Everything Will Be Alright…

**Everything Will Be Alright…**

The car sped through the quiet streets of London in the dead of night. Inside were two people—a man and a woman. To any onlooker, they might have seemed like a husband and wife hurrying home to their children.

*”Can you drive any faster?”* the woman asked nervously.

*”It’s too risky. The city only looks empty. When are you finally going to tell him about us? How much longer will we keep sneaking around, afraid of getting caught? Why are you dragging this out? Just tell him—it’ll be easier for everyone,”* the man said sharply.

*”Easier? For who? Maybe for us, but what about Emily? She loves her father. And he loves her too. What happens to her—to them—when they find out? This is cruel,”* the woman protested.

*”And lying all this time isn’t cruel? You think he doesn’t suspect anything? I’m tired of sharing you with him. Want me to tell him myself? Man to man?”*

*”Please, don’t. I’ll do it. Just give me time.”* She reached for the driver’s hand and squeezed it tightly. *”I love you too. But don’t rush me. I promise I’ll talk to my husband soon.”*

The man turned to her, caught her gaze, and leaned in for a kiss.

Around the bend, a black SUV hurtled toward them—unstoppable, deadly. The woman’s scream was lost in the screech of metal.

***

The shrill ringtone of his phone shattered the thin veil of sleep. For a moment, James hovered between dreams and wakefulness before forcing his eyes open.

Sophie had called at 8 p.m., saying she’d be late—something about a friend in crisis. She’d promised to explain later. He hadn’t had the chance to ask which friend, what crisis? He could have called around, checked with the women whose numbers he had saved, but he refused to humiliate himself—or her—like that.

James had suspected something was off for about two months now. Sophie had been coming home late more often, disappearing even on weekends. Too many *friends* with sudden emergencies that only she could fix.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand. An unknown number. His chest tightened with dread.

*”Hello?”* His voice was rough with sleep.

*”Detective Harris. Are you James Whitmore, husband of Sophie Whitmore?”*

*”Yes.”*

*”Your wife’s been in a car accident… She’s been taken to King’s College Hospital in critical condition—”*

*”Is she alive?”* James’s voice trembled.

*”Yes, but—”*

*”Daddy, is that Mum?”* Ten-year-old Emily stood in the doorway, her wide eyes fixed on him.

James swallowed the lump in his throat.

*”No. It’s… Mum’s in the hospital. She was in an accident.”*

*”Is she dead?”*

*”No, of course not. She’s alive,”* he said quickly.

*”But you asked—”* Emily threw herself at him, arms clamping around his neck so tightly he could barely breathe. *”Let’s go see her. I’m scared.”*

Gently, he peeled her off and sat her down next to him.

*”They won’t let us in this late. We’ll go first thing in the morning. If we show up half-asleep, what will Mum say?”* He forced a smile.

Emily nodded and shuffled back to her room. He lay down again. Dawn was already creeping through the window. He’d checked the time before answering the call—half past two.

He had to calm down. Pressing a hand to his chest, he felt his heart hammering against his palm.

Morning came, and he drove Emily to the hospital. He left her in the corridor as he stepped into the doctor’s office.

*”You’re the husband?”* A man about his age looked up.

*”Yes. How is she?”*

*”We’ve operated. Severe head trauma, multiple fractures… She’s in a coma.”*

*”How did the accident happen? She doesn’t even drive.”*

The doctor shrugged.

*”All I know is that the car she was in collided with an SUV. Both drivers died instantly. Your wife was lucky. I won’t lie—her condition is critical. But she’s young. There’s a chance.”*

*”Can we see her? My daughter’s outside.”*

*”That’s your call. She doesn’t look… well. But sometimes being near loved ones helps.”* The doctor nodded toward the door.

*”Who was in the car with her?”* James asked as they walked to the ICU.

*”Ask the police. Just remember—she won’t respond. Keep it brief.”*

The moment James saw Sophie, he barely recognized her. Bandages covered half her face; the rest was bruised and swollen. A stranger. Only the wedding ring on her hand—*her* hand—felt familiar.

*”Mummy!”* Emily approached, stroking her mother’s arm. *”Is she asleep?”*

*”Yes. They let us see her, but only for a little while.”*

They drove home in silence. James called Sophie’s mother, Margaret, told her everything, and asked her to stay with Emily. He needed to go to work.

Margaret arrived with red-rimmed eyes.

*”Maybe I should take Emily for a while? You’ve got enough on your plate,”* she said, once she’d composed herself. *”Want to come stay with me, love?”*

Emily nodded.

*”I warned her. But did she listen?”* Margaret’s voice broke. Then she froze, meeting James’s stunned gaze.

*”Margaret, what did you warn her about?”*

She shook her head, clutching a damp tissue.

*”Tell me. I’ll find out eventually.”*

*”Forgive me, James. I told Sophie this would end badly. I scolded her.”* She waved a hand helplessly. *”‘I love him, I can’t live without him…’ Like she was possessed. Oh, James, I’m so sorry. I wish she’d told you herself—”*

The ache in James’s chest flared. He forced a slow breath. He’d *known*—noticed the changes, but refused to face them.

*”Who is he?”* His voice was hollow.

*”Tom Fairfax. He’s loved her since school. Went abroad for years. When he came back… well, that’s when it started.”*

Fairfax. James had seen him once. Sometimes, if time allowed, he’d pick Sophie up after work. He’d been waiting in the car park that day when she ran to some man, her face alight with joy.

James had stepped out and approached them. The way they’d looked at each other—obviously more than friends. Sophie had panicked before forcing a smile, introducing them. *”Just an old classmate.”* They’d sized each other up, never shaking hands. Instant dislike.

*”So glad you’re here! I was just looking at a present for Emily’s birthday…”* She’d looped her arm through his, steering him away.

When he glanced back, Fairfax was gone. The whole drive home, she’d babbled nervously.

*All those ‘friends’—just excuses. She was with him. For how long? Did they laugh about me? Plan a future together?* His chest burned with every breath.

*”We’ll visit tomorrow,”* Margaret’s voice snapped him back. *”Will they let us in?”*

*What do I even do with this? Play the betrayed husband? What if she never wakes up?* James exhaled. *Her lover’s dead. I’m alive. We have Emily. If she pulls through—then we’ll see.*

*”They’ll let you in,”* he said. *”The doctor said talking might help.”*

*Maybe I should tell her I know. Let her hear my anger before she dies.* The thought sickened him. *No. She has to live. For Emily. For me.*

The next day, he slipped into the hospital during lunch. Emily and Margaret were already there. Once they left, he studied Sophie’s swollen face. Then, haltingly, he whispered that he was trying to forgive her, that he wanted her back. He meant to say *I love you*, but the words stuck.

The following morning, the hospital called—Sophie had woken up. He rushed over, but as the building loomed ahead, doubt crept in. What if he saw grief for Fairfax in her eyes?

His legs felt weak as he walked in. The doctor warned him—she was still fragile, asleep again but could wake any moment. *No stress.*

James approached the bed.

*”Sophie,”* he murmured.

Her eyes fluttered open, finding his face.

*”I was terrified when theyJames took her hand gently, watching as the first tear slipped down her cheek, and knew that somehow, despite everything, they would find their way back to each other.

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Everything Will Be Alright…