**Learning from Mistakes**
The ambulance tore through the city, sirens wailing, lights flashing. Cars swerved toward the pavements, clearing a path down the middle of the road.
*”Dad, please… forgive me. Just live, don’t leave me…”* whispered the girl, gripping the side of the stretcher.
He couldn’t hear her. Before him stood another girl—smiling, her eyes filled with warm, gentle light. That light pulled him in, irresistible. He wanted nothing more than to reach it, to become part of it. His body felt weightless, as though it hardly existed anymore.
But something held him back, something firm and unyielding, dragging him away from that light. He tried to say, *”Let go,”* but no words came. Suddenly, a jolt struck his chest, throwing him backward. The girl’s face vanished. The light dimmed. His body turned to stone—heavy, numb. Can stone even feel pain?
Slowly, sounds returned: crying, someone calling his name, a hand clasping his tightly. He wanted to beg them to release him, to call out for the vanished Emily. But then he fell—into nothingness. No darkness, no light. Nothing.
***
**The Day Before**
*”Dad, can I go to Brighton with Olivia and Sophie? Sophie’s relatives have a house there. I just need money for travel, maybe a bit extra…”* Her voice was pleading.
William always knew when she was lying. Sometimes he played along, but not today. He set down his newspaper and studied Lily. The signs were unmistakable—her flushed ears, the nervous twist of her skirt between her fingers.
*”How long would you be gone?”* he asked calmly.
*”A fortnight. Fresh air, the sea. I’m sick of this grimy city.”*
*”With Olivia and Sophie, you say?”*
The sarcasm in his voice gave her away.
*”You can’t lie to save your life. I spoke to Sophie’s dad yesterday. They’re going to the Lake District. All three of them.”*
Lily’s face burned scarlet. *”Fine. I lied because I knew you’d never let me go with Jake. His aunt really does live in Brighton.”*
*”Exactly. I won’t allow it,”* William replied, unshaken. *”You think summer romance justifies running off with a boy?”*
*”I love him,”* she said desperately, her face paling.
*”Does he love you? Love and lust aren’t the same. Trust me, I’ve been a man that age. When a lad invites a girl away alone, his intentions aren’t about love.”*
*”So that’s it? You won’t let me go?”*
*”No. My holiday starts next month. We’ll go together then.”*
Lily chewed her lip, fuming. His chest ached—she looked just like her mother then. Same stubborn fury, same flicker of fear. How could he explain? After so much loss, she was all he had left.
*”Please, Dad. It’s just the train ride together. We’d stay with his family after—”*
*”No. If you like, we’ll visit them next month.”*
*”I never thought you’d be this cruel,”* Lily snapped. *”I could’ve just left! I’m an adult. But I asked because I respect you!”*
*”You *didn’t* run off—so my opinion matters. Then listen to it.”* He reached for his paper, though he didn’t read.
*”One day, you’ll look back and understand.”*
*”Dad, we love each other. Let me go.”*
*”Love? If he loved you, he wouldn’t push you to lie.”*
*”Oh, so you know everything about him? About *me*? And yet *you*…”* She bit her tongue, knowing she’d crossed a line.
*”Because I’ve lived it. Some mistakes haunt you forever.”*
*”Right. And I suppose raising me alone was just *so* hard for you,”* she muttered. *”I’ll make my own mistakes, Dad.”*
*”No.”* He raised the newspaper like a shield.
She stormed out, slamming her bedroom door behind her. William exhaled. Reading was pointless now.
***
How long had it been? Felt like yesterday he’d begged Emily to sneak off to Edinburgh for the weekend. Had she lied to her parents? They’d let her go.
Those days had been golden. They’d returned different—or so he’d thought. Then Emily left for London, university. He stayed, enrolled in engineering school, met Clara. Lost his head, forgot Edinburgh, forgot Emily. He’d never even told her he loved her. He remembered that much.
Then Emily returned, pale, gripping the hand of a little girl.
*”Hello,”* she’d forced a smile.
Clara’s voice cut in from the hallway: *”Who’s here?”*
Emily’s eyes flickered with pain. He turned—Clara was staring at the child.
*”An old schoolmate,”* he managed.
Emily stepped inside, hesitated. A suitcase sat by the door. His stomach lurched.
*”Leaving?”* he asked, forcing lightness.
*”I can’t take her…”* Emily knelt, kissed the girl, then walked out without looking back.
*”Yours?”* Clara whispered.
*”She was supposed to—”* His throat closed.
The child began to cry. He lifted her. Clara erupted. Three days later, she returned—tried, truly tried, to love the quiet, clever girl. A year after that, Emily died. Leukemia. When Lily turned six, Clara left. He didn’t stop her. She’d suffered enough.
***
Now he stood in Lily’s doorway, telling her everything, even as she pretended not to hear through her headphones.
*”I was young. Stupid. Met Clara, thought it was love. Then you came—unplanned, unwanted…”*
She yanked the headphones off. *”Contraception exists, Dad.”*
*”At eighteen, you think no mistake lasts. Some do.”* He left her to think.
Morning came with apologies. *”You can’t shield me forever. It’s *my* life. You never remarried because you were afraid—afraid no one could love me like Mum. Clara couldn’t. But mistakes happen anywhere. I’m not your property.”*
*”She’s *gone*! I’m your father—I *know* what—”*
*”I’m *going*!”* Her voice broke. She gasped, clawing at the window for air.
For a heartbeat, he thought she’d jump.
*”LILY!”* He lunged—and blinding pain speared his chest.
***
The hospital smelled sterile. Voices swam through the haze.
*”Dad, can you hear me?”*
His vision blurred. *Emily?* Then memory crashed back. *Lily. Where’s Lily?*
*”I was so scared,”* she sobbed. *”Three days… The doctors say you’ll live. I’m *not* leaving you.”*
*”What about Jake?”* he croaked the next day.
*”He didn’t go without me.”*
Shame burned him. Fear had nearly killed him.
*”Invite him over… when I’m out,”* he murmured.
Three weeks later, Jake sat in their parlour, earnest, respectful. William watched them—this generation was bolder, unafraid to dream aloud.
Some lessons took a lifetime. Better to live and err than fear living at all.
