Life is Full of Surprises
“Mum, I’m off,” Emily called out, poking her head into the kitchen.
Lydia turned away from the stove and studied her daughter carefully.
“What?” Emily sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
“Nothing. Why are you so dressed up at this hour? Makeup on and everything. Got a date? Don’t stay out too late, alright?”
“Fine,” Emily muttered before slipping away.
*She’s all grown up now,* Lydia thought with a quiet sigh. 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 fast. Thought I had a whole life ahead of me, and now more than half is already over. School dragged on forever, and then life sped downhill like a rolling ball. Uni, marriage… Happiness peeked out like the sun from behind the clouds, then vanished again.* She smoothed her hair. *Oh well. My daughter’s clever and beautiful… Oh no, the potatoes!*
Lydia gasped and dashed back to the kitchen. She grabbed the lid off the pan, nearly dropping it, then hissed in pain as she blew on her burnt fingers. *Too busy staring in the mirror and nearly ruined dinner…* she scolded herself.
She ate alone, half-heartedly, then settled in to watch a show on BBC Two. Outside, the sky darkened quickly. She hadn’t even realized she’d dozed off until her phone jolted her awake. Still groggy, she didn’t check the caller ID—who else would ring so late besides Emily? She didn’t have close friends, just work acquaintances united by shared loneliness.
A man’s voice startled her.
“Are you Emily Harris’s mother?”
“Who’s asking?” Lydia replied cautiously.
“This is 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 underage, we require your consent—”
“Surgery? What for?” Lydia’s mind was sluggish, still wrapped in sleep, but the line had already gone dead.
She struggled to process it. It had to be a mistake. Emily had just gone out for a walk. An *accident*? But the doctor knew her name. Her thoughts moved like syrup. She forced herself to focus: *St. Mary’s. Go now.* She called a cab, threw on a jacket, grabbed her bag, and bolted out. Skipping the lift, she took the stairs two at a time. The taxi was already pulling up, headlights blinding her as she stumbled into the street.
“Please hurry… My daughter’s in hospital…” she gasped, still catching her breath.
The entire ride was a blur of contradicting urges—urging the driver to go faster so she could confirm it was all a mistake, then secretly wishing he’d slow down, delaying the inevitable horror squeezing her chest.
She burst into A&E and spotted a lanky bloke in a grubby jacket slumped on a gurney. His face was scraped, a plaster stuck above his brow, his eyes dazed.
“Where’s my daughter? What did you do to her?!” She lunged at him, gripping his open jacket and shaking him.
“It wasn’t my fault! A car came out of nowhere—I swerved, but it still clipped us—”
“Who hit you? Why?!” Lydia shrieked, lost in the chaos.
“Oi, what’s all this shouting?” An older doctor strode in, his bushy blond moustache immediately catching her eye. “You’re Harris’s mother? Sign this consent form.”
“Consent for what? Where’s my daughter?!”
“She’s unconscious. A brain hematoma—pressure’s building. If we don’t stop the bleeding, she’ll… Just sign here.” He thrust a clipboard at her.
The medical jargon spun her head. Her hand shook as she scribbled her name, then she collapsed onto the gurney beside the bloke. The doctor vanished just as quickly.
“I don’t understand… She just went out…” Lydia murmured, rocking slightly.
“We were hanging out, then I suggested a ride on my bike…”
Her head snapped toward him.
“This is *your* fault!”
The lad flinched from her glare.
“I didn’t—the bloke didn’t even stop to see if we were alive…”
“James! You alright?” A tall man strode in. The lad—*James*—jumped up and rushed to him.
“I swear, Dad, I wasn’t speeding! He came out of nowhere—if I hadn’t dodged, he’d have flattened us! Some passerby brought us here. The doc said if we’d been ten minutes later, Emily would’ve—” He broke down, sobbing into his father’s chest.
The man held him, rubbing his back.
“I believe you. Did you get the licence plate? Colour, make? Where did it happen? I’ll find him.”
“Yeah, right. Your boy’s fine, but my girl—” Lydia choked on her own tears.
“And you are?” the man asked his son.
“Emily’s mum.”
“Tell me everything,” the father urged.
“Yes, tell Daddy how you nearly killed my daughter,” Lydia spat.
“Madam, I understand you’re upset, but we need the facts. If my son’s at fault, he’ll face it. James—you know her address?” The lad nodded between sniffles.
“I didn’t do anything wrong…”
“Here’s my card. Call if you need anything.” He offered it, but Lydia turned away. Shrugging, he tucked it into her open handbag. “Ready to go home?”
“What about Emily?” James didn’t budge.
“Her mother’s here. They won’t let you see her anyway.” He glanced at Lydia. “Need a lift?”
She didn’t answer, just hugged herself, swaying slightly.
Left alone, Lydia’s gaze drifted to a tiny paper cross tucked behind the mirror over the sink. She stumbled toward it on stiff legs.
“Save my girl. She’s only sixteen. I can’t lose her… Take me instead, do anything—just save her…”
She didn’t know how long she stood there, repeating the same desperate words like a prayer. Nurses came and went, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“Still here?” She spun around. The doctor stood before her, exhausted, his moustache drooping. “Surgery went well. Bleeding’s stopped, hematoma removed…”
“Alive…” The fear ebbed, her legs buckled. She groped for something to steady herself.
“Sit.” He nudged a chair under her, talking, but the words didn’t register. He handed her water; she knocked it aside, splashing his sleeve.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Go home. She’ll sleep till morning. Come back tomorrow—I’ll take you to her.”
“Can I stay?”
“No. You’ll just be in the way. Go.”
She obeyed, stepping outside only for her legs to give out. She sank onto a bench by the road, shivering as dawn broke. Birds chirped, cheerful. Lydia stood and walked back inside.
The A&E door was unlocked. She crept through the empty ward into a corridor, settling onto a sofa in a small waiting area, eyes drifting shut…
“You never left?” She jolted awake, disoriented. The doctor. She scrambled up.
“Emily?”
“Your daughter’s fine. Come, I’ll fetch you coffee. You know the Stocktons?”
“Who?”
“Emily was in the accident with Stockton’s boy—wealthy businessman. Decent lad, though. Carried her from the wreck himself. A Good Samaritan drove them here, didn’t wait for an ambulance. You owe him thanks.”
Lydia remembered the scrawny kid on the gurney.
“He goes to her school,” she said numbly.
“Parents are always the last to know. I’ve a grown son myself—took years before he told me anything. Paul, we’ve got a new admission!” A nurse called from the doorway.
“Go, rest,” he told Lydia before hurrying off.
When he returned, she was studying a framed photo on his desk—his wife and son.
“Come. She’s awake. Two minutes—no crying, no fuss.”
Lydia froze in the doorway at the sight of Emily—bandaged head, bruised face.
“Mum…” her voice was faint.
“Love! Thank God!” She rushed over, clutching her daughter’s hand.
“Where’s James?”
“His father took him home. Minor scrapes. You never said you were seeing a Stockton.”
“That’s enough,” the doctor cut in, steering Lydia out.
The hours since she’d dashed from her flat felt like years. She showered, gulped coffee, and dragged herself to work.
Emily recovered steadily. James visited daily. Flowers piled on the windowsill, a fruit bowl on the nightstandOne year later, under the golden autumn leaves, Lydia smiled as she watched Emily and James walk hand in hand toward their future, while the baby in her arms and the man by her side reminded her that life, after all its twists and turns, had given her a second chance at happiness.
