Life is Full of Surprises
“Mum, I’m heading out,” Emily called from the kitchen doorway.
Lydia turned away from the stove and studied her daughter.
“What?” Emily sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes.
“Nothing. Why are you all dressed up at this hour? Wearing makeup. Date night? Don’t stay out too late, yeah?”
“Fine,” Emily muttered before quickly leaving.
“She’s grown up so fast,” Lydia thought to herself, sighing. She covered the frying pan and walked to the hallway mirror. “Where did my seventeen years go? Time flew by so quickly. Thought I had my whole life ahead, and now more than half is already gone. School dragged on forever, and then life raced downhill—uni, marriage… Happiness peeked out like the sun behind clouds, then vanished again.” She smoothed her hair. “Oh well. My daughter’s smart and beautiful… Oh, the potatoes!”
Lydia gasped and dashed back to the kitchen, grabbing the lid before it clattered to the floor. She hissed in pain, blowing on her burnt fingers. “Got carried away at the mirror, nearly burnt dinner,” she scolded herself.
She ate alone, then settled on the sofa to watch a show on BBC Two. Outside, the sky darkened fast. She dozed off without noticing. The ringing of her phone startled her awake. Still groggy, she didn’t check the screen—who’d call this late except Emily? She had no close friends, just work acquaintances bonded by shared loneliness.
A man’s voice surprised her.
“Are you Emily Carter’s mother?”
“Who’s asking?” Lydia asked cautiously.
“This is Dr. Harris from St. Mary’s Hospital. Your daughter’s been in an accident—she needs emergency surgery. As she’s underage, we need your consent…”
“What surgery?” Lydia couldn’t process it. The line went dead before she could ask more.
She tried to make sense of it. A mistake—Emily just went out. What accident? But he knew her name. Her foggy post-nap mind struggled to focus. She forced herself to think straight—St. Mary’s, taxi, go now. She changed quickly, grabbed her bag, and bolted from the flat, skipping the lift for the stairs. Outside, a taxi was already pulling up, headlights blinding her.
“Please, hurry—my daughter’s in hospital,” she gasped, still catching her breath from the sprint downstairs.
The ride was torture—she begged the driver to speed up, then secretly wished he’d slow down, delaying the inevitable bad news squeezing her heart.
She burst into A&E and spotted a lanky lad on a gurney, jacket grimy, face scraped, a plaster above his brow.
“Where’s my daughter? What did you do to her?!” She lunged at him, gripping his jacket.
“It wasn’t my fault! A car swerved round the bend—I dodged but it clipped us… I didn’t do anything!”
“Who hit you? Why?!” Lydia shouted, lost.
“Who’s causing a scene?” An older doctor strode in, his bushy brown moustache catching her eye. “You’re Ms. Carter? Sign this consent form.”
“What consent? Where’s Emily?!”
“She’s unconscious. A brain bleed—pressure’s rising. Without surgery, she’ll… Sign here.” He thrust a clipboard at her.
The medical jargon spun her head; the words blurred. Shakily, she signed and collapsed onto a chair. The doctor left.
“I don’t understand… She just went out,” Lydia whispered, rocking.
“We were hanging out, then I suggested a ride on my bike…”
Lydia whipped her head toward him.
“This is your fault! You—”
The boy flinched from her glare.
“I’m not! The driver didn’t even stop to check on us…”
“Jacob! You alright?” A tall man entered. The boy sprang up, rushing to him.
“Dad, I swear—I wasn’t speeding! He came out of nowhere… A bystander drove us here. The doc said ten minutes later, Emily would’ve—” He broke down sobbing.
The man hugged him. “I believe you. Did you catch the car’s make or plate? Where’d it happen? I’ll find him.”
“Find him? Your son’s fine, but my girl—because of him—” Lydia choked on tears.
“Who’s this?” the man asked.
“Emily’s mum.”
“Explain properly—everything,” his dad urged.
“Yeah, tell Daddy how you nearly killed my daughter,” Lydia spat.
“Ma’am, I understand you’re upset, but let’s get facts straight. If Jacob’s at fault, he’ll answer. Son, you know her address?” The boy nodded, sniffling.
“Not my fault…” he repeated.
The man handed Lydia a business card. “Call if you need anything.” She turned away, so he tucked it into her open handbag. “Let’s go home,” he told Jacob.
“What about Emily?”
“Her mum’s here. They won’t let you see her.” He glanced at Lydia. “Need a lift?”
She didn’t answer, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
Lydia stared at the empty room. A tiny prayer card peeked from behind the mirror above the sink. She shuffled over on stiff legs.
“Save my girl. She’s only seventeen. I can’t live without her… Take my life, do whatever—just save her.”
Time blurred as she stood there, whispering the same plea like a mantra. People came and went, voices asking questions, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“You’re still here? Surgery went well—bleeding stopped, hematoma removed…” Lydia spun around. The doctor stood exhausted, his moustache drooping, face grey in the dawn light.
“Alive…” Relief buckled her knees. She groped for support.
“Sit.” He guided her to a chair, speaking words she heard but didn’t grasp. He offered water; she shoved it, spilling it over his hand.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Go home, rest. She’ll sleep till morning. Come back then—I’ll take you to her.”
“Can I stay?”
“No. She’s sedated. You’ll be in the way if another patient arrives. Go.”
Too drained to argue, she stepped outside. Her legs gave out on a bench by the road. Soon, she shivered in the cold. Birds sang as the sky brightened. She stood and trudged back inside.
The A&E doors were unlocked. Empty. She tiptoed past, finding a sofa in a quiet corridor, and closed her eyes…
“You never left?” She jolted awake, disoriented. The doctor stood over her.
“How’s Emily?”
“Stable, still asleep. Come to the office—I’ll get you coffee. You know the Stewarts?”
“Who?”
“Emily was in the accident with Stewart’s son. The boy’s decent—stayed with her, carried her to the car that brought them. Probably saved her.”
Lydia recalled the scrawny lad with the plaster.
“He goes to her school,” she murmured.
“Parents are always the last to know. My son’s married now, but back then…” He waved a hand.
“Nurse called—new patient,” an aide interrupted their coffee.
“Go. Rest,” he told Lydia before leaving.
Alone, she studied a framed photo on his desk—his wife and son.
“She’s awake. Two minutes—no crying, no fussing.” He led her down the hall.
Lydia froze in the doorway. Emily’s head was bandaged, face bruised.
“Mum…” Her voice was weak.
“Love! Thank God!” Lydia crouched, clutching her hand.
“Mum, where’s Jacob?”
“His dad took him home. Just scrapes. You never said you were seeing the Stewart boy.”
“That’s enough. She needs rest.” The doctor ushered her out.
The night stretched endlessly in Lydia’s mind. She showered, downed coffee, and headed to work.
Emily recovered quickly. Jacob visited daily—flowers piled on the windowsill, fruit on the bedside table.
“Love, he’s not for you. Rich boys don’t marry girls like us,” Lydia warned.
“Mum, we only went out once. He’s leaving soon.”
“Where?”
“University in Oxford. So…”
“Good. Focus on getting better. You’ll meet someone else.”
One evening, the doorbell rang. Lydia wasn’t expecting anyone—hair messy, in a faded dressing gown. She opened it to find Daniel Stewart. Instantly, she regretted not tidying up, instinctively clutching the gaping robe.
“Sorry for dropping by unannounced. May I come in?”
“Sure.” She stepped aside.
“Thought about calling, but figured face-to-face was better. We found the hit-and-run driver.”
“Really?” Lydia’s hands dropped in relief, the robe falling open.
Daniel averted his gaze.
“He confessed. I’ll make sure he’sAs the months passed, Lydia found herself growing fonder of Daniel’s quiet strength, and one spring morning, watching the sunlight dance across the kitchen they now shared, she realized happiness had crept back into her life when she least expected it.
