28October2025
The black limousine glided gently onto the curb outside the private clinic in Surrey. It was more than a car; it was the embodiment of an idea polished to a highgloss sheen. From its doors stepped a man I have known all my lifeRobert Viles.
His suit was immaculate, as if stitched not by a tailor but by Fate herself on a special order. Yet, a closer look revealed the shoulders of the expensive fabric sagging slightlyhe had lost a great deal of weight over the past months.
Roberts face, smooth and wellkept, wore the mask of icy composure, but the corners of his temples, perpetually tight from stress, hinted at a lingering grey fatigue. He adjusted his tie with a hand of slender, almost aristocratic fingers; the gesture spoke of a need for control, a display of power that slipped away like water through his grasp.
The name Robert Viles was his coat of armscarried with dignity and a touch of hauteur. It sounded respectable in boardrooms, commanding in negotiations, and cold in the opulent emptiness of his office. At fortyeight, with the last twenty years spent building an empire brick by brick, he now felt those bricks crumbling, exposing a hollow core.
He moved with practiced grace, each step a silent testament to the internal effort required. Even the simple act of walking to the clinics entrance demanded tension. When he turned for a final glance at his perfect vehicle, a shadow flickered in his eyesmore than mere weariness, the trace of a man who understood he was merely a temporary steward of this luxury.
Across the road, the village market bustled. Parked a short distance away, his iron, halfrusty steed, stood another man, Andrew Whitaker. He had just returned from buying groceries with his wife and their two childrena son and a daughter. He brushed his hands on his worn jeans, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the door of his aging sedan.
Andrew stood just under six foot, broadshouldered, with a weatherworn, sunkissed face even in early autumn. His hair was a light, sunbleached shade, cut short. He embodied the solid reliability forged by years of ordinary, hard work.
Scanning the market, his gaze landed on the limousine. In his clear, direct eyes sparked a familiar flamea mixture of bitter envy and sweet admiration. He took one last drag, flicked the ash, and stamped it out with the heel of his boot.
Now thats the stuff he murmured, his voice lacking malice, almost childlike in its wonder. If only I could live his life instead of my own drudgery. Not this clunky estate car, but a sleek little bird. Not homecooked pies, but steaks in fancy restaurants. And the sea twice a year, as if on a schedule. Once in June with the kids, splashing about, and once in September with Emily, quiet, listening to the surf
He sighed, his broad shoulders drooping under the weight of that delicious, unattainable dream. He imagined a soft interior, the calm and confidence he believed must radiate from such a vehicle and the life of its owner.
Somewhere above, or perhaps right beside us, an unseen ear caught his whisper and exhaled softly. People see only the glossy poster, unaware of the backstage drama.
The man everyone called fortunate walked on the asphalt, each step echoing a dull, blurred ache deep within a body that no longer obeyed him and betrayed him daily. His lunch awaited at homea bland, overcooked mash with a hint of steam that made his stomach turn.
An hour earlier he had left the directors office, and a heavy, leaden shadow of impending collapse already pressed down, tightening its grip. In his ears lingered the flat, indifferent voice reciting charges, each a nail in the lid of his empire.
His only son, James, a boy with clear eyes, had once been his projected future, the continuation of his purpose. Now the lad was confined behind the high fence of another specialist clinic, battling demons fed by prohibited substances and parental neglect.
And his wife Elsie. The very woman whose laugh once made his heart race now carried the scent of another mans aftershave. He didnt just suspecthe knew. In her increasingly frequent girls nights, in the new gleam in her eyes when she stared at her phone, in her sudden zeal for evening fitness classes while ordinary families sat down to dinner, he saw the pieces of an inexorable betrayal assembling.
Even Mrs. Grace, the housekeeper, when she ladled the same tasteless mash, looked at him a moment too long, sorrowful. Was it pity? Or did her silent sympathy hide something elsea knowledge that, on Elsies secret instruction, shed been sprinkling a handful of calming tablets into his food to keep him from asking too many questions?
He could feel his days dwindling, a fact reflected in the clinicians eyes. First he would lose everything: the business hed built from scratch, the manor where empty rooms echoed, the yacht that had become a mockery, and finally his name, soon to be trampled in newspaper headlines.
The worst part was not death itself but the slow, degrading march toward it. The realization that he had been written off, betrayed, that his existence had reduced to waiting for the end, his wealth turned into a phantom fought over by others.
Meanwhile, the man who envied his former car was healthytruly so. His health was not an abstract certainty ignored until gone, but a tangible, lively force. He could bite into a crisp apple, feeling the burst of sweettart juice, or relish a slice of black bread with salty lard and fresh dill, a pleasure surpassing any steak from a pricey eatery. His sleep was sound, free of pills and worries.
His world was solid as a foundationnot the cold marble of a mansion, but warm and reliable like a wellbuilt cottage. In his life there was no room for the shifting sands of betrayal or financial pyramids. Simple logic reigned: work earns, help receives, love begets love.
It was this sturdy foundation that tugged at him by the sleeve. His wife, gentle yet devoid of highsociety airs.
What are you mulling over? she said, nudging him. Lets head to the market and buy the calfs legs for the jellied beef. We need to get there early before its all gone. And while were at it, well check out a pair of trainers for young Tomthose old ones are practically falling apart.
They went. She took his arm as if guiding him confidently through life. He walked beside her, feeling a quiet, steadfast love in his chest. Ahead, their children ran, laughing and jostlingtwo sources of noise, chaos, and endless joy. Behind this modest caravan of happiness, an unseen guardian angel fluttered, warding off misfortune with a soft wingbeat.
And I, in my immaculate suit, shuffled toward the clinics gates. My eyes, glazed from the painkillers, fell on a robust, ruddyfaced man whose arm was being guided by my lively wife as if he were a prized find.
In that moment, my soul, drained by illness and betrayal, sparked a sharp, clear thought: I would trade all those inflated millions, all that gilded dust for a simple tug on my jacket sleeve. For that persistent nudge toward the market for beef legs. For the right to savour a proper plate of jellied beef when it finally sets.
Do not chase other peoples fortunes. Do not try on a happiness that is lined with bitter wormwood. Live your own life. Sometimes a plain pair of trainers on your feet brings more blessing than the most luxurious car. Each of us walks a different path, and it matters that we travel it in shoes that fit our own modest comfort.
Walking on foot is often wiser than being carried by the wind toward the edge of a cliff.
Do not covet what belongs to another. It always comes with an invisible but heavy loadanothers sorrow, mistakes, sins, strange and sometimes deadly for your own soul.
Your life, with its simple pleasuresa morning cup of tea, childrens laughter, the warmth of the hearthis the true wealth. It cannot be deposited in a bank, yet it fills the heart with quiet, deep happiness. Value what you have, for for someone else it may be an unattainable dream. Follow your own road, and let your stepsno matter how modestlead you to genuine contentment.
Lesson:True riches lie in ordinary moments, not in the glitter of someone elses dream.
