Lying in a drowsy haze after waking, Veronica stretched lazily in bed, savouring the sweet limbo between sleep and wakefulness. Eyes still closed, she thought:
*How lovely—it’s the weekend. No rushing, no listening to patients’ complaints at the clinic, whether real or imagined.*
A glance at the clock told her she’d slept in, but she still resisted getting up—until her phone chimed. A message from Mark: *”Fancy joining me for fishing? You’ve got the day off. Leaving in an hour. Say yes, please!”*
Reading it, Veronica smiled, picturing Mark with his fishing rod—just like back in school. At sixteen, they’d spent summers by the river, Mark always with his tackle. He’d catch fish, and they’d cook it over a fire—well, *he* would; she’d never learned. But no fish stew since had ever tasted as good.
Back then, it was young love, neither imagining life would pull them apart. Classmate Annie was always hovering, but Mark brushed her off easily.
*”Annie, move on—you’re not my type,”* he’d laugh when she pressed him to walk her home.
*”We’ll see who is,”* she’d smirk, shooting Veronica a sly glance.
Veronica would roll her eyes. She *knew* she was the only one Mark wanted.
After school, Veronica left for medical school—her lifelong dream. Mark stayed in their small town, studying mechanics at the local college. He wasn’t cut out for university. They kept in touch, though—calls, letters. She visited during holidays, while Mark never left.
*”Don’t forget about me, Vee,”* he’d say. *”I miss you.”*
*”As if I could! I miss you too. Shame I can’t visit more—eight hours on the train just for a weekend’s mad.”*
Summers, though—they were inseparable. Dawn till dusk, laughing in her parents’ garden, scrolling through photos, swimming at the river with friends home for break.
Mark’s birthday was in September, and it always stung.
*”Mark, we can’t even celebrate together anymore,”* she’d say, sending cards and calling.
That year, he was at a pub with mates when Annie showed up with a friend. She’d flunked school, worked at a fruit stall now.
*”Class reunion, eh?”* she teased, sliding beside him. *”No girls? That won’t do.”*
Out of politeness, Mark let her stay. They drank till closing. Annie sent her friend off, then clung to Mark’s arm.
*”You’ll walk me home, won’t you? Can’t leave a girl alone at night.”*
*”Where’s your mate?”*
*”Gone off with one of your lot.”*
Somehow, she dragged him to her flat’s porch, pulling out wine and plastic cups—*prepared*.
*”One more for your birthday,”* she insisted. Then another.
Mark didn’t realise how drunk he was till dawn, waking beside Annie on a battered sofa. His stomach twisted.
*”Veronica will find out. Annie *will* tell her.”* And he knew—Veronica wouldn’t forgive this.
He bolted, grabbing his jacket as Annie watched, smirking.
*”Run all you like—you’re stuck with me now.”*
Mark avoided her, but Annie hunted him down—showing up at his house one day. His mother answered.
*”Annie? What brings you here? Mark’s at college.”*
*”I’m pregnant,”* Annie said, eyes welling. *”He keeps dodging me.”*
Mark’s mother—a schoolteacher, raising him alone—paled. *”That can’t be.”*
*”Oh, it is,”* Annie said, spotting Mark through the window.
The confrontation was brutal. Mark confessed; his mother insisted: *”You’ll marry her, Mark. You made your bed.”*
He couldn’t refuse. His mother wept—he couldn’t bear that.
Then Veronica got the call—from an old classmate, Lara. *”Mark married Annie.”* She didn’t believe it—until his mother confirmed.
*”Then Mark’s dead to me,”* she sobbed in her dorm, friends murmuring:
*”It happens, Vee. Long distance… who knows what really went down?”*
She mourned for years, until Anton, a wealthy med student, melted her resolve. By fifth year, he proposed. She said yes.
Anton’s family had money—his father ran a steel empire, securing him a hospital job with promises of a private practice. Their wedding was lavish, but within months, Veronica knew she’d erred.
Catching Anton with a nurse in his office—door carelessly ajar—she confronted him.
*”We’re done. I won’t live like this.”*
*”Then quit the hospital. And leave town—go back to your little nowhere.”*
*”It’s a *town*, just smaller. And you’re right—I *am* leaving.”*
She divorced him, returning to her parents’ cottage.
*”No fuss—Anton and I split. I’m staying.”*
*”That was quick,”* her mother huffed, cut off by her father’s glare.
*”Good,”* he said. *”We’ve missed you.”*
Veronica worked as a GP, living quietly—until she ran into Mark.
Had he waited for her? Or was it chance? Outside a shop, he stood before her. Her vision swam.
She’d heard—Annie’s child wasn’t his. They’d split; he’d left town.
That evening, over coffee, they shared their stories. Both divorced now. Mark’s eyes lit up.
Veronica jolted from bed, wiping her brow. She hadn’t realised she’d dredged up the past. Quickly, she texted Mark: *”I’ll come fishing.”*
Her mother frowned as she rushed breakfast.
*”Where are you off to?”*
*”Fishing with Mark.”*
*”Mark? So you *never* forgot him. Mrs. Wilkes said she saw you two. Why’s he back?”*
*”Mum, what’s your problem with him?”* Veronica’s face darkened.
*”He left you before.”*
*”That was then. I’ve been married too. Maybe… it’s fate? We’re older now—wiser.”*
Mark’s car idled outside. She hurried out, her mother’s worry trailing her.
*”She doesn’t understand—I just don’t want her hurt again.”*
The day was perfect. Mark caught fish—one sizable—and cooked stew as they laughed like kids, reminiscing. Annie came up, but Mark shut it down.
*”Ask me later. Not today.”*
As dusk fell, he pulled her close. Their lips met—a kiss years overdue. She wanted more, but—
*”Not here, Mark,”* she whispered, pressing fingers to his mouth.
He kissed her cheek, grinning. *”Right. Bad timing.”*
A week later, at his flat—his mother away—they made love. Tender, fierce, *right*. Dawn found them entwined.
Mark kissed her brow. *”Now I *have* to marry you. Objections?”*
Laughing, they held each other—certain, this time, nothing would part them.
