The car sped through the night in London. Inside were two people—a man and a woman. To an outsider, they might have looked like a married couple rushing home to their waiting children.
“Can you drive faster?” the woman asked nervously.
“It’s dangerous. The city just looks empty. For God’s sake, when will you tell him about us? How much longer do we have to sneak around, afraid of being found out? Just tell him. It’ll be better for everyone,” the man said, gripping the wheel.
“Better? For who? Maybe for us, but what about Emily? She loves her dad. And he loves her. What happens to them when they find out? It’s cruel,” the woman argued.
“And lying for months isn’t cruel? You think he doesn’t suspect? I’m tired of sharing you. Want me to tell him myself, man to man?”
“Please don’t. I’ll do it. Just give me time.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly. “I love you too. But don’t rush me. I promise I’ll talk to him soon.”
The man turned, caught her gaze, and leaned in to kiss her.
A black SUV careened around the bend, slamming into their car with a deafening crash—her scream lost in the shriek of metal.
***
The shrill ringtone yanked James from his restless sleep. For a fleeting moment, he hovered between dreams and wakefulness before his eyes snapped open.
Olivia had called at eight the previous evening, saying she’d be late—some crisis with a friend. She’d explain later. He hadn’t pressed, though he could’ve called around. But what kind of husband would that make him?
His suspicions had started two months ago. Too many late nights, too many last-minute weekend disappearances. Too many “friends” in sudden need of her.
He grabbed his phone. An unknown number flashed. His chest tightened.
“Hello?” His voice was rough with sleep.
“Sergeant Davies. Are you James Whitmore, husband of Olivia Catherine Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
“Your wife has been in an accident. She’s been taken to St. Thomas’ Hospital 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… Mum’s in the hospital. She had an accident.”
“Is she dead?”
“No, of course not. She’s alive.” He forced calm into his voice.
“But you asked…” Emily threw herself at him, wrapping her arms so tightly he could barely breathe. “Let’s go see her. I’m scared.”
Gently, he pried her loose and sat her beside him. “We can’t tonight. In the morning, okay? You need sleep. We’ll surprise her.” He managed a weak smile.
Emily nodded and shuffled back to her room. He lay back down. Dawn crept through the curtains. The phone had said 2:30 a.m.
His pulse hammered in his chest. He pressed a hand to it, willing himself to calm down.
The next morning, they drove to the hospital. He left Emily in the corridor as he stepped into the doctor’s office.
“You’re the husband?” The doctor, a man his age, looked up.
“Yes. How is she?”
“We’ve operated. Severe head trauma, multiple fractures… She’s in a coma.”
“How did this happen? She doesn’t drive.”
The doctor shrugged. “All I know is the car she was in collided with an SUV. Both drivers died instantly. Your wife was lucky. I won’t lie—she’s in bad shape, but she’s young. There’s a chance.”
“Can we see her? My daughter’s outside.”
“That’s up to you. She’s not… presentable. But sometimes loved ones help. Come.” The doctor led him down the hall.
“Who was with her?” James asked.
“Ask the police. Just don’t stay long.” The door swung open.
James barely recognized Olivia. Bandages, bruises, a stranger in his wife’s bed. Her wedding ring glinted on her limp hand.
“Mum!” Emily rushed forward, touching her arm. “Is she asleep?”
“Yes. We can only look right now.”
They drove home in silence. James called Olivia’s mother, Margaret, who arrived red-eyed and sniffling.
“Maybe I should take Emily for a while?” she offered. “You’ve enough on your plate.”
Emily nodded.
“I warned her,” Margaret murmured, then caught herself under James’ sharp look.
“Warned her about what?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me. I’ll find out eventually.”
Margaret dabbed her eyes. “I told her it wouldn’t end well. She just kept saying, ‘I love him, I can’t live without him.’ Like she’d lost her mind. Oh, James, I’m sorry—”
His chest ached. He had noticed, hadn’t he? The distance. The unexplained absences. He just hadn’t wanted to see.
“Who is he?”
“Daniel Carter. Fancied her since school. Went abroad, came back, and…”
Carter. James had seen him once. Months ago, waiting outside Olivia’s office, the way she’d lit up seeing him.
Had they laughed about him? Planned their future?
Margaret took Emily.
Alone, James clenched his fists. What now? Rage? Grief? What if Olivia never woke up?
But Carter was dead. He was alive. They had Emily.
If she woke up, they’d figure it out.
***
Days later, Olivia stirred from the coma. James rushed to the hospital, terrified—of her guilt, of seeing love lost in her eyes.
She looked at him, pain and shame swimming in her gaze.
“I was so scared,” he whispered. “Emily’s coming soon.”
She closed her eyes.
Later, when Olivia could speak, she rasped, “I need to tell you—”
He took her hand. “Don’t. I don’t want to know. He’s gone. We’re here. That’s all that matters.”
“Forgive me,” she wept.
“I already have.”
***
Two months later, Olivia came home on crutches, relearning their house like a stranger. James did everything, kept his hurt locked away.
One morning, he said, “I’m taking leave. Going to see Mum. When I’m back… whatever you decide.”
Olivia reached for him. “Will you come back?”
“Of course. Where else would I go?”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “Take us with you.”
They left at dawn, Emily asleep in the back. The motorway hummed with lorries and fellow early travelers.
Olivia tensed beside him.
“Nothing will happen to us,” he murmured.
She rested her hand on his thigh. The scars on her face were fading.
“Everything will be alright,” James said firmly, eyes ahead.
“Everything will be,” she echoed.
And for the first time in months, he almost believed it.
The road stretched before them—long, uncertain, but theirs to travel together. Some wounds never fully heal, but love, if nurtured, can still grow around them.
