The door to the office swung open, and a tall, sun-tanned young man stepped in. He glanced at Victoria with a warm smile and said in a smooth voice, “Good afternoon, Victoria Rose. I’m Mark, your new business partner.”
A shiver ran down Victoria’s spine, but she kept her composure, gesturing politely. “Hello, please take a seat.” Her hands trembled slightly, but soon they fell into easy conversation.
Outside, rain tapped against the windows. Nearly midnight—Victoria checked the clock hanging in the kitchen before tucking the untouched dinner into the fridge and heading to bed. These days, she’d stopped calling her husband, Michael, late at night. She didn’t wait up anymore. The constant worry had worn her down—or maybe she’d just grown used to the loneliness. There was no point in hysterics.
She loved Michael. They’d married for love, a spark that had ignited back in their third year at university. A year and a half later, their son Oliver was born—now five years old.
Her parents had gifted them a flat in a new-build as a wedding present, and they’d made it their home, though they’d planned to move somewhere bigger soon.
Right after graduation, Michael had gone into business with his best mate, James. James had studied medicine and started at a local clinic before branching out on his own. Michael, an economist, joined him as a partner, and eventually, James brought in more of their old classmates. The clinic flourished, expanding to two branches across the city.
Victoria stayed home with Oliver. At first, she’d wanted to work—she had a degree too—but Michael had insisted. “Vicky, love, just focus on Ollie. I’ve got us covered.”
“I know, but it’s a bit dull, isn’t it?” she’d said.
“Just for now, all right?” he’d replied, and she’d agreed.
Life was comfortable. Holidays in Spain every year, no money worries. For her birthday, he’d even bought her a car. But as the business grew, so did Michael’s temper. The cheerful, lovestruck student she’d married was gone.
Evenings were lonely. She’d wait, sometimes until past midnight, for him to come home. Sometimes she’d reheat dinner; more often, he’d just collapse into bed. The distance between them stretched wider—no more heart-to-hearts, no more laughter.
“I need a change,” she decided. “A fresh start.” So she booked a salon appointment, slipped into a sleek dress, and surprised Michael at work.
His eyes widened. “Vicky? Blimey, you look incredible!” He forced a smile. “Let’s go out tonight, yeah?” But she could tell he was uneasy—his fingers twitched on the desk.
Dinner was lovely. He bought her flowers, even a little gift, praised her glow. For the first time in ages, they had a proper evening together.
“Michael,” she ventured, “maybe we should think about another baby?”
“Another?” He blinked. “Hadn’t crossed my mind. We’ll see, yeah?”
She was nearly asleep when the phone rang. The hospital. No explanation—just “Come now.” Her hands shook as she knocked on the neighbour’s door to watch Oliver. Her mind raced. Michael—an accident?
In the emergency room, a stretcher rolled past. A man, bloodied, motionless. Michael. Her Michael. Gone. She screamed, wept, refused to believe it. But it was real. Phrases echoed—crash, resuscitation, a girl…
After that night, her parents took Oliver. She locked herself in the flat for days, drowning in brandy and old photos, replaying memories of a happiness ripped away in an instant.
The police said someone had veered into the wrong lane—colliding with Michael and James’s car.
Her mother hovered, never leaving her alone. “Love, he’s gone. You’ve got Oliver. You’ll have to work now—for him.”
Michael’s share of the business passed to her. Steeling herself, she went to the clinic. A new receptionist sat at the desk.
“Hello. Where’s Sophie?”
“Oh! You must be Victoria Rose?”
“Yes. Where is she?”
“I’m temping. Sophie’s in hospital—didn’t you know?”
“No. What happened?”
“She was in the car too. The one Michael…”
The pieces clicked—the “girl” they’d mentioned. Victoria rushed to the hospital, but visiting hours were over. Days later, she returned.
Sophie paled at the sight of her. “How’s Michael? And James?”
Victoria’s voice cracked. “They didn’t make it.”
Sophie turned to the window, tears streaming. Victoria stepped out, giving her space. Weeks later, the nurse called. “Sophie’s being discharged tomorrow. Her and the baby are fine.”
“Baby? She’s pregnant?”
“You didn’t know?”
Sophie had no visitors. No family. Victoria returned, finding her curled up in bed.
“Who’s fetching you tomorrow? Your husband?”
“I don’t have one,” Sophie whispered.
“The father, then?”
Sophie’s face crumpled. “It’s… Michael’s. I’m so sorry.”
The words hit like a brick. Michael—cheating. Dead. And now this. Victoria fled, driving aimlessly until she reached the countryside.
“How could he?” she sobbed. In a twisted way, his death was a mercy—she’d never have survived him leaving her for Sophie.
She didn’t fire Sophie. Let her work until maternity leave. Didn’t ask about her life. Then—another call. Early morning. Unknown number.
“Sophie didn’t make it. The baby’s fine. You were her emergency contact.”
God, another blow. The baby—Oliver’s half-brother. Fatherless. Destined for foster care.
Her decision solidified by breakfast. She’d adopt him.
Paperwork dragged on, but eventually, little Arthur came home.
“Ollie, meet your brother. Your dad sent him to us.”
Oliver beamed. “He’s tiny! Will he grow fast?”
“Just like you did.”
At Michael’s grave, she cradled Arthur. “He’s yours. And mine now too. Ollie loves him already.”
Time passed. Victoria worked; her mother helped with the boys. The business grew. James’s brother, Mark—back from Germany—stepped in as co-owner.
The moment their eyes met, electricity crackled. Both froze, stunned. Victoria recovered first, offering a seat.
Their talks stretched for hours. Mark, divorced, his ex-wife keeping their daughter abroad, found a fresh start too.
A new chapter—one Victoria prayed would hold no more heartbreak. Mark felt the same.
Life went on.
