Life is full of surprises
“Mum, I’m off,” said Emily, popping her head into the kitchen.
Lydia turned away from the stove and gave her daughter a searching look.
“What?” Emily sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes.
“Nothing. Why are you so dressed up at this hour? Makeup on. Got a date? Don’t stay out too late, alright?”
“Fine,” Emily muttered before quickly disappearing.
*She’s grown up so fast,* Lydia thought to herself, sighing. She covered the frying pan with a lid and walked over to the large mirror in the hallway. *Where have my seventeen years gone? Time flew by so quickly. I thought I had my whole life ahead of me, and now more than half is gone. School dragged on forever, and then life just rolled downhill—university, marriage… Happiness peeked through like sunshine behind clouds, then vanished again.* She smoothed her hair. *Ah well. My daughter’s clever and beautiful… Oh, the potatoes!*
Lydia gasped and ran back to the kitchen. She grabbed the pan lid, nearly dropping it, then hissed in pain, blowing on her burnt fingers. *Got carried away in front of the mirror and nearly ruined dinner…* she scolded herself.
She ate alone, without much appetite, then settled in to watch a soap opera on BBC Two. Outside, darkness fell fast. She didn’t realise she’d dozed off until her mobile rang. Still half-asleep, she didn’t check the screen, certain it was Emily—who else would call so late? She didn’t have close friends, just work acquaintances brought together by loneliness.
The deep male voice caught her off guard.
“Are you Emily Taylor’s mother?”
“Who is this?” Lydia asked cautiously.
“This is Dr. Harris from St. Mary’s Hospital. Your daughter’s been in an accident—she needs emergency surgery. Since she’s a minor, we need your consent…”
“What surgery?” Lydia struggled to process the words, but the line had already gone dead.
She tried to make sense of it. It had to be a mistake—Emily had just gone out. An accident? But the doctor had used her full name. Her brain, foggy from sleep, moved sluggishly. She forced herself to focus, repeating that she needed to get to St. Mary’s, then called a taxi. She changed quickly, snatched her handbag, and rushed out. Skipping the lift, she took the stairs two at a time. Outside, the taxi was already pulling up, headlights blinding her.
“Please, hurry… My daughter’s at the hospital…” she gasped, still catching her breath from the run.
The entire ride, Lydia swung between urging the driver to speed up—just so she could confirm it was all a mistake—and secretly wishing he’d slow down, delaying the inevitable heartache tightening in her chest.
She burst into A&E and spotted a young man in a dirt-stained jacket slumped on a gurney. His face was scratched, a plaster over his eyebrow, his expression lost.
“Where’s my daughter? What did you do to her?” She flew at him, grabbing his jacket and shaking him.
“It wasn’t my fault! A car came out of nowhere around the bend… I swerved, but it still clipped us… I didn’t—”
“Who hit you? Why?” Lydia shouted, not understanding.
“Oi, what’s all this?” An older doctor with thick sandy moustaches strode in. “You’re Ms. Taylor’s mother? Sign here for surgical consent.”
“What surgery? For what? Where’s my daughter?”
“She’s unconscious—intracranial bleeding, pressure building. If we don’t stop it, she’ll… Just sign here.” He held out a form.
The medical jargon made her dizzy; the words blurred. With a trembling hand, she signed, then collapsed onto the gurney beside the boy. The doctor left without another word.
“I don’t understand… She just went out…” Lydia whispered, rocking slightly.
“We were hanging out, then I suggested a ride on my bike…”
Lydia whipped her head toward him.
“This is your fault!” Her glare burned with hatred.
The boy flinched. “I didn’t… The driver didn’t even stop to see if we were alive…”
“Harry! You alright?” A tall man strode in. The boy—Harry—jumped up and rushed to him.
“It wasn’t me, Dad! I wasn’t speeding… He came out of nowhere… A bystander drove us here. The doctor said if we’d been ten minutes later, Emily would’ve—” He broke down, sobbing into his father’s chest.
The man embraced him, rubbing his shaking back.
“I believe you. Did you catch the car’s make or colour? Where it happened? I’ll find him.”
“Like you will,” Lydia spat bitterly. “Your boy’s fine, but my girl… Because of your son—” She choked on a sob.
“Who’s this?” the man asked.
“Emily’s mum.”
“Tell me everything you remember,” he said to Harry.
“Yeah, tell Daddy how you almost killed my daughter,” Lydia sneered.
“Madam, I understand your grief, but let’s get the facts. If my son’s at fault, he’ll answer for it. Harry, do you know her address?” The boy nodded, sniffling.
“Not my fault…” he kept muttering.
The man handed Lydia a business card. “Call if you need anything.” She turned away, but he slipped it into her open handbag. “Let’s get you home,” he told Harry.
“What about Emily?”
“Her mother’s here. They won’t let you see her anyway.” He glanced at Lydia. “Need a lift?”
She didn’t answer, arms wrapped around herself, still swaying.
Lydia scanned the empty room, spotting a tiny paper cross tucked behind a wall mirror. On stiff legs, she walked over and clutched at it.
“Save my daughter. She’s only seventeen. I can’t live without her… Take my life, do whatever you want—just save her.”
She lost track of time, repeating the words like a mantra. People came and went, speaking to her, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from the cross.
“You’re still here? The surgery went well—bleeding’s stopped, hematoma removed…” Lydia spun around. The doctor stood before her, exhaustion ageing him, even his moustaches drooping. In the predawn light, his face looked grey.
“Alive…” Relief buckled her knees. She groped for something to hold onto.
“Sit.” He pushed a chair under her, speaking words that barely registered. He offered water; she shoved it away, spilling it over his hand.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Go home. Get some rest. She’ll sleep till morning. Come back tomorrow—I’ll take you to her.”
“Can I stay?” she pleaded.
“No. I said she’s sleeping. We might get emergencies—you’d be in the way. Go home.”
Lydia obeyed, stepping outside. Her legs gave out, and she sank onto a bench by the road. Soon, she shivered in the cold. The sky lightened; birds chirped, welcoming the day. She stood and walked back inside.
A&E was empty. Tiptoeing through, she found a soft couch in a small waiting area, closed her eyes…
“You never left?” A voice startled her awake. Blinking, she recognised the doctor and leapt up.
“How’s Emily?”
“Stable, still asleep. Come, I’ll get you coffee. You know the Stantons?”
“Who?”
“Your daughter was with Harry Stanton—his father’s in finance. The boy’s decent, didn’t abandon her. Carried her to the road himself. A passerby drove them—didn’t wait for an ambulance. You should be grateful.”
Lydia recalled the lanky boy with the plaster.
“He’s in her year,” she said.
“Parents are always the last to know. I’ve a son myself—married now, but back then…” He waved a hand.
“Dr. Harris, trauma case just arrived,” a nurse called.
“Coming. You rest, Lydia.”
When he returned, she was studying a framed photo of his wife and son on his desk.
“Come on, she’s awake. Two minutes—no crying, no fuss.”
Lydia froze in the doorway—Emily’s bandaged head, bruised face.
“Mum,” she whispered.
“Sweetheart! Thank God!” She clasped Emily’s hand.
“Mum… Where’s Harry?”
“Harry? His dad took him home. He’s fine—just scratches. You never said you were seeing a Stanton.”
“That’s enough. Go home,” the doctor said, guiding her out.
The hours since she’d left home felt like years. She showered, drank coffee, and went to work.
Emily recovered well. Harry visited daily—flowers piled on the windowsill, fruit on the bedside table.
“Love, he’s not for you. His family’s loaded—As Lydia watched Emily and Harry laugh together in the garden, she realised that sometimes, life’s surprises bring exactly what you never knew you needed.
