When the Key Turned in the Lock, His Heart Nearly Leapt from His Chest and His Soul Rushed to Meet Her… “How Many More Mistakes Can You Make?! Even Your Errors Are Ridiculous! Look at This!” – Alice Edwards jabbed her long manicured finger at the monthly report, almost breaking a fake nail. “Go! Redo it! And if you can’t handle it—just quit!” Despite being a stylish, attractive woman, her boss’s anger transformed her into something demonic. Lisa left the office in silence. Just over an hour of the workday remained. She had to finish. But her bonus was already gone. It felt like one long, unbroken run of bad luck—with hurdles at every turn. A week ago, she’d rung her mum, who—true to form—was in a mood, picked a fight out of nowhere, accused Lisa of everything under the sun, and hung up in a huff. Lisa could never get used to it and was left badly shaken. Now she was afraid to call her mum at all. Two days ago, she’d lost her bank card and had to cancel it, order a new one. Yesterday, her one small comfort—Fifi, her tricolour one-year-old cat—had chased a bird onto the balcony and fallen from the third floor. Lisa saw her land in the flower bed below, pick herself up, brush off, and wander off, but when Lisa went down, Fifi was nowhere to be found. Nearly twenty-four hours later, her cat was still missing. Somehow, Lisa managed to hand in the cursed report and headed home, too miserable for even a quick stop at the shop. She crashed on the sofa and burst into bitter tears. Even half an hour later, when she’d run dry, there was no relief—just a procession of snakelike, poisonous thoughts: Who am I living for? My mother doesn’t care, I’ve got no family, even my cat’s gone. And that sudden, dark decision brought an odd sense of release. “Well, let them break their nails and drive themselves mad!” she thought bitterly. “It’ll be too late soon anyway.” The prospect of not having to go to work tomorrow, not having to beg forgiveness from her mum for things she hadn’t done, filled her with a giddy, reckless cheer. And then—with just one tiny step left—a phone rang. An unfamiliar number. She nearly didn’t answer; then thought, what if this is the last human voice I’ll ever hear? “Hello?…” No one spoke. “If you’re going to call, at least say something!” A deep male voice finally cut through: “Please… don’t hang up.” “Who are you? What do you want?” Lisa asked irritably; she was in a rush, after all, for something she considered—at that moment—life-or-death. “I just wanted to hear another person’s voice… I haven’t spoken to anyone for a week. I thought, if no one answered me, then that was it…” He sighed, ragged and desperate. “How can that be? Can’t you go out, walk in the park? It’s so simple!” Lisa scrambled onto the wide windowsill with her feet. “I can’t. I live on the fifth floor. My wife left me a week ago…” his voice faded. “I’d have left too! Are you a man or not?!” Lisa snorted, not grasping his problem just yet. “I’m in a wheelchair. Not even a year now. I’m afraid I couldn’t manage five flights, not both ways. Our building has no lift.” He sounded steadier now. “You can’t walk?!” Lisa cried in horror, regretting her outburst, but her words were out and couldn’t be caught. “No, not at all. Spinal injury. I can’t walk,” he said, and she thought she even heard a smile in his voice. They ended up chatting for half an hour. Lisa wrote down his address, and an hour later she was at his door with two giant shopping bags. A young, attractive man opened the door—sitting in his wheelchair. “I’m Lisa!”—only now it hit her: she didn’t even know his name. “Arsene,” he beamed at her, as though he’d been waiting his whole life for her to arrive. It turned out they lived nearby. Lisa began visiting every day and realised her troubles, compared to his, were mere trifles—trifles that had nearly cost her the will to live. She grew stronger, tougher, and more determined as she cared for him. As if by magic, Fifi reappeared one day, peacefully waiting for Lisa on the doormat. At work, her boss, Alice Edwards, went right back to howling in the mornings. But Lisa had had enough: “Alice, what right do you have to shout at and demean me? I can’t work under this stress. I feel a migraine coming on, I’m going on sick leave—where will you find a replacement?” Her colleagues snorted with laughter as Alice turned and stomped away. Her mother rang, unable to withstand the silence: “Hello, daughter! Why don’t you call? Don’t you care if your mother’s alive? You’re so hard-hearted! Ungrateful! I’m talking to you, Elizabeth!” her voice raised to a shriek. “Hello, mum. I won’t speak to you if you shout at me,” said Lisa calmly. “How dare you?! I’ll hang up this phone!” her mother screamed. “Go on, then.” Lisa’s voice was indifferent. Two days later, her mother called back—not to apologise, of course, but at least she kept it civil. A month later, Lisa moved in with Arsene and rented out her own flat. Their friendship deepened into something gentler, more trusting, more grateful—perhaps this was how love began. Lisa hired a masseur for him and booked weekend pool sessions using her rental income. And, joyfully, feeling slowly returned—he could already wiggle his toes. Then Lisa’s mother fell ill, and she took two days off work to be with her. Arsene waited, missing her like mad, lying uselessly on the sofa like a loyal dog, day after day. It was February: a blizzard was raging that day. He knew when the coach would arrive, how long she’d take to get home, climb the stairs—time crawled past with no sign of Lisa. He wheeled himself to the window. All he saw was a whiteout; even her phone was dead by now. One hour, then two, then three passed… When the key finally turned in the lock, his heart nearly leapt from his chest, his soul racing to greet her. “Arsene, the coach got stuck in the snow—had to wait for the rescue crew. My phone died straight away…” she shouted from the hallway as she hurled off her coat. “Arsene!” she called as she ran in and froze. He was standing just two steps from his wheelchair, smiling.

When the key turned in the lock, his heart nearly leapt from his chest, and his very soul dashed out to meet her.

How many more cock-ups are you going to make? These mistakes are just ridiculous! Look at this! Alison Edwards jabbed her intimidatingly spotless manicure into the monthly report, nearly splitting her meticulously crafted nails.

Go! Do it again! And honestly, if you cant cope, just resign! Her manager was generally polished and attractive, but whenever she got angry, she started to resemble a banshee in a designer suit.

Liz quietly exited the office. Just over an hour to the end of the workday. She had to rush, even though her bonus had long been docked.

It was all just a non-stop string of disasters, and with hurdles thrown in, too. A week ago, she rang her mum. As usual, her mother was in a foul mood, managed to start an argument over absolutely nothing, blamed Liz for every sin imaginable, and slammed the phone down. Liz had never got used to it and took it far too much to heart. Now, she was afraid to ring at all.

Two days back, she lost her bank card. Had to block it and order another.

And yesterday, the only living soul in her flat Tilly, a year-old calico, climbed out onto the balcony after a pigeon and tumbled three storeys. Liz watched through the window as Tilly picked herself up from the battered flower bed, gave herself a good shake and marched off. But when Liz raced downstairs, she was nowhere to be seen. Almost a whole day had passed and there was still no sign of Tilly.

She managed, barely, to hand in the wretched report and trudged home. Didnt even feel like stopping at Tesco.

Once in, she flopped on the sofa and burst into tears. Bitter, ugly tears. After half an hour, the tears dried, but her heart wasnt any lighter. Dark, slithery thoughts crept in like unwelcome guests. Who was she living for? Her mum didnt care, there was no family, and even the cat had gone walkabout. The bizarre thing was, as soon as Liz made her grim resolution, she actually felt a bit of relief.

Let them sort it all out when Im gone, she thought rather uncharitably. Too late for regret then.

Even the thought of not having to go to work tomorrow was a peculiar comfort. No grovelling phone calls to her mother, apologising for things she hadnt done. Before she knew it, she was swept up in giddy, reckless cheer.

Shed almost talked herself into a final step when her phone rang. An unfamiliar number flashed up. She thought about ignoring it but figured, what if it was the last voice she ever heard?

Hello…? No answer. Look, you calledare you going to speak, or what? Her patience was already worn thin.

Good evening… Finally, a deep male voice came through. Please, please dont hang up.

Who is this? And what do you want? Liz was in no mood for nonsense. She was busy with existential decisions here.

I just needed to hear another human voice The man sounded nervous. I havent spoken to anyone in a week. I thought, if nobody answered tonight, well thats that.

How come? Dont you have anyone to talk to? Go out to the park, get some air. Thats what most people do! Liz tucked her knees up onto the wide bay window.

I cant. I live on the top floor. My wife walked out a week ago His voice crumpled.

Id have walked out too! Man up, for goodness sake! Her empathy was currently on strike.

Im in a wheelchair. Less than a year. Five floors up, and no lift in the building, he replied, suddenly sounding more certain.

You mean, you actually cant use your legs? Liz blurted, instantly horrified at her own tactlessness. Too late now.

Not exactly. Spinal injury. Cant walk. She had a strange feeling that he was sighing and smiling at the same time.

They talked for another half hour. Liz scribbled down his address, and within an hour, she was standing at his door, bags bursting with groceries.

He answered young, handsome, and in a wheelchair.

Im Liz! she blurted, realising she hadnt even asked his name.

Arthur! His grin was absolutely beaming, as though hed been waiting for her his whole life.

Turned out they didnt live far from each other at all. Liz started popping around daily. Quickly, her own catastrophes shrank into remarkably small circles compared to Arthurs. Little things all those things that had made her want to throw in the towel. Her character toughened. She took care of him, became more determined and stubborn in the best way.

As if by magic, Tilly turned up. She was simply perched on the doormat, waiting for Liz to get home.

Her boss, as per usual, immediately began a tirade the following morning. Liz didnt let her finish this time.

Alison Edwards, what right do you have to shout and belittle me? I cant work in this sort of pressure. Ill end up with a migraine and have to take sick leave. Wholl cover me then? The girls in the office snorted with laughter. The manager spun on her heel and left without a word.

A couple of days later, Lizs mum called, finally giving in to the silence.

Hello, Liz! You never ring, you never care! Dont you care about your own mother? Youre so cold! So ungrateful! Elizabeth, are you listening to me? Her mother had worked herself into a full-blown shout.

Hi, Mum. Im not doing this when you speak to me like that, Liz replied, calm and steady.

How dare you! Im hanging up! her mum shrieked.

Go ahead Liz said coolly.

Two days later, her mum rang back. No apology, of course that would have been utterly out of character. But her tone was even, almost polite.

A month later, Liz moved in with Arthur. She let her own flat out.

Their friendship, unsurprisingly, turned into something more tenderness, trust, gratitude. That unmistakable feeling that might just be love.

With the extra cash from renting her flat, Liz hired a massage therapist for Arthur, and booked him in for swimming lessons at the local pool each weekend.

To their shock and delight, he started to get some feeling back. He could even wiggle his toes.

Then Lizs mum fell ill. Liz got two days off work and went to see to her.

Meanwhile, Arthur waited. Missed her terribly. He flopped on the sofa like a loyal old Labrador and waited.

It was February. Outside, a blizzard was raging. He knew exactly when Lizs coach was due, calculated the minutes needed to get home, up the stairs. The deadline came and went, and still no Liz. Arthur wheeled himself to the window.

Nothing but swirling white. Her phone had been out of range for hours. One hour passed, then two, then three…

When the key turned in the lock, his heart all but leapt out of his chest, his soul raced to greet her.

Artie, the coach got stuck in a snowdriftwe had to wait for a gritter I didnt get a chance to charge my phone so it died almost instantly! she shouted from the hallway while wriggling out of her coat. Arthur! She dashed into the living room and froze.

He was standing, two steps from the wheelchair, grinning from ear to ear.