The dew hadn’t yet lifted from the grass, the mist slowly retreated to the far bank of the river, and the sun was already rolling up over the jagged edge of the forest.
Edward stood on the porch, admiring the beauty of the early morning and breathing in the crisp air. Behind him came the sound of bare feet slapping against the wood. A woman in a nightgown, a shawl draped over her shoulders, stepped up beside him.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Edward sighed deeply. “You’ll catch cold out here,” he said gently, adjusting the shawl where it had slipped from her soft shoulder.
The woman pressed closer, wrapping her arms around his.
“Don’t want to leave you,” Edward murmured, his voice thick with tenderness.
“Then stay.” Her voice was like a siren’s call. *Stay, and then what?* The thought sobered him.
If it were that simple, he would’ve stayed long ago. But twenty-three years with his wife wasn’t something he could just toss aside. And the kids… Lily was practically gone already, spending more nights at her fiancé’s than at home. And Tommy, just fourteen—right in the thick of the toughest years.
A lorry driver could find work anywhere, but the pay here wouldn’t be the same. Right now, he was splashing cash, buying expensive gifts for Lucy. But if his wages dropped by half—or worse—would she still want him? That was the question.
“Don’t start, Lucy,” Edward waved her off.
“Why not? The kids are grown, it’s time to think about *us*. You said it yourself—you and your wife are just going through the motions.” Lucy pulled away, annoyed.
“Wish I’d met you sooner…” Edward exhaled sharply. “Don’t be like that. I’ve got to go—already stayed too long.” He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her face away. “Lucy, I’ve got to set off if I want to make it home by tonight. Got a load to deliver, a contract waiting.”
“You always *promise*. You come, stir me up, then rush back to her. I’m tired of waiting. Michael’s been asking me to marry him for ages.”
“Then go.” Edward shrugged.
He wanted to say more, but bit it back. Slowly, he stepped off the porch, rounded the corner of the house, and made his way through the back garden to the bypass road where his lorry waited—left there on purpose so the noise wouldn’t wake the village at dawn.
He hauled himself into the cab. Usually, Lucy walked him to the lorry and kissed him goodbye. Not today—clearly, she was really upset. Edward settled in, slammed the door, and before starting the engine, dialed his wife’s number. He’d been too embarrassed to call in front of Lucy. The indifferent voice on the other end told him the phone was switched off… No missed calls either.
Edward pocketed his mobile, fired up the engine, listening to its deep, steady growl. The lorry shuddered awake, shaking off sleep, then rolled forward, jolting over the uneven country road. He gave one short honk, pressed the accelerator, and was gone.
On the porch, the woman shivered, listening to the engine fade, then turned and went inside.
Over the radio, Robbie Williams crooned, *”Angels…”* Edward hummed along, thinking of the woman he’d left behind. But soon his mind turned to home: *”Why can’t I reach them? Second day now. When I get back, I’ll sort this…”*
Meanwhile, Paula, Edward’s wife, was waking from anesthesia in a hospital bed—and remembering everything…
***
They’d been married over twenty years—twenty-four, to be exact. Edward was a long-haul driver, earned well, their family was solid, their house spacious, two kids. Lily was practically grown, about to marry and move out—hairdresser, finished college. Tommy, fourteen, dreamed of joining the Navy.
Then—*that* call. At first, Paula thought it was a prank, a wrong number.
*”Hello, Paula. Waiting for your husband? He’s… delayed.”* The voice was sticky, like treacle.
“What’s happened?” Paula cut in, instantly fearing an accident. The roads were dangerous—anything could happen.
*”Oh, something has. He’s with *her*.”*
“Who *is* this?” Paula shrieked.
*”Just wait, wait…”* followed by laughter.
Paula yanked the phone from her ear, ended the call. But the laughter clung. Panic coiled in her chest. Was it true? Who else would know her number, know Edward was on a job? Only *her*. How dare she call? How dare she laugh?
She dialed Edward’s number—then hung up. What if he was driving? What would she even say? Couldn’t distract him. She’d talk to him when he got back. She tried to busy herself, but nothing worked—the taunting voice still ringing in her ears.
Of course, neither Lily nor Tommy was home. Lily was out with her boyfriend, Tommy at a mate’s birthday party.
She needed air. Paula grabbed her bag, headed out. She’d pop to the shop—pick up mayo, onions, a few beers for Edward. He liked a drink on his days off. Tomorrow would be chaos—she’d be busy cooking. Edward had promised to be back by supper. *Unless he doesn’t come back at all.* She shoved the thought down.
The supermarket was a walk, but she needed to clear her head. Too far, though—so she cut through an alley. One side, a concrete wall; the other, a row of garages. Deserted, dusk settling in, but it halved the distance. She quickened her step.
Then—*yank!* Her bag was ripped from her grip. Paula stumbled back, nearly fell, spun around to see a man sprinting away. *”No chance,”* but she ran anyway. Her whole life was in that bag—cash, cards, keys, phone.
“STOP!” she screamed, but he ducked around the wall, gone. She kept running—then her heel caught a stone, her ankle twisted, and she *crashed* onto the pavement. Pain shot through her hip, her elbow split open. She tried to stand—white-hot agony up her leg. Tears sprang to her eyes. Her ankle was already swelling, dark and angry.
No phone. No way to call for help. Panic clogged her throat. No one would hear her shouts—just junkies, drunks, maybe.
Could she crawl? The wall would end at houses—*someone* might find her. But how far? And who’d stop for a woman scrabbling on the ground? They’d assume she was drunk. So she waited, praying someone would come to their garage. *What if no one does?* She wept.
All because of *that call*. Trouble never comes alone. She’d *lost her mind*—walking out at dusk, cutting through garages. No one knew where she was. No way to tell anyone. For the first time in twenty years, she wouldn’t be there when Edward got home…
She slumped against a rusted garage door, afraid to move, tears streaking her dirty cheeks.
Then—headlights. A car pulled up, a man stepped out, unlocking a garage. Paula sucked in a breath—
“HELP!”
He froze, scanning the darkness.
“Over here! PLEASE!” Her voice cracked, but she saw him turn—*coming toward her.*
He stopped a few feet away.
“Help me—I was mugged—my bag—I think my ankle’s broken. Call an ambulance, please!”
He hesitated, pulled out his phone—then pocketed it. Paula tensed, groped for a rock, anything—
Then he crouched. “Ambulance’ll take ages. Put your arms around my neck,” he said.
She clung to him as he lifted her—grunting—carried her to the car, dumped her in the passenger seat. Handed her tissues to wipe her face.
“How’d this happen?” he panted, sliding behind the wheel.
“Took a shortcut—some man—he *stole* my bag—”
He passed her his phone. “Call your husband.”
“He’s on the road—can’t.” She dialed Lily instead.
“Lily? It’s Mum—” Music *blared* in the background.
“*What?*”
“I think I’ve broken my leg—going to the hospital—”
“*Can’t hear you!*”
“*HOSPITAL!*”
“Ring you back!” *Click.*
Tommy didn’t answer either.
“Unbelievable!” she snapped.
“No luck?” the man asked.
She shook her head, crying.
“Nearly there. I’m Ian. And you?”
“Paula.” And suddenly, she was telling him *everything.*
***
Paula opened her eyes. Sunlight flooded the hospital room. Her head ached, herShe looked at Ian standing in the doorway, holding a bag of groceries, and for the first time in years, she felt something flicker inside her—hope.
