“Olly, don’t do this. I’m married—I love my wife,” he said, the words rehearsed but firm.
Edward and Charlotte had been together twenty-two years. The fire had simmered into quiet companionship, a comfortable rhythm built on trust and familiarity. Their daughter was in her second year of medical school—following in their footsteps. How could she not, when dinner conversations had always revolved around diagnoses, treatments, and patients’ woes? As a child, she’d pored over anatomy books, fascinated by the human body.
Edward and Charlotte first noticed each other during clinical rotations. He’d stepped in when a cocky patient wouldn’t stop flirting with her. Two years later, just before finals, they married.
After graduation, they worked at the same hospital—Charlotte in cardiology, Edward as an orthopedic surgeon. Tonight was rare—their shifts ended together, and they drove home in a comfortable silence.
“Should we stop at the shops? We’re out of veg for salad.”
“Or we could skip it for once? I’m shattered. Tough surgery today,” Edward said, navigating the crowded London streets with ease.
“Fine. But we’ll have to go tomorrow. Drop me at the Tesco, then—you can head home.”
“And let you lug all the bags while I feel guilty? No chance. We’ll go together,” he said, pulling into the car park.
Edward pushed the trolley while Charlotte filled it.
“Told you,” he muttered at the overflowing heap as they queued at the till.
“Now we won’t need to shop all week,” she teased, smirking. “Oh—I forgot the bread!” She darted off.
Edward sighed, stacking items on the conveyor. Space was tight—a box of pasta tumbled onto the stranger’s groceries ahead.
The woman in front shot him a sharp look. He apologised, gripping the box awkwardly, nowhere to put it.
Then she turned fully, staring. His height, brown eyes, lips downturned. Faded blonde hair, dark roots, messily tied. A beige mac hanging off narrow shoulders.
Edward forced a smile and glanced away, searching for Charlotte. *Where is she? Bet she’s grabbed more than just bread.* He stole another look. *Why’s this woman watching me? A patient? Doesn’t ring a bell.*
“Ed? Is that you?” Her eyes lit up, sudden and bright.
“Do we know each other? Were you one of my—?” he fumbled.
“So you *did* become a doctor,” she said, smiling faintly. “I’m Olly. Olivia Hart.” Just as quickly, the light in her eyes dimmed.
Edward studied her. Something familiar flickered—Olivia… *Hart?*
“Hart?!” Memory surfaced—the playing field behind their school, her dark hair streaming behind her as she ran ahead. Him, breathless, hopelessly trailing.
“Changed much?” she asked flatly. “You’ve aged well. Better, even.”
Charlotte reappeared, eyeing them. Edward floundered, even forgetting to check what else she’d added to the trolley—utterly unlike him. The conveyor belt jerked to life as the cashier pressed the button.
He recovered first.
“This is Olivia Hart—old classmate. My wife, Charlotte.”
Charlotte offered a curious smile; Olivia turned sharply towards the till, ignoring her. She paid, grabbed her bags, and hovered by the exit.
*Waiting for me? Perfect. Heard I’m a doctor and now wants free advice.*
“Ed, got your card?” Charlotte’s voice snapped him back.
He tapped his card, hefted the bags, and walked out. Olivia held the door open. *Awkward. Why?*
The three stood under the store awning.
“You live nearby?” Olivia asked, bypassing Charlotte entirely. “Still at your parents’?”
“No, the house next to theirs. Bought it to stay close. You?”
“I’m…” She waved vaguely. The conversation stalled. “Glad I ran into you. Should I…?” She hesitated, as if awaiting permission.
Silence. Olivia turned and walked off.
“She fancied you, didn’t she?” Charlotte asked as they loaded the car. “You never mentioned her.”
“No. She didn’t.”
“Really? The way she looked at you—still smitten.”
“*I* fancied *her*,” Edward admitted. “But she picked the football captain, Nicky Ford.”
“Think she regrets it now. I’m jealous,” Charlotte joked lightly.
“Don’t be. Regret or not, it doesn’t matter. I don’t look back.”
They dropped it. That night, Edward lay awake, replaying his teenage heartbreak—how Olivia’s rejection nearly made him fail his A-levels.
*She’s changed. We’re the same age, but Charlotte still turns heads. Bet life with Nicky was rough. Serves her right. He was headed for the Premier League, and I was just the swot…*
He slept late. Charlotte had already left—cold toast and coffee waited on the table.
Edward showered, dressed, and drove to work. At a red light, he spotted Olivia’s beige mac at the bus stop. *Drive past, pretend you didn’t see her—*
Too late. She waved eagerly. He sighed, pulling over.
“Hi. Freezing out here. Bus never comes.”
Edward glanced at her. Today, she’d made an effort—mascara, lipstick, hair neatly pinned.
*She planned this. Why else wait here?*
“I knew we’d meet again,” she giggled.
*How long’s she been standing there?*
“Haven’t seen you around before.”
“Just moved back.”
“Something wrong? Need medical help?” he cut to the chase.
“No. I just wanted to see you. We barely talked yesterday. I’ve been losing sleep. Remember how you chased me?” She laughed again.
“And you picked the footballer.”
“Cruel,” she said, smile fading. “Girls dream of princes. Sometimes they pick the wrong ones.”
“Kids?”
“None. Nick was always training, competing. Came home exhausted. Then he got injured. No one wanted him after. Couldn’t even coach.”
She swallowed. “Started drinking. I tried to help, then… nearly drowned with him. Had to leave.”
“Where am I taking you?”
“We missed my stop. Just drop me—”
“Don’t be daft. Address.” He U-turned.
“You have kids?”
“A daughter. Med school.”
“Pretty and clever, like you? Pull over here. Will we meet again?”
“Liv—” A horn blasted behind them. “Bloody hell, can’t stop here.”
“Promise me.”
He nodded. Waited until she left, then drove off.
*Why is this happening? I love Charlotte. I don’t need ‘promises’…*
But he saw her again days later—waiting outside his building, drenched from rain. Exhausted from night shift, he didn’t spot her until she called out.
“Liv, stop this. I’m married. I love my wife,” he said, weary.
“Where can we talk?” she pressed, as if deaf to his words.
He glanced around the empty courtyard.
“Flat’s no good—my daughter’s home. The car?”
The interior still held warmth, the scent of leather and air freshener lingering.
“Don’t get the wrong idea, I don’t want anything from you,” she began.
“Then why stalk me?”
“When I saw you at Tesco, I just… I’m not here to wreck your marriage. Just listen.” She took a shaky breath. “I’m done with men. After Nick, I couldn’t… But I regretted pushing you away. Thought you’d left London.”
“I didn’t. Other side of town, though.”
“Yeah, you said.” Silence. “Seeing you… I realised—I want a child. A son.”
“Liv, *no*. I won’t cheat on Charlotte.”
“I can’t afford IVF,” she blurted.
“You’re *mad*. What kind of idea is that?”
“I’m alone. I’m not too old. I’d never bother you after. Just once—”
“Listen to yourself!” Edward near-shouted. “First you reject me, now *this*? Are you even sane?”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“Don’t cry. You were always proud. Don’t beg.”
“*Were*,” she scoffed. “That’s the word.”
She reached for him; he jerked back.
“Liv, I’m knackered. You want to get pregnant—ever think if *I* want that?”
“Most men would jump at—”
“Not me. Why not try with them?”
“They weren’t… *right*. A child should come from someone you… or they won’t be happy. I tried. Didn’t take.”
Edward was stunned. The audacity, the *indecency* of it.
“You want to *useBut as the months passed, Edward found himself glancing at crowded bus stops and supermarket queues, half-expecting—and half-dreading—to see that faded blonde hair and beige mac one last time, though she never appeared again.
