She had dreamt of dancing.
The music ceased, and the hall fell silent. Eleanor could hear only her own breath. Then, a solitary clap shattered the quiet, followed by a thunderous wave of applause. The audience rose to their feet, many with tears in their eyes.
Eleanor glanced at Anthony. He bent down and kissed her, his lips tasting the salt of her tears. The applause began to fade as the spectators filed out. Anthony gently pushed her wheelchair toward the exit.
“Tired?”
“No. I’m happy! Thank you!” She laughed through her tears.
***
Eleanor was preparing dinner, glancing at the clock. Daniel would be home soon. She set the kettle on the stove, chopping vegetables hurriedly for the salad. Another glance at the clock. *Running late again. Should I call? No. He’ll say I’m imagining things, that I’m paranoid. I want to believe him. I can’t. I just can’t anymore.* Her fingers twitched, itching to grab the phone. *Is it happening again?*
She clenched the knife handle so tightly her knuckles turned white. Then she let go, and the blade clattered against the table. The clock’s hands crawled forward, testing her patience. Finally, she dialled his number. *Please, answer. Just say you’re on your way,* she pleaded silently as the rings stretched endlessly, mocking her.
She flung the phone across the table. It skidded to a stop at the edge. *Calm down. Don’t lose it. He’ll be home soon.*
Daniel stumbled in past midnight. Exhausted from crying, Eleanor had dozed off, but the scratch of his key in the lock jolted her awake. A sliver of light spilled under the bedroom door. She threw it open. Startled, Daniel fumbled with his shoes before feigning nonchalance.
“You scared me. Why aren’t you asleep?”
“I wanted to look you in the eye. You promised you’d stop seeing her.”
“Not this again. I was just watching the match with the lads, had a few pints—”
“I can’t do this anymore. I *can’t*.” Eleanor cut him off, her voice breaking. “I won’t spend another night listening for your footsteps. Enough.” She clutched her stomach, bending forward as if weighed down, and turned away.
Curled on the bed, she wept.
“Ellie, your jealousy is exhausting. Honestly. Can’t even breathe without you questioning me. I told you, we lost track of time—” Daniel approached but made no move to comfort her.
“Couldn’t you call? Phone died again, did it? I’m sick of the excuses.” Her voice was a strained whisper. “You don’t even smell like beer.” She bolted up and stormed to the hallway.
By the time Daniel realised what she was doing, it was too late. Eleanor snatched his phone from his coat pocket, the screen lighting up.
“Give it back!” He lunged, but she twisted away.
“*Darling, are you home yet? Has your wife started interrogating you, or is she saving it for morning?*” She read the message aloud, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “Which of your *mates* calls you *darling*?”
He grabbed for the phone, but she handed it over without resistance. Shoving past him, she marched to the bedroom and began dressing.
“Tell her you’re free. I’m leaving for Mum’s. I expect you and your things gone by morning.”
“Stop, Ellie. It’s the middle of the night. Fine, yes—I wasn’t with the lads.” He faltered.
Her face twisted as if she’d seen something vile.
“What more do you want?” she asked softly, bending again as if in pain. “I won’t stay another second with you.”
She grabbed her handbag and left. Daniel didn’t stop her. Outside, she hailed a taxi and called her mother.
“Another row? I warned you not to trust his promises. You should’ve left the first time,” her mother scolded.
“Not now, Mum.” Eleanor hung up.
But she never made it to her mother’s. The taxi sped through the sleeping city when a drunk driver in an SUV swerved from a side street. The impact struck her side.
Daniel visited the hospital daily after she was moved from intensive care. Guilt gnawed at him. If he hadn’t let Irene convince him to stay longer, if he’d just come home—
The doctors assured him she’d walk again in a few months. But six months passed, then a year. The hope vanished. She was confined to a wheelchair for life.
Daniel stayed at first. Her mother helped with the housework. But how long could a young man care for a disabled wife? Some men wouldn’t leave. He wanted to believe he was one of them. Yet, used to comfort, with a mistress waiting—young, healthy, tempting—he soon realised the burden was too much. How long could he live with guilt, watching Eleanor’s despair turn to hatred? He left her with her mother and walked away.
The days blurred into despair. Eleanor pondered ways to end it—pills or the balcony. But the balcony door was narrow. Even if she dragged herself out, could she heave her limp body over the railing? Pills were better. But her mother never left her alone, hiding the medication.
One day in the park, her mother struggled to free the wheelchair from a pothole. A sudden jolt nearly tipped it over, but a man steadied it just in time.
“Thank heavens! You’re a godsend,” her mother gasped, clutching her chest.
“Let me help. Where to?” The man—Anthony—effortlessly navigated the uneven paths.
“You’re so good at this. Done it before?”
“A bit. Pushed wounded lads in hospital after my tour,” he replied simply.
“You’re military?”
“Was. Got discharged after I was wounded. They told my mother I’d died—some mistake. She… didn’t make it. My wife remarried. One night, I stood on a rooftop—”
Her mother gasped.
“—but something pushed me back. Maybe I just chickened out. Got a flat from the council, work when I can.”
Eleanor listened, realising her plight wasn’t the worst.
Anthony began visiting often, taking her on walks. Once, she confessed, “I always wanted to dance. Kept putting it off. Now it’s just a dream.”
Anthony said nothing. But two weeks later, he brought her to a ballroom competition. The organisers lifted her onto the stage, and a dancer spun her wheelchair in rhythm.
The music stopped. The crowd stood, weeping, applauding.
We trick ourselves into believing tragedy happens to others—never us. That drunken drivers, broken bones, lost chances are someone else’s story. We delay life, thinking there’s always time. Until there isn’t. Yet sometimes, when all seems lost, chance brings someone who helps us dance again.
