Lying half-awake after a nap, Veronica stretched lazily in bed, enjoying that hazy space between sleep and reality. Eyes still closed, she smiled to herself.
*How lovely—it’s the weekend. No rushing, no listening to grumpy patients at the clinic, some of whom aren’t even really sick.*
She checked the clock—she’d slept in, but still didn’t feel like moving. Then her phone buzzed. A message from Mark: *”Fancy a fishing trip? You’re off today—we’re leaving in an hour. Say yes, please!”*
Veronica grinned, picturing Mark with a fishing rod. She remembered him like that back in school. In Year 11, they’d spent summers by the river, him always with his gear. He’d catch fish, and they’d cook it over a fire—well, *he* did; she had no clue how. That broth—she swore nothing had ever tasted better.
Back then, they were just kids in love, never imagining life would pull them apart. Their classmate Annie kept butting in, but Mark always brushed her off.
*”Annie, jog on—you’re not my type,”* he’d say whenever she pestered him after school.
*”We’ll see who *is* your type,”* Annie would shoot back, smirking at Veronica.
She’d roll her eyes—she *knew* Mark only had eyes for her.
After school, Veronica left for med school—her dream since childhood. Mark stayed in their small town, training as a mechanic. He wasn’t academic, knew uni wasn’t for him. They stayed in touch, though. She visited on holidays; he never left their little corner of Yorkshire, where everyone knew each other.
*”Don’t forget me up in that big city,”* he’d tease.
*”As if I could,”* she’d laugh. *”Wish I could visit weekends, but it’s a four-hour train ride.”*
Summers were golden—days spent together from dawn till dusk. They’d lounge in her garden, flip through photos, splash in the river with friends who’d all come home for break.
Mark’s birthday in September always bummed her out.
*”Wish I could be there,”* she’d say over the phone, sending fancy cards.
This year, he celebrated at a pub with mates—until Annie showed up with a friend. She’d flunked out after school, worked at a fruit stall in the market.
*”Class reunion!”* she’d chirped, plonking herself next to him. *”Where’re your girls, lads? This won’t do.”*
Out of politeness, Mark offered them a seat.
They drank till closing. Walking home, Annie shooed her friend off and clung to Mark’s arm.
*”You’re not leaving me alone out here, are you?”* she giggled, pressing close.
Somehow, she dragged him to her flat’s porch, pulling out a bottle of wine and plastic cups—*prepared*, clearly.
*”One more for the birthday boy!”*
Mark didn’t realize how drunk he was until dawn, waking beside Annie on a lumpy sofa. His stomach dropped.
*Veronica will find out. Annie’s definitely the type to blab.*
He bolted, grabbing his jacket. Annie watched him scramble, smirking.
*Run all you like—you’re mine now.*
He avoided her, but she hunted him down—calling, cornering him. Then she rocked up at his mum’s.
*”Annie? What’s wrong?”* his mum asked.
*”I’m pregnant,”* Annie sniffed. *”Mark’s dodging me.”*
His mum—a prim schoolteacher—paled. *”That can’t be.”*
*”Oh, it is,”* Annie said, spotting Mark through the window.
The talk was brutal. Mark confessed; his mum insisted: *”You’ll marry her. Own your mistakes.”*
Trapped, he did. His mum cried; he couldn’t bear that.
Then Veronica got the call from their old classmate, Lily: *”Mark married Annie.”*
She refused to believe it—until his mum confirmed.
*”Then Mark’s dead to me,”* she sobbed in her dorm, friends comforting her.
*”These things happen, love. Long-distance is hard.”*
She swore off men till fourth year, when Anthony melted her frost. He courted her properly, proposed by fifth year. She said yes.
His family was loaded—dad a CEO, Anthony’s cushy GP job handed to him, private practice promised. Their wedding was lavish, but within months, Veronica knew she’d messed up.
Catching him with a nurse in his office—*door left open*—was the last straw.
*”I want a divorce. I’m done with this filth.”*
*”Then quit the clinic. Or better yet—piss off back to your little town,”* he sneered.
Calmer than she felt, she replied, *”You’re right. I should leave.”*
She filed for divorce and went home. Her parents—retired in their Cotswolds cottage—didn’t fuss.
*”No drama, please. Anthony and I didn’t work out.”*
Her mum huffed, but Dad cut in: *”Just glad to have you back.”*
Veronica settled into the local surgery, life quiet—till she bumped into Mark.
She didn’t know if he’d waited or it was chance, but there he was outside Tesco. Her vision swam. She’d heard he’d divorced Annie—the baby wasn’t his—then left town.
They talked for hours over coffee. Both single now. Hope flickered.
—
Snapped from her memories, Veronica wiped her brow. She texted Mark: *”Yes to fishing.”*
Her mum eyed her rushing breakfast. *”Where’s the rush?”*
*”Fishing with Mark.”*
*”Mark? You’re still hung up? Mrs. Higgins saw you with him!”*
*”Mum, it’s years ago. We’ve both lived since then. Maybe it’s fate.”*
Outside, Mark waited in his car. Her mum sighed, watching her go. *”I just don’t want her hurt again.”*
The day was perfect—Mark caught a few fish, even a big one, and made killer soup by the river. They laughed like kids, reminiscing about school. Annie came up, but Mark shut it down.
*”Not today. That’s a story for another time.”*
Later, he pulled her close. Their kiss was years overdue. She wanted more but nudged him back.
*”Not here.”*
He kissed her cheek, grinning. *”Fair point.”*
A week later, at his flat—his mum away—they finally came together. Gentle, fierce, like they’d always belonged.
By morning, Mark whispered, *”Guess I have to marry you now. Okay?”*
They burst out laughing, certain this time, nothing would tear them apart.
