“Come When You Can”
The phone rang, startling Emily from her thoughts. “Hello?” came the familiar voice. Her heart leapt into her throat, pounding so loudly she feared it would wake her husband, had the TV not been muttering in the background.
“I missed you. I couldn’t wait any longer. I think about you constantly. Let’s meet,” the smooth, warm voice urged through the receiver.
Emily slipped out of the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind her. She leaned against the hallway wall, her legs suddenly weak and unsteady.
“Emily, are you there?” The voice called, tempting and terrifying in its realness.
She shouldn’t have answered. Shouldn’t have picked up at all. She had tried so hard to forget him, that reckless night. She had reminded herself of her stable marriage, her kind husband—years of shared life. She didn’t need anything else.
She and Robert had been in the same class at school. He’d been top of the year, winning maths and physics competitions. In sixth form, he’d started wearing glasses, earning the nickname “Bookworm”—fitting, given his quiet, rosy-cheeked demeanor.
Emily, like all the girls, never saw him as romantic material. Ask him for homework help? Sure. But her heart had always been drawn to the charming, athletic boys—sharp-witted and just a little cheeky.
Years later, they’d bumped into each other in London. Robert now wore contact lenses. “He’s actually quite sweet,” she’d thought then.
He’d graduated from Oxford while she was still finishing medical school. They’d exchanged numbers—just in case. A school reunion was coming up. Robert promised to call with details, though Emily had no intention of going. She forgot about him entirely.
Then, days later, he called, asking her to the cinema. She’d had flings before, but nothing serious—either the men she liked ignored her, or she ignored the ones who liked her.
“Go, or you’ll end up an old maid,” her mother warned.
So she went. And they kept seeing each other. Soon, Robert confessed his love and proposed. He was steady—a promising career in finance.
“Take him. You can mould him into whatever you want,” her mother advised. So Emily agreed.
Their marriage was even-keeled. Any arguments were always her fault.
They had a daughter. Robert’s mother never interfered but adored babysitting. Emily’s parents were always happy to help, too.
A second child never happened. Passion had never been part of their marriage—even in bed, Robert was restrained. Their intimacy was infrequent, routine. But at least he was reliable. Many of her colleagues wept over their husbands’ affairs, messy divorces, the struggles of single motherhood.
Their daughter grew up, graduated, studied design in London—living a far more vibrant life than either of her parents. When Emily asked if she needed money, her daughter just laughed. “Gran and Nana compete over who spoils me more!”
Yes, the grandmothers adored their only granddaughter. Robert’s mother had once pleaded for another baby—one grandchild each. But Emily never regretted stopping at one. She often wondered how their spirited daughter had come from such a passionless union.
Life went on. Then, six months ago, Emily was promoted to head of the clinic after her predecessor retired. The new role consumed her—meetings, conferences, endless responsibilities.
At one such conference, she met Daniel. Men were scarce among the attendees, and Daniel stood out—tall, handsome, impeccably dressed. The older women doted on him maternally; the younger ones flirted shamelessly.
The final evening was a gala. Emily planned to skip it—she disliked drinking, avoided revelry. But her hotel roommate convinced her.
“The best connections happen at these things. You never know who might be useful,” the colleague said sagely.
So Emily stayed.
The keynote speaker droned on, his toast stretching so long that guests began drinking before he finished.
An hour later, the dignified doctors were unrecognisable—loosened by wine, swapping raucous medical anecdotes. Emily sipped politely, laughing at the jokes. Then came dancing. She lingered by the wall, regretting not leaving earlier.
“Bored?” Daniel appeared beside her. “Let’s escape.”
Gratefully, she followed him out.
They wandered the hotel’s plush corridors as muffled music drifted from the ballroom. Daniel spoke of his clinic, his work.
“Come to my room. I’ve got a bottle of Bordeaux and no one to share it with. There’s more I want to tell you.”
Emily agreed. She didn’t know why—loneliness, attraction, curiosity. Women always sensed these things.
In his room, he talked until a familiar melody played from the ballroom. He paused, listening. Outside, the city glittered.
When he kissed her, she didn’t resist. She woke in his bed, her old life suddenly unbearably dull. Robert had never made her feel like this.
With Daniel, she forgot everything. She hadn’t known such passion existed.
But all things end. The music faded; the revelry died. Exhausted and sated, they lay hand in hand.
Time slipped away. The conference was over; checkout loomed. Soon, they’d return to their separate cities.
“Stay another day. I’ll arrange it,” Daniel said.
“My train—”
“Damn the train. We’ll buy new tickets. I can’t lose you.”
It was sweet, intoxicating. But Emily knew—this had no future.
“I’m married,” she murmured weakly.
“You’re unhappy. I can tell.”
“No.” She rose, dressing quickly. “You have a train to catch too.”
She didn’t ask if he was married. It didn’t matter. This was goodbye.
Back in her room, she packed under her roommate’s silent judgement. No matter.
At the station, she waited, trying to steady her thoughts. Time to return to normal—forget this madness. But how, when her skin still burned with the memory of his touch?
The train soothed her. Forget. Erase it.
Robert met her at the station, chatting about his week as they drove home. Emily scarcely listened, eyes closed, willing Daniel away.
That night, Robert reached for her.
“I’m exhausted,” she said, turning away.
Life resumed. Work piled up. Daniel’s memory dulled—until the phone rang again.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m at The Grand, near your house. Come when you can.”
She hung up, leaning against the wall, breath ragged. Back in the bedroom, she folded laundry, steadying herself. She wouldn’t go.
“Who called?” Robert yawned.
“No one. Just the TV.”
“I’m starving. Lunch?”
As she reheated food, guilt gnawed at her.
“You’re not eating,” Robert noted, watching her.
“I’m not hungry. I’ll pop over to Lucy’s. She called—Tom’s poorly.”
Robert nodded, then paused. “But you said no one called.”
Emily stood, pulling on her coat. She couldn’t lie anymore.
“What am I doing? This isn’t fair…” Yet something pulled her forward. “Just one last look. One last goodbye.”
Robert followed her to the hall, but she was already out the door. He knew.
Outside The Grand, she hesitated. She could still leave. Or walk in and end it properly.
Then Daniel saw her through the window. The moment he took her hand, her body thrummed.
“Come with me,” he begged.
“Leave. Forget me,” she whispered, even as her body betrayed her.
At dawn, she said, “I have to go.”
“I’ll wait. My train’s at five.”
At home, Robert sat waiting, hollow-eyed. She sat beside him.
“Do you love him?” he asked quietly.
She said nothing. Shame? No. How could love be shameful?
But what if it failed? Yet how could she stay, feeling nothing? Why had love found her too late?
They sat in silence.
“Don’t leave me,” Robert whispered. “I’d be lost without you.”
And he would be.
“Let’s sleep.”
The next morning, she turned off her phone. Robert hovered, helpless.
“Stop! I’m not leaving,” she snapped.
But as the hours passed, she glanced at the clock. “He’ll leave, and it’ll be over.”
Yet at the last moment, she grabbed her coat.
“Emily!” Robert called.
“Forgive me.”
At the station, the train was boarding. She hurried along the platform, scanning windows in the dusk. The train lurched forward. She ran, stumbling, eyes fixed on the glowing carriages.
Then—there. Daniel spotted her.
The train screeched to a halt. He leapt out, ignoring the shouts.
“I knew you’d come,” he whispered, kissing her tears, holding her tight.
“What now?” she sobbed.
“We’ll be alright. I love you.”
As the train vanished, they clung to each otherAs the platform emptied around them, Emily realized that some choices are made not with logic, but with a heart too full to stay silent.
