“Chucked Out Like a Stray Dog”
“Miss, you dropped your phone! Wait up!” a stranger called out, his voice cutting through the drumming rain.
Eleanor trudged down the empty streets of Manchester, barely registering the icy rivulets streaming down her cheeks, mingling with her tears. She turned, eyeing the man with weary indifference, then frowned.
“Is this yours?” he asked, holding out a drenched smartphone with a cracked screen.
“Mine…” Eleanor murmured, her voice trembling from the cold and the ache in her ribs.
“Why are you out in this downpour? No umbrella, soaked to the bone—you’ll catch your death!” Genuine concern laced his words.
The man didn’t seem pushy, and Eleanor, swayed by some unspoken instinct, followed him under the awning of a nearby shop. They ducked into a cozy corner café for a cuppa to warm up.
“I’m Thomas,” he introduced himself with a grin. “And you?”
“Eleanor…” she mumbled, staring at her tea.
“What’s got you wandering alone in this weather? Even a stray dog gets taken indoors in a storm like this.”
“And I… I got chucked out like one,” Eleanor blurted, her voice cracking under the weight of fresh tears.
Memories crashed over her like a tidal wave. Her chest tightened around the pain she’d been smothering. Eleanor never imagined her carefully built life would crumble in an instant. She and Simon had been through everything together—bought a cottage outside Manchester, opened a little tea shop, dreamed of a family. She’d poured herself into work, climbing the ladder, forgetting to breathe. And today, Simon had raised his hand to her. She’d grabbed her coat and bolted into the freezing rain.
All she had was her passport, a debit card, and a phone that was now barely functional.
“Your phone’s proper waterlogged,” Thomas observed, trying to lighten the mood.
Eleanor suddenly realised she had nowhere to go. A strange city, no friends, no family. She was utterly alone, adrift. Tears spilled over, and for the first time in years, she let herself sob.
“Crying over a phone? I can fix that,” Thomas said gently.
“Why do you even care? We’re strangers!” Eleanor snapped, though her voice held more despair than anger.
“Not cross, just… saw you, knew something was off. Wanted to help,” he replied calmly.
Eleanor took a shaky breath, steadied herself, and decided to unload her story onto this random bloke.
“I moved here twelve years ago from Leeds. Parents stayed behind, lost touch. Spent all those years married to my job. No friends—never had time. Every minute went to projects, the tea shop, dreams of the future. Thought I was doing it right. And today… Simon came home in a rage. I asked him to dinner, and he started screaming about me forgetting his favourite whiskey. I didn’t buy it—he drinks too much as it is. I stayed quiet, didn’t want a row, but he… he hit me. Rib’s throbbing, hurts to breathe.”
“Know the type,” Thomas muttered. “My cousin married one. I get how rough it is. Let me help.”
“Why bother with my mess?” Eleanor sighed. “Not the first time. I’ll crash at a mate’s for a few days, then go back. He’ll call, apologise. Like always.”
“Your phone’s dead, though,” Thomas pointed out.
“Then I’ll go beg forgiveness myself,” she laughed bitterly. “What else can I do? No other way out.”
“Or maybe it’s a sign,” he said suddenly. “A sign to change everything. Start fresh.”
Eleanor paused. The idea of a new life had crossed her mind before, but fear always stopped her. Too much invested, too much lost. Yet here, under the rain’s steady rhythm, Thomas’s words sounded like salvation.
“Let me take you somewhere safe,” he offered. “You can stay as long as needed. I’ll fix your phone, bring it back. Then you decide what’s next. Deal?”
“Thanks…” Eleanor whispered, feeling the first flicker of relief all evening.
She exhaled, as if shedding a backpack of bricks. For the first time in years, someone else carried the weight. She’d earned this breather—even if just for a few days—after a lifetime of running.
