**Learning from Mistakes**
The ambulance raced through London with its sirens blaring and lights flashing. Cars swerved toward the pavement, clearing a path down the middle of the road.
“Dad… Dad, please forgive me. Just stay with me, don’t leave me…” whispered the girl beside the stretcher.
He couldn’t hear her. He saw another girl instead—smiling at him, her eyes glowing with a soft, warm light. It pulled him in, irresistible. He didn’t want to fight it. He wanted to vanish into that glow, weightless, as if his body didn’t exist.
But something held him back, yanking him away from the light. He tried to say, “Let go,” but no sound came. Then—pain. A sharp jolt to his chest flung him backward. The girl’s face vanished, the light faded, and his body turned to stone. Did stone feel pain?
Sounds crawled out of the darkness: crying, someone calling his name, gripping his hand. He wanted to break free, to follow the vanished *Emily*, but then—nothing. Not even darkness. Nothingness. He was gone.
***
**The Day Before**
“Dad, can I go down to Brighton with Olivia and Daisy? Daisy’s relatives have a house there. I only need money for the train and maybe a bit extra.” Sophie’s voice was pleading, strained.
James *always* knew when she was lying. Sometimes he pretended to believe her. Not today. He set aside his newspaper, studying her. Flushed cheeks, fidgeting fingers, eyes darting away—classic tells.
“How long were you planning to stay?” he asked evenly.
“Just two weeks,” Sophie said, perking up. “Fresh air, the sea. I’m sick of London.”
“With Olivia and Daisy, you said?”
Hearing the sarcasm, she deflated. The lie wasn’t working.
“You’re a terrible liar. I spoke to Daisy’s dad yesterday—they’re all hiking in the Lake District.”
Sophie’s face burned red, her neck blotchy. She lifted her chin, glaring.
“I *knew* you wouldn’t let me go with Liam, so I lied. His aunt *does* live in Brighton.”
“You guessed right. I’m not letting you go,” James said calmly. “Teenage crush or not, that’s not enough reason to run off to the seaside with a boy.”
“I *love* him,” she said, voice breaking. Now she was pale.
“And does he love *you*? Lust and love aren’t the same. Trust me, if a lad’s inviting a girl away like this, his intentions aren’t what *you* think.”
“So that’s it? You won’t let me go?”
“No. My holiday’s next month. We’ll go to the coast together.”
Sophie chewed her lip—just like her mum used to. His chest ached. She was so grown now. How could he make her understand? That after losing so much, he couldn’t bear losing her too.
“Dad, *please*. It’s just the train ride alone. After that, we’d be with his family—”
“No. If you like, we’ll visit them next month.”
“I never thought you’d be like this!” she snapped, storming off and slamming her door.
James sighed. No point reading the paper now.
***
How long ago had it been? Felt like yesterday he’d begged *Emily* to go to Edinburgh for the weekend. Had she lied to her parents? They’d let her go.
They’d had a brilliant time. Came back changed. Then she left for uni in Manchester. He stayed, enrolled at Imperial, met *Freya*. Fell hard, forgot all about Emily, forgot every promise he’d ever made. No—wait. He *hadn’t* told Emily he loved her. He remembered *that* much.
Then Emily showed up pregnant.
He panicked. Not at the baby—at losing Freya. Emily came straight from the station. He begged her to terminate, rambled about being young, unprepared…
Emily sobbed. “It’s twelve weeks already.”
“Why wait so long? You *could’ve*—”
She left. For three years, nothing. He assumed she’d done it. If she’d kept the baby, her parents would’ve come for him.
He married Freya, booked a honeymoon in Cornwall. Then the doorbell rang.
Pale, thinner, *older*—Emily stood there, gripping a little girl’s hand.
“Hi,” she forced a smile.
James froze.
“Who’s here?” Freya called from the living room.
Emily’s flinch told him Freya was watching.
“An old schoolmate,” he managed.
Freya, polite, ushered them in. Emily hesitated, then stepped inside. James spotted a duffel bag by the door—*the kid’s things*.
“Going somewhere?” he joked, hating himself.
“Away. I can’t take her with me,” Emily murmured, kissing the girl’s head before setting her down. “No one else to leave her with. Dad’s gone, Mum’s… never mind. You’re not a stranger. If I come back, I’ll take her.”
He almost said *we’re leaving too*, but instead asked, “Where are you going?”
“Doesn’t matter. Her documents are in the bag. Allergy list, favourite foods.” Then she was gone.
Freya’s glare burned into him. “*Yours?*”
“She was supposed to—”
The girl wailed, realising her mum had left. James picked her up. Freya exploded. His marriage—barely a week old—already cracking.
The birth certificate confirmed it: *he* was the father. Three days alone with a toddler nearly broke him. On the fourth day, Freya came back.
She tried. *God*, she tried to love the girl—bright, quiet, just like Emily. A year later, they learned Emily had died of leukaemia. When Sophie turned six, Freya left. James didn’t stop her. He saw how much it hurt her.
***
Now, James stood at Sophie’s door and told her everything—even as she scowled in headphones, pretending not to listen.
She’d learned about Emily when Freya left. James never hid the truth.
“I was young. Stupid. Never thought consequences lasted forever. Some things *can’t* be fixed. Think about that,” he said, leaving her alone.
Next morning, Sophie spoke first.
“I thought all night. You can’t shield me from every mistake. It’s *my* life. You never remarried because you were scared—scared no one could ever love me like *she* did. Freya couldn’t. But risks *exist*, Dad. I don’t need Brighton to make mistakes. Mum would’ve understood—”
“But she’s *not here*. I’m your *father*—I *know* what boys—”
“I’m *going*. You can’t stop me. I love Liam. It’ll be fine!” Her voice cracked. She coughed, gasping like she couldn’t breathe.
She lurched to the window, clawing at the frame, gulping air.
For one heart-stopping second—he thought she’d jump. A vision flashed: Sophie on concrete, blood pooling—
“Sophie!” He lunged. Halfway there, searing pain speared his chest—
***
The hospital came in fragments. Beeping machines. Muffled voices. His body—lead-heavy, useless. Then light. Shapes. *Sophie’s face*.
“Dad, can you hear me?”
He blinked.
“He’s awake! *Doctor!*” She squeezed his hand. “Three days—you gave me such a scare. Mild heart attack, but you’ll be okay. Dad… I’m *sorry*. I’m not leaving you.”
“And Liam?” he rasped next day, clearer now.
“He didn’t go without me.”
James understood. *He stayed for her.* Shame twisted in his gut. He’d terrified himself into a heart attack—all to avoid mistakes.
“Invite him over when I’m discharged,” he said.
Sophie kissed his stubbled cheek. “You’re the best, Dad.”
Three weeks later, Liam visited. James studied him—thoughtful, steady. Maybe kids nowadays *were* more responsible. They dreamed openly, argued honestly.
Life wasn’t about dodging mistakes. It was about living *through* them.
