“Mother, if you don’t accept my choice, I’ll leave. For good…”
Anthony stepped into the carriage of the commuter train and glanced around. Plenty of empty seats—he could take his pick. He settled by the window. Every so often, the doors slid open with a hiss, letting in new passengers.
Opposite him sat an older couple. The woman rustled through a paper bag, pulled out two buttered rolls, and they began eating. The smell of fresh bread filled the air. Anthony politely turned toward the window.
“Young man, have one,” the woman offered, stretching a roll toward him.
“No, thank you,” Anthony smiled.
“Go on, it’s nearly a two-hour ride.”
He took the roll and bit into it. How delicious it tasted! The tannoy crackled to life, a man’s voice breaking through the static: “Train departing in… minutes… Stopping at all stations except… Repeat…”
“Did you catch that, young man? Which stations are being skipped?” the woman fretted.
Anthony shrugged. He was riding to the end of the line—he hadn’t been listening.
“I told you we should’ve taken the slow train, with all the stops. You never listen to me,” she scolded her husband. “Now what? We’ll have to get off early and wait for the next one!”
She only calmed when a fellow passenger assured her the train would stop at their station. The bickering settled, and Anthony finished his roll, gazing out the window at the blur of trees, golden sunlight filtering through spring leaves, fleeting glimpses of towns. The carriage grew stuffy, sweat trickling down his back beneath his stiff army uniform.
He imagined arriving home—his mother’s joy, the bliss of a hot shower. Soon, he’d trade his uniform for jeans, a T-shirt, trainers, and forget early wake-up calls and drills. It felt like he’d sleep for a whole day on his soft sofa, wake to golden pancakes under a tea towel on the kitchen table, left by his mother for breakfast…
*I wonder how Alice is. Only a year’s passed—she can’t have changed much.*
The image of a slight girl with chestnut hair and green eyes flickered in his mind. She was a year younger, lived next door, and had just finished school when he left. He’d never paid her much heed—just another girl, nothing special.
The night before he left, their group had gathered at the playground. James berated Anthony for his rash decision—dropping out of university to enlist. Peter backed him up, saying if not for his mum, he might’ve joined too. The girls mourned the group splitting but mostly scrolled their phones, giggling.
Then Alice, the one they all dismissed as too young, suddenly said, “I’ll wait for you.” Silence fell. She flushed and bolted.
“Tony’s got himself a sweetheart,” Peter crowed, laughing.
“Shut up. Let her wait. I’ll come back and marry her,” Anthony shot back, half-joking, half-serious, shoving Peter so hard he nearly toppled off the bench.
He’d never explained his real reason for enlisting—not even to Peter or James. He’d started university to please his father. By spring, his father walked out—another woman, another child on the way. His world crumbled, his father’s authority with it. Enlisting was his rebellion.
His mother wept, of course. He promised he’d return in a year, figure things out—maybe resume studies, part-time.
Now, that year was behind him. Thoughts of vengeance had faded. He missed his mother, his home, his friends. He’d done the right thing. Life stretched ahead.
At the next station, the couple disembarked, replaced by a young pair holding hands in silence. Anthony’s mind wandered back to Alice. For a year, he’d replayed her words, his reply. It didn’t feel like a joke anymore.
The train shuddered to a halt. Anthony strode through the underpass, savoring the echo of his footsteps—like a crowd marching alongside him. His father used to laugh, calling it a trick of acoustics.
Emerging onto the station square, he walked home, breathing in familiar air, stretching his legs. A neighbor spotted him. “Anthony’s back! Your mother will be over the moon…”
He skipped the lift, racing upstairs three steps at a time. At the door, he hesitated—what if she was out? He hadn’t called ahead.
The lock clicked. The door swung open. His mother gasped, flung her arms around him, held him at arm’s length as if to confirm he was real. She fussed, chiding him for not warning her, bustling to the kitchen. While she cooked, he showered. She’d left fresh clothes and a towel folded atop the washing machine.
His old jeans were too tight, the T-shirt too short.
“You’ve grown!” she marveled when he joined her. “Never mind—I’ll pop to the shops for new things.”
“Don’t bother, these’ll do,” Anthony said, sitting down.
“Not if you want girls to look at you twice.”
Over dinner, she filled him in. “Peter had an accident. Months in hospital. Wheelchair-bound now. Doctors say he’ll never walk. Lucky to be alive—took his dad’s car, drunk. Thank God no one was with him. If he’d enlisted with you…” She sighed. “Haven’t seen James in ages. Emily’s married…”
Anthony burned to ask about Alice, but his mother avoided the subject, as if deliberately.
She left for the shops. Anthony wandered the flat, reacquainting himself with its textures.
When she returned, he dressed in the new clothes—shirt, jeans, his old trainers—and headed to Peter’s. His mother answered the door. Peter sat stiff in his chair, barely mustering a smile. The conversation faltered. Anthony asked after James, grasping for topics.
“Hardly visits. Came by the hospital a couple times.” Peter eyed him warily, as if bracing for something.
Anthony left, promising to return.
James, by contrast, hugged him warmly. Anthony cut to the chase: “What’s the rift between you and Peter?”
“Not about the accident. I’ll let you find out for yourself.”
“What’s there to find out? What happened while I was gone?”
“You’ll see.” James clammed up. “Anyway—work or uni for you now?”
“Dunno yet. Maybe both.”
It was too late to call on Alice, though he ached to see her, to learn if she’d waited. Home again, he lay awake, dissecting the day, puzzling over what had unfolded in his absence.
Morning. His mother left for work, peeking into his room—he feigned sleep. The front door clicked shut. He rose, stretched, and padded to the kitchen. The kettle was still warm, golden pancakes under a towel, just as he’d dreamed.
After breakfast, he dressed and went to Alice’s, hoping to find her alone. Heart hammering, he rang the bell. Silence. He tried again, turned to leave—then the lock turned.
There she stood, just as he remembered.
“You said you’d wait. I’m back,” he grinned.
For a second, joy lit her eyes—then vanished. She stepped back. Anthony’s gaze dropped to her swollen belly beneath a floral dressing gown.
“Come in,” she murmured, moving aside.
“You’re married?” he asked, toeing off his trainers, stepping into the living room. He’d only been here once—her birthday, a year ago. He couldn’t look at her belly, his stomach churning. What had he expected? She’d made no promises—neither had he.
“No,” Alice said.
“What d’you mean?”
“I’m not married.”
“Then who’s the father?”
“Paul.”
It took Anthony a beat.
“But he’s—”
“The accident came later. Two days after.” She filled the kettle. “Tea?” He followed her to the kitchen.
“Exams soon?”
She shook her head, back turned.
“Dropped out. No use studying now.”
“Does Paul know?”
“Yes. I told him in hospital.”
“Did he force you?” Anthony demanded.
“No… I don’t know. We bumped into each other outside. He and James had been drinking. Paul invited me to his birthday. Said others were coming. No one did. I had one glass of champagne—next thing I knew, everything blurred. Maybe he slipped something in. Bragged about buying pills at a club.”
Her parents had pressed for marriage, but then the accident happened. “Didn’t want him anyway. Tried to… end it. The doctors said it’d risk never having children again.” Her hands shook as she poured tea. “I didn’t wait. I’m sorry.”
Anthony couldn’t bear it. He knocked over a chair, bolted from the flat. He barely registered sprinting across the courtyard, pounding on Paul’s door. Paul’s mother answered, eyes wide with fear. Paul shrank back in his wheelchairAnthony turned away, the weight of shattered friendships and forgiveness too heavy to carry, but when he held Alice’s daughter for the first time, with her mother’s same bright eyes and quiet strength, he knew his choice had always been right.
