tell you—” she began weakly.
James took her hand. “Don’t. I don’t want his ghost between us. He’s gone. It’s just us now. If you still want that.”
“Forgive me.”
“I already have.”
***
Two months on, Sophie came home on crutches, relearning their flat like a stranger. James cooked, cleaned, shopped. Margaret helped.
The air between them strained. Words went unsaid. *If only we could erase the past*, he thought.
One morning, he broke the silence. “I’ve taken leave. Going to visit my parents. When I’m back… it’s your choice.”
Sophie reached for him. “You *will* come back?”
“Course. Where else would I go?” He forced a smile. “Why not come? It’s only five hundred miles. We’ll take breaks.”
*Say you love me. End this.*
She wiped her eyes. “Yes. Let’s go together.”
***
They left at dawn, the city still asleep. Emily dozed in the back.
“Scared?” James asked, noticing Sophie’s tight grip on the seat.
She placed a hand on his knee. “Not with you.”
The motorway hummed with lorries and fellow travellers. He kept his eyes forward. Their lives—their future—were in his hands.
“It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay,” he said.
Sophie squeezed his leg. “We will.”
