The dew still clung to the grass, the mist slowly retreated toward the far bank of the river, and the sun had already crept above the jagged edge of the forest.
Thomas stood on the porch, admiring the beauty of the early morning, breathing in the crisp air. Behind him, he heard the soft slap of bare feet. A woman in a nightgown, a shawl draped over her shoulders, stepped out and stood beside him.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Thomas sighed deeply. “You should go inside—you’ll catch cold,” he said tenderly, adjusting the shawl that had slipped from her bare shoulder.
The woman pressed close, wrapping her arms around his.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Thomas murmured, his voice thick with tenderness.
“Then don’t.” Her voice was honeyed, alluring, like a siren’s call. *Stay—but then what?* The thought sobered him.
If it were that simple, he would’ve stayed long ago. But twenty-three years with his wife couldn’t be erased, and then there were the children… Lucy was practically gone already, spending more nights at her fiancé’s place than at home, soon to be married. And Tony was only fourteen—right in the middle of the toughest age.
A lorry driver could find work anywhere, but the pay here would be dismal compared to what he earned now. Right now, he could splurge, buy expensive gifts for Jenny. But if his wages dropped by half—or worse—would she still love him the same? That was the question.
“Don’t start, Jen,” Thomas said, shaking his head.
“Why not? The kids are grown—time to think of yourself. You’ve said it yourself, you and your wife stay together out of habit.” Jenny pulled away, offended.
“Ah, if only I’d met you sooner…” Thomas exhaled sharply. “Don’t be cross. I’ve got to go—already stayed too long.” He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her face away. “Jen, I have to leave if I want to get home by evening. Got a load to deliver, a contract.”
“You always promise. You come, you stir me up, then rush back to her. I’m tired of waiting alone. Mike’s been asking me to marry him for ages.”
“Then go.” Thomas shrugged.
He wanted to say more, but stopped himself. Slowly, he descended the porch steps, turned the corner of the house, and headed toward the lorry parked on the ring road behind the houses. He always left it there, not wanting to wake the village at dawn.
He climbed into the cab. Usually, Jenny followed him out, kissing him goodbye. But today, she didn’t—clearly, she was truly upset. Thomas settled in, slammed the door shut. Before starting the engine, he dialed his wife. He never called her in front of Jenny. A cold, automated voice told him the phone was switched off. No missed calls either.
He pocketed the phone and turned the key, listening to the engine’s deep, steady growl. The lorry shuddered awake, shook off its drowsiness, and lurched forward, rocking over the uneven surface of the dirt road. Thomas gave a short blast of the horn and pressed the accelerator.
Back on the porch, the woman shivered as the sound of the engine faded. Then she turned and went inside.
On the radio, Frank Sinatra crooned, *”My funny valentine…”* Thomas hummed along, thinking of the woman he’d left behind. But soon, his thoughts turned homeward. *What’s going on there? Can’t reach her for two days now. When I get back, I’ll sort this out…*
Meanwhile, Pauline, his wife, stirred from anesthesia in a hospital bed—and remembered everything.
***
They’d been married over twenty years—twenty-four, to be exact. A lorry driver, Thomas earned well. A solid family, a big house, two children. Lucy was all grown up, about to marry and move out. She’d finished college, worked as a hairdresser. Tony was fourteen, dreaming of sailing the seas.
Then came the call. At first, Pauline thought it was a prank or a wrong number.
“Hello, Pauline. Expecting your husband? He’s running late…” The voice was sticky, cloying, like treacle.
“What’s happened?” Pauline snapped, immediately thinking of an accident. The roads were long and dangerous. He was hauling expensive goods—what if something had gone wrong?
“Oh, something’s happened, all right. He’s with his mistress,” the voice purred.
“Who is this?” Pauline shrieked.
“Just you wait, wait…” A woman’s laughter rang out before the line went dead.
Pauline lowered the phone, shaking. The laughter echoed in her ears. Panic set in. Images flashed—Thomas in a wreck, Thomas holding another woman. Who else knew he was on the road? Only the mistress herself. How dare she call? How dare she laugh?
She dialed his number, then hung up. What if he was driving? What would she even say? She shouldn’t distract him. She’d talk to him when he got home. But her hands trembled. The mocking laughter wouldn’t leave her.
Of course, neither Lucy nor Tony was home. Lucy was always out with her boyfriend, and Tony had gone to a classmate’s birthday party.
She needed air. Pauline changed, grabbed her bag, and stepped outside. A quick trip to the shop—mayonnaise, onions, beer for Thomas. He liked a pint or two on weekends. No time to shop tomorrow—she’d need to cook. He’d promised to be home for dinner. *But what if he didn’t come back?* She pushed the thought away.
She decided to walk, clear her head. The supermarket was far, so she took a shortcut—an alley lined with garages on one side, a concrete wall on the other. Quiet, empty. Dusk was falling, but she’d make it before dark. She quickened her pace.
Then—a hand yanked her bag away. Pauline stumbled backward, nearly falling. She spun—just in time to see a man’s back as he sprinted off. *No chance.* But she ran anyway. Her whole life was in that bag—money, cards, keys, phone.
“Stop!” she shouted. He rounded the wall and vanished. She kept running, then—her heel caught on a stone. Her ankle twisted. She landed hard on the pavement, pain shooting through her hip and elbow.
She tried to stand—but a sharp, searing agony raced up her leg. Her ankle was swelling fast.
No phone. No way to call for help. Panic swallowed her. Who would hear her here? Only drunks or troublemakers.
Should she crawl? If she reached the houses, someone might see her. But she pictured herself, scuffed and bleeding—people would think she was drunk. She had no choice but to wait. Would anyone come? She began to cry.
All because of that wretched call. Trouble never came alone. She must’ve lost her mind, walking this way in the dark. No one knew where she was. No way to tell anyone. For the first time in over twenty years, she wouldn’t be there when Thomas returned.
She sat slumped against a rusted garage door, afraid to move. Tears streaked her cheeks. Then—headlights. A car stopped. A man got out, unlocking a garage.
She screamed.
He looked around, heard her, and hurried over.
“Help me—I was robbed, my ankle—call an ambulance!”
He hesitated, then reached for his phone—but didn’t dial. What was he thinking?
“Ambulances take too long,” he said finally. “I’ll carry you.”
Scooping her up, he carried her to his car. He wiped her face with tissues, handed her his phone. “Call your husband, your family.”
Thomas was on the road. She called Lucy instead.
“Lucy, it’s Mum—I think I’ve broken my leg—”
“What? Can’t hear you!” Music blared.
“I’m going to the hospital!”
“I’ll call back!” Lucy hung up.
Tony didn’t answer either.
“It’s no use.” She sniffled.
The man—John—drove her to the hospital. She told him everything.
***
Pauline woke to sunlight. Her head throbbed, her leg was numb—until she moved. Then pain flared.
“You’re awake?” A nurse smiled down. “Your husband’s here.”
“Husband?”
John walked in. “Sorry—I lied to get in. How are you?”
“Alright, I suppose.” She forced a smile.
He handed her cherries. “Washed. Thought about strawberries, but didn’t know if you’re allergic.”
Then he placed an old phone on the table. “Prepaid. My number’s in it.”
When he left, she dozed off—then jerked awake at the sound of her husband’s voice.
“Thomas!”
“Lucy called, said you were here. I’ve been trying to reach you for days!”
“My phone wasHe stood there, awkward and distant, while she realized—sometimes the kindness of strangers outshines the love of those who were meant to care.
