Sophie stumbled upon her husbands infidelity entirely by accident.
Wives, as luck would have it, are always the last to know. Only after the fact did Sophie finally piece together the odd glances and hushed whispers behind her back at work. Everyone at the surgery knewher dearest friend, Gemma, had been carrying on with her husband, Oliver. Yet Oliver had given nothing away. Not a single raised eyebrow, not a single late-night work meeting that felt off.
She found out that evening, returning home unexpectedly. Sophie had worked for years as a doctor at St. Bartholomews in London. That night, she was meant to be on call, but her junior colleague, Emma, had asked a favour:
“Sophie, would you mind swapping shifts? Ill cover tonight if you take my Saturday. My sisters getting married, and well you know how that goes.”
Sophie, ever the good sport, agreed. Emma was lovely, always helpfuland a wedding was a solid excuse.
That evening, she slipped home, giddy at the thought of surprising Oliver. But the surprise, as it turned out, was hers. The moment she stepped inside, she heard voices from the bedroom. His, unmistakably. And anotherone she knew just as well but never expected in *that* context. Gemma. The words she overheard left no room for interpretation.
Sophie left as quietly as shed arrived, spending the night at the hospital, wide awake. How would she face her colleagues tomorrow? Theyd known *everything*, while sheblinded by lovehad trusted Oliver completely. Hed been her whole world, to the point that shed put aside her own dream of children every time he insisted they “werent ready yet.” Now she understood. Hed never seen a future with *her*.
That night, Sophie made the only decision that made sense. She typed up a leave request followed by a resignation letter, returned home while Oliver was at work, packed her things, and dashed to the train station. Her grandmother had left her a tiny cottage in the Cotswolds. If ever there was a place no one would think to look for her, it was there.
At the station, she bought a new SIM card and tossed the old one. Bridges burned, life rebooted.
Twenty-four hours later, she stepped off the train at a sleepy little stop. The last time shed been here was a decade ago, for Grannys funeral. Nothing had changedjust quiet, crumbling charm. “Exactly what I need,” Sophie thought. A short lift-share and a twenty-minute walk later, she stood before the cottage. The garden, wild with brambles, nearly blocked the front door.
It took weeks to whip the place into shape. Shed never have managed alone, but the neighboursfondly remembering Granny Edith, whod taught at the village school for forty yearspitched in without hesitation. Their kindness stunned her.
Soon, word spread that there was a doctor in the village. One afternoon, a neighbour, Martha, came rushing over, flustered.
“Sophie, Im so sorry to bother you, but my little ones eaten something offshes all poorly with it.”
“Lets have a look,” Sophie said, grabbing her medical bag.
Young Isabella had food poisoning. Sophie treated her, explaining the recovery plan to Martha.
“I cant thank you enough,” Martha said, eyes glistening. “Youre our doctor now. The nearest hospitals sixty kilometres, and our last nurse left ages ago.”
After that, the villagers turned to Sophie for everythingaches, fevers, suspicious rashes. She couldnt say no, not after their warmth.
When local health authorities caught wind, they offered her a post at the district clinic.
“No,” Sophie said firmly. “But if youll let me run the village surgery? Absolutely.”
They were baffleda London doctor choosing a tiny practice? But she held her ground. Months later, the surgery reopened, and Sophie was back in the white coat.
Late one evening, a knock came at her door. Nothing unusualillness kept no schedule. A stranger stood there, tension etched in his face.
“Dr. Sophie,” he said. “Im from Cheltenhamfifteen miles west. My daughters terribly ill. I thought it was just a cold, but her fever wont break. Please, youve got to see her.”
Sophie grabbed her kit as he described the symptoms. When they arrived, the girlpale, struggling to breathelay in bed. After examining her, Sophies stomach dropped.
“She needs a hospital.”
The man shook his head. “Its just us. Her mums gone. Shes all I haveI cant lose her.”
“But the hospital has the right medicine”
“Tell me what to get. Ill find it. But dont take her there. Theres an all-night chemist in town, but I cant leave her alone.”
For the first time, Sophie really *looked* at himtall, lean, messy chestnut hair. His dark green eyes burned with desperation.
“Ill stay with her,” she said. “Whats her name?”
“Charlotte,” he said softly. “Im James. Thank you, Doctor.” He dashed off with the prescription.
Charlottes fever raged. She thrashed, crying for her dad. Sophie held her, humming nursery rhymes until the girl settled, just a little.
Hours later, James returned, arms full of medicine. Sophie administered it, exhaustion weighing her voice. “Now we wait.”
They kept vigil all night. At dawn, Charlottes fever broke, sweat beading on her forehead.
“Thats a good sign,” Sophie murmured, swaying on her feet but triumphant.
“Youve saved her,” James whispered, gratitude raw in his voice.
A year slipped by. Sophie still ran the surgery, treating villagers and the odd lost traveller. But now, she lived in Jamess rambling old farmhouse. Theyd married six months after that endless night when Charlotte hung between life and death.
It took weeks for the girl to fully recover. She clung to Sophie, who loved her fiercelythough sometimes, in quiet moments, she wondered about the child shed once longed for.
Now, as she trudged home each evening, two people waited for her. Tonight, James greeted her at the door, grinning.
“So? Got the time off? Ive booked us a holidayall three of us.”
Sophie smiled mysteriously. “Oh, I got the leave. But we wont be going as three. Well be four.”
It took a second. Then James swept her into his arms, laughing, spinning her right off her feet.
