Natalie, You’ve Been Gone Five Years—You Never Cared About My Life or What Became of Me Natalie and Ben had lived together for over five years. Ben didn’t earn a fortune; his wages were modest, as he was an ordinary labourer. Natalie had always dreamed of a comfortable, or better yet, a wealthy life, so she relished any encounter with men better off than her husband. One day, Natalie’s luck seemed to change—she caught the eye of a wealthy businessman who promised her the world. Swayed by his grand speeches, she left her poor husband behind to start a new life. Ben was devastated by her actions. He practically begged on his knees, promising he’d change everything: earn more money, leave his old job, work day and night—anything to keep her happy. But Natalie remained unmoved, already dreaming of sailing on a white yacht and shopping in Europe’s most exclusive boutiques, something Ben could never provide. No declarations of love or promises of moving mountains could change her mind. Five years later, at thirty-two, Natalie found herself out of favour with her rich partner, who now had plenty of younger, flirtatious women around him. He told her she was too argumentative and demanding, and he lost all interest. Broke and unaccustomed to working for herself, Natalie decided to return to her ex-husband. After all, he’d promised her eternal love and said his heart would always belong to her; surely he’d be waiting. As she approached the flat they once shared, she heard movement at the door—an unfamiliar woman answered, holding a little girl in her arms. “Darling, we’ve talked about not opening the door alone,” the woman chided the child. “Who are you looking for?” she asked Natalie, who stood speechless at the threshold. “I’m looking for Ben. Is he home?” Natalie stammered, confused. “Ben, there’s a lady here asking for you! What’s your name?” called the woman, turning to Natalie’s former husband. “Natalie!” Ben exclaimed in surprise, then turned to the woman. “Love, please go inside. I need to talk.” “Who was that?” Natalie asked, shocked as she watched the woman and child leave. “That’s my wife, Olivia, and our daughter, Mary,” said Ben. “When did you get married? You have a daughter? You promised me forever. You said you’d never love anyone the way you loved me!” “It’s been so many years, Natalie. At first, I was heartbroken. But then I realised life doesn’t end when someone leaves. Then I met Olivia, fell in love, and she’s made me truly happy. She’s given me a family.” “What about me?” “Natalie, you’ve been gone five years, and you never cared how I was or what happened to me. You chased after someone else’s money, couldn’t think of anything but luxury. We may never have been rich, but that doesn’t excuse what you did. Now you’re back? Did you expect me to be waiting here for you all these years?” “I was foolish! I love you!” “Natalie, enough with the theatrics. Just leave. I don’t need you anymore. I don’t want to see you. Your boyfriend dropped you, so you’ve come running back to me? It makes me sick. Just go.” Natalie burst into bitter tears, realising no one wanted her, while Ben was glad he’d moved on and, in a way, had found his own kind of justice.

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 4 minViews 2

9th June

Charlotte, its been five years since you left, and youve not given a second thought to how Im living or whats become of me.

Charlotte and I, Edward, lived together for just over five years. I never earned much my wage as a builder barely covered our bills, but we got by. Charlotte, though, always had her sights set higher. She longed for a comfortable, perhaps even lavish life, and would light up whenever she met men with deeper pockets than mine.

Then, as luck would have it, one day Charlotte caught the eye of a wealthy businessman from London who promised her a life of opulence beyond her wildest dreams. Seduced by his charming words and golden promises, she left me behind to chase a new beginning.

I was utterly crushed by what shed done. I humbled myself at her feet, pleading and promising that Id change, that Id find a better job, earn more, work day and night if I had to, if only she would stay. But Charlotte was unmoved. She was already picturing herself sailing along the Thames on a white yacht, shopping in the most exclusive boutiques in Mayfair. Nothing I said or pledged could keep her.

Five years later, when Charlotte turned thirty-two, her wealthy suitor lost all interest in herthere were plenty of younger, more captivating women hovering about him. He told her outright that she was far too demanding and argumentative and that he wanted nothing more to do with her.

Finding herself alone in London, unable to fend for herself (shed never held a proper job, after all), Charlotte decided to return to me. She told herself Id once promised her undying love and that my heart would always be hers, so surely I must be waiting for her.

As Charlotte approached my flatour old home togethera noise by the door caught her attention. The door opened, and a woman Id never seen before stood there, cradling a little girl in her arms.

Sweetheart, how many times have I told you? You mustnt open the door on your own, the woman said gently to the child. Then she looked at Charlotte, Hello, can I help you?

Charlotte stood frozen on the doorstep, mouth slightly agape. Im looking for Edward. Is he in? she stammered, lost for words.

The woman called out, Edward, theres a woman here asking for you! Whats your name, love?

Charlotte, she blurted out.

I appeared in the hallway, taken aback. Charlotte! I exclaimed, then turned to the woman beside me. Darling, would you mind popping in with Emily? I need a word.

Charlotte gawked at the little girl as they disappeared inside. Who was that? she gasped.

Thats my wife, Sophie, and our daughter, Emily, I replied quietly.

When did you get married? You have a daughter? You once swore I was the only one youd ever truly lovedo you remember?

Charlotte, its been years now. I grieved, but I realised life doesnt end because someone leaves you. Then Sophie came into my life and I fell, heart and soul, for her. Shes made me truly happy and given me a beautiful daughter.

But what about me? Charlotte whispered.

Youve been gone five years and not once did you care how I was or what was happening with me. You ran off for someone elses fortune. Money and comfort were all you could think about. Maybe I was never wealthy, but that doesnt excuse what you did. And now, suddenly, you want to come back? Did you think Id just wait for you until the end of time?

Charlotte burst into tears, her voice choking. I was foolish! I still love you!

But I couldnt bear it anymore. Charlotte, stop this. Please, just go. I dont need you, and I dont want to see you. Just because your rich fellow cast you off, you think Im here as a backup? Honestly, it makes me sick. Please, leave.

Charlottes tears streamed down her cheeks as she turned away, alone in her regret. As for me, I was quietly grateful that I had managed to move on and find happiness at last.

Natalie, You’ve Been Gone Five Years—You Never Cared About My Life or What Became of Me Natalie and Ben had lived together for over five years. Ben didn’t earn a fortune; his wages were modest, as he was an ordinary labourer. Natalie had always dreamed of a comfortable, or better yet, a wealthy life, so she relished any encounter with men better off than her husband. One day, Natalie’s luck seemed to change—she caught the eye of a wealthy businessman who promised her the world. Swayed by his grand speeches, she left her poor husband behind to start a new life. Ben was devastated by her actions. He practically begged on his knees, promising he’d change everything: earn more money, leave his old job, work day and night—anything to keep her happy. But Natalie remained unmoved, already dreaming of sailing on a white yacht and shopping in Europe’s most exclusive boutiques, something Ben could never provide. No declarations of love or promises of moving mountains could change her mind. Five years later, at thirty-two, Natalie found herself out of favour with her rich partner, who now had plenty of younger, flirtatious women around him. He told her she was too argumentative and demanding, and he lost all interest. Broke and unaccustomed to working for herself, Natalie decided to return to her ex-husband. After all, he’d promised her eternal love and said his heart would always belong to her; surely he’d be waiting. As she approached the flat they once shared, she heard movement at the door—an unfamiliar woman answered, holding a little girl in her arms. “Darling, we’ve talked about not opening the door alone,” the woman chided the child. “Who are you looking for?” she asked Natalie, who stood speechless at the threshold. “I’m looking for Ben. Is he home?” Natalie stammered, confused. “Ben, there’s a lady here asking for you! What’s your name?” called the woman, turning to Natalie’s former husband. “Natalie!” Ben exclaimed in surprise, then turned to the woman. “Love, please go inside. I need to talk.” “Who was that?” Natalie asked, shocked as she watched the woman and child leave. “That’s my wife, Olivia, and our daughter, Mary,” said Ben. “When did you get married? You have a daughter? You promised me forever. You said you’d never love anyone the way you loved me!” “It’s been so many years, Natalie. At first, I was heartbroken. But then I realised life doesn’t end when someone leaves. Then I met Olivia, fell in love, and she’s made me truly happy. She’s given me a family.” “What about me?” “Natalie, you’ve been gone five years, and you never cared how I was or what happened to me. You chased after someone else’s money, couldn’t think of anything but luxury. We may never have been rich, but that doesn’t excuse what you did. Now you’re back? Did you expect me to be waiting here for you all these years?” “I was foolish! I love you!” “Natalie, enough with the theatrics. Just leave. I don’t need you anymore. I don’t want to see you. Your boyfriend dropped you, so you’ve come running back to me? It makes me sick. Just go.” Natalie burst into bitter tears, realising no one wanted her, while Ben was glad he’d moved on and, in a way, had found his own kind of justice.

— Mr. William Evans, you’ve missed the bus again! — the driver’s voice is genial, but carries a hint of reproach. — Third time this week you’ve been racing after the bus like a man possessed. The pensioner, breathless and in a rumpled jacket, leans against the handrail. His grey hair is wild, glasses perched on the edge of his nose. — Sorry, Andrew… — the old man pants, pulling crumpled notes from his pocket. — My clock must be slow. Or maybe I’m just getting on… Andrew Williams is a seasoned driver, about forty-five, his face tanned by years on the route. He’s been at the wheel for over two decades, knowing many regulars by sight. But he remembers this old gentleman in particular — always polite, quiet, takes the same bus at the same time every morning. — Don’t worry, come on board. Where to today? — To the cemetery, as usual. The bus sets off. Mr. Evans takes his usual seat — third row from the front, by the window, a battered carrier bag clutched in his hands. Few passengers aboard — a weekday morning. Some uni students chatter at the back, a businessman is absorbed in his phone. A typical scene. — Tell me, Mr. Evans, — Andrew calls back through the rear-view mirror — you go there every day? Isn’t it hard? — Nowhere else to go, — the pensioner replies quietly, staring out the window. — My wife’s there… been a year and a half. I promised — every day I’d visit. Andrew feels a twinge in his heart. He’s married himself, adores his wife. Can’t imagine… — Is it far from home? — Not really, half an hour by bus. Walking would take me an hour — my legs aren’t what they were. And my pension just about covers the fare. The weeks go by. Mr. Evans is a fixture on the morning bus. Andrew gets used to him, even looks forward to seeing him. Sometimes the old man runs late — Andrew purposefully waits a couple of minutes. — No need to wait for me, — Mr. Evans says one day, realising Andrew has lingered. — The schedule’s the schedule. — Nonsense, — Andrew waves him off. — A few minutes won’t hurt. One morning, Mr. Evans doesn’t appear. Andrew waits — maybe he’s running late. But still, he doesn’t come. Next day, still no sign. And again. — Have you noticed that old chap who used to always go to the cemetery? He hasn’t been on for days, — Andrew remarks to conductor Mrs. Taylor. — Who knows? — she shrugs. — Maybe some family came, maybe he’s ill… But Andrew can’t shake the feeling. He’s grown accustomed to the quiet nod of thanks, the sad little smile. A week passes. No Mr. Evans. Andrew decides to look for him — on his lunch break he heads to the end of the route, near the cemetery. — Excuse me, — he asks the woman on duty at the gate, — an elderly gent, William Evans — grey hair, glasses, always with a carrier bag. Have you seen him at all? — Oh, him! — she brightens. — Came every day to his wife. — Not lately, though? — Not for a week. Maybe he’s unwell. He once gave me his address — doesn’t live far. Garden Close, number 15. And you are…? — Bus driver. Took him every day. Garden Close, 15. An ageing brick block, paint peeling. Andrew climbs to the second floor, knocks on a random door. A man in his fifties, stern face. — Yes? — I’m looking for William Evans. Bus driver, he’s a regular on my route… — Ah, the old boy from flat twelve, — the neighbour’s face softens. — He’s in hospital. Had a stroke last week. Andrew’s heart sinks. — Which hospital? — St. Mary’s, on Queen’s Avenue. It was touch and go, but they say he’s slowly getting better. That evening, after his shift, Andrew visits the hospital. He finds the ward and asks the nurse. — William Evans? Yes, he’s here. And you are…? — A friend, — Andrew hesitates, unsure how to explain. — Room six. He’s still very weak, though. Don’t tire him. Mr. Evans lies by the window, pale but conscious. At first he doesn’t recognise Andrew, then his eyes widen in surprise. — Andrew? Is that you? How…how did you find me? — Just had to look, — Andrew smiles awkwardly, setting a bag of fruit on the table. — You went missing. I was worried. — You…worried about me? — there’s a glimmer of tears in the old man’s eye. — But I’m no one to you… — What do you mean? You’re my regular passenger. I look for you every morning now. Mr. Evans falls silent, gazing at the ceiling. — And the cemetery… haven’t been for ten days now, — he whispers. — First time in a year and a half. Broke my promise… — Please don’t fret, Mr. Evans. I’m sure your wife would understand. Illness isn’t your fault. — Maybe… — the old man shakes his head. — I’d go every day, tell her the news, about the weather… Now I’m here, she’s alone there… Andrew sees how much this weighs on him, and the answer comes on its own. — Would you like me to go? To your wife. Tell her you’re in hospital, that you’re getting better… Mr. Evans turns, hope and disbelief flickering in his eyes. — You’d do that? For someone you barely know? — Aren’t we more than strangers? — Andrew shrugs. — Eighteen months we’ve seen each other every morning. Feels like family. Next day, on his day off, Andrew visits the cemetery. He finds the grave — the headstone shows a youthful woman with kind eyes. “Anne Evans, 1952–2024.” He hesitates at first, but the words come more easily than expected. — Hello, Mrs. Evans. I’m Andrew, the bus driver. Your husband took my bus to see you every day. He’s in hospital now, but recovering. He wanted me to tell you he loves you, and he’ll be back soon… He speaks a little more — of what a good man William Evans is, how much he misses her, how devoted he’s been. He feels rather foolish, but something inside tells him it’s the right thing to do. At the hospital, he finds Mr. Evans at tea. Already stronger, with more colour in his cheeks. — I went, — Andrew says simply. — Told her everything, just as you wished. — And how… how was it? — the voice trembles. — The plot’s neat, there were fresh flowers — probably from nearby families. She’s waiting for you to come back. Mr. Evans closes his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. — Thank you, son. Thank you… Two weeks later, Mr. Evans is discharged. Andrew meets him outside the hospital, drives him home. — Shall I see you tomorrow? — he asks, as the old man steps from the bus. — You will, — Mr. Evans nods. — Eight a.m., just like always. And sure enough, next morning, he’s back in his usual seat. But something has changed between them — they’re more than driver and passenger now. — Tell you what, Mr. Evans, — Andrew says one Saturday, — why don’t I take you at weekends in my car? No bus, just us. My wife thinks you’re a wonderful chap, says we must help. — Oh no, you needn’t… — Course I do. I’m used to you now — besides, my wife says if someone’s good people, you look out for them. And so it becomes a habit. Weekdays — the regular bus ride, weekends — Andrew takes Mr. Evans in his own car, sometimes with his wife along. They become friends. — You know, — Andrew says to his wife one evening, — at first I thought it was just a job — bus, timetable, passengers. But now I see: every person on that bus has a life, a story. — That’s how it is, — she nods. — It’s good you didn’t just walk on by. And Mr. Evans tells them one day: — After Anne died, I thought that was it — life finished. Who would need me? But it turns out… some people care. That means a lot. *** And what about you — have you ever witnessed ordinary people perform extraordinary deeds?