Life is Full of Surprises
“Mum, I’m off,” Emma called, poking her head into the kitchen.
Lydia turned away from the stove and studied her daughter.
“What?” Emma sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes.
“Nothing. Why are you dressed up so late? Makeup too. A date? Don’t stay out too late, alright?”
“Alright,” Emma muttered before hurrying out.
*She’s all grown up now,* Lydia thought with a sigh. She covered the frying pan with a lid and walked to the large mirror in the hallway. *Where did my seventeen years go? Time flew by so fast. Thought I had my whole life ahead of me, and now half of it’s already gone. School dragged on endlessly, and then life sped downhill. Uni, marriage… Happiness peeked out like sunshine behind clouds, then vanished again.* She adjusted her hair. *Oh well. My daughter’s bright and beautiful… Oh, the potatoes!*
Lydia gasped and dashed back to the kitchen. She grabbed the lid, nearly dropping it, then hissed in pain as steam burned her fingers. *Fussing in front of the mirror, almost ruined dinner…*
She ate alone without much appetite, then settled in to watch a series on BBC Two. Darkness fell quickly outside. She must’ve dozed off—her phone ringing startled her awake. Still half-asleep, she answered without checking the caller ID, certain it was Emma. Who else would ring so late? She didn’t have close friends, just work acquaintances bound by shared loneliness.
A man’s voice surprised her.
“Are you Emma Carter’s mother?”
“Who is this?” Lydia asked cautiously.
“Dr. Bennett from St. Mary’s Hospital. You need to come in—your daughter’s been in an accident. She needs emergency surgery. Since she’s a minor, we require your consent—”
“What surgery?” Lydia struggled to process his words, but the line went dead.
She sat frozen, trying to make sense of it. *It must be a mistake. Emma just went out. What accident?* But the doctor had used her full name. Her groggy mind refused to think straight. She forced herself to focus—*St. Mary’s, need a taxi.* She changed quickly, grabbed her purse, and rushed out, skipping the lift for the stairs. A cab was already pulling up, its headlights blinding her.
“Please hurry… My daughter’s at the hospital,” she panted, still catching her breath from the sprint downstairs.
The entire ride, Lydia alternated between urging the driver to go faster—just to prove this was a mistake—and secretly wishing he’d slow down, delaying the inevitable heartbreak looming ahead.
She burst into A&E and immediately spotted a lanky lad in a dirty jacket on a bench, his face scratched, a plaster above his eyebrow, his expression dazed.
“Where’s my daughter? What did you do to her?!” She lunged at him, gripping his jacket.
“It wasn’t my fault! A car came round the bend—I swerved, but it still clipped us—I swear!”
“Who hit you? Why?” Lydia shouted, not understanding.
“What’s all this noise?” An older doctor with a bushy moustache strode in. “You’re Mrs. Carter? Sign here for the procedure.”
“Procedure? What for? Where’s Emma?!”
“She’s unconscious. A brain haemorrhage—pressure’s building. If we don’t stop the bleeding, she’ll… Just sign here.”
The medical jargon made her head spin. With a trembling hand, she scribbled her name and collapsed onto the bench beside the boy. The doctor left swiftly.
“I don’t get it… She just went out…” Lydia mumbled, rocking back and forth.
“We were hanging out, then I suggested a ride on my motorbike—”
Lydia whipped her head toward him. “This is YOUR fault!”
The boy flinched at her glare.
“I didn’t even stop to see if we were alive…”
“Daniel! You alright?” A tall man entered. The boy rushed to him.
“Dad, it wasn’t my fault! The car just came out of nowhere—if I hadn’t dodged, it would’ve crushed us! A passerby drove us here—the doctor said ten minutes later, and Emma would’ve—” He broke down sobbing into his father’s chest.
“You’ll be fine. Did you catch the car’s details? I’ll find them.”
“You won’t. Your son’s fine, but my girl… Because of him!” Lydia choked on her tears.
“Who’s this?” the man asked his son.
“Emma’s mum.”
“Tell me everything,” the father instructed.
“Yeah, tell Daddy how you nearly killed my daughter,” Lydia sneered.
“Ma’am, I sympathise, but we need facts. If Daniel’s at fault, he’ll face it. Do you know Emma’s address?” The boy nodded, still sniffling.
“Here’s my card. Call if you need anything.” He held it out. Lydia turned away. He tucked it into her open handbag. “Let’s get you home,” he told his son.
“What about Emma?”
“Her mother’s here. They won’t let you see her.” He glanced at Lydia. “Need a lift?”
She didn’t answer, still clutching herself.
Alone in the empty room, Lydia spotted a small paper cross tucked behind the wall mirror. She stood on unsteady legs and approached it.
“Save my daughter. She’s only seventeen. I can’t live without her… Take my life, do anything, just save her…”
She lost track of time, repeating the plea like a mantra. People came and went, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“You’re still here? The surgery went well—bleeding’s stopped, pressure relieved…” Lydia spun around. The doctor looked exhausted, his moustache drooping in the dawn light.
“She’s alive—” Relief buckled her knees.
“Sit.” He guided her to a chair, murmuring reassurances she barely heard. He offered water; she pushed it away, spilling it.
“Sorry.”
“Go home. She’ll sleep till morning. Come back then.”
She obeyed, stepping outside only to collapse onto a sidewalk bench. The sunrise painted the sky, birds chirping cheerfully. Shivering, she trudged back inside.
The A&E doors were unlocked. The room was empty now. She tiptoed down the corridor, sinking onto a sofa in a small waiting area, closing her eyes…
“You never left?” She startled awake to the doctor’s voice.
“How’s Emma?”
“Resting. Come, I’ll get you coffee.” He led her to the staff room. “You know the Sutherlands?”
“Who?”
“Emma was in the accident with Daniel Sutherland—his father’s a businessman. That lad’s decent though—carried her from the wreck himself. A driver stopped to help. You should thank him.”
Lydia recalled the scrawny boy on the bench.
“He goes to her school,” she said.
“Parents are always the last to know. I’ve a son myself—married now, but back then…” He waved dismissively.
A nurse interrupted. “Dr. Bennett, new patient.”
He left. Lydia examined a framed photo of his wife and son on the desk.
When he returned, he took her to Emma’s room. “Two minutes. No crying, no fussing.”
Lydia froze in the doorway at the sight of her daughter—bandaged, bruised.
“Mum,” Emma whispered weakly.
“Thank God!” Lydia clasped her hand.
“Mum, where’s Daniel?”
“His father took him home. You never told me you were seeing the Sutherland boy.”
“Enough. She needs rest.” The doctor guided Lydia out.
The hours since she’d rushed from home felt like years. She showered, gulped coffee, and went to work.
Emma recovered steadily. Daniel visited daily, leaving flowers and fruit.
“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—to study in the States.”
“Good. You’ll meet someone else.”
One evening, the doorbell rang. Lydia, in a faded dressing gown, answered to find Richard Sutherland. She instantly regretted her unkempt hair, clutching the gown closed.
“Sorry for dropping by. May I come in?”
She stepped aside.
“I found the driver who hit them.”
“Really?” Her grip loosened; the gown gaped.
Richard averted his gaze. “He confessed. I’ll ensure he’s punished. How’s Emma?”
“Fine. Why hasn’t Daniel visited?”
“He’s gone to his mother’s.”
“Because of Emma?”
“No, planned long before.”
“We’re lucky it was your son. If it’d been some ordinary boy, no one would’ve cared,” Lydia sneered.
He gave her a disapproving look, said goodbye, and left. She instantly regretted her rudeness.
*What’Richard returned a week later with an apology and a bouquet, and as Lydia took the flowers, she realized that sometimes, life’s greatest surprises come when you least expect them and that second chances could bloom even after the darkest storms.
