The car sped through the night streets of London. Inside were a man and a woman. To an outsider, they might have looked like a married couple rushing home to their waiting children.
“Can’t you drive any faster?” the woman asked nervously.
“It’s too dangerous. The city only looks empty. When are you finally going to tell him about us? How long will we keep sneaking around, afraid of being found out? Why are you dragging this out? Just tell him—it’ll be easier for everyone,” the man replied.
“Easier? For who? Maybe for you and me, but what about Emily? She loves her father. And he loves her too. What happens to them when they find out? It’s cruel,” the woman argued.
“And lying all this time isn’t cruel? You think he doesn’t suspect? I’m tired of sharing you with him. Want me to tell him myself—man to man?”
“Don’t. Please. I’ll do it. Just give me time.” She reached for the driver’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “I love you too, so much. But don’t rush me. I promise, I’ll talk to my husband soon.”
The man turned, met her gaze, and leaned in to kiss her.
A black SUV swerved around the corner, hurtling straight toward them. The woman’s scream was lost in the deafening crash of metal.
***
The ringtone pierced through the haze of sleep. For a moment, Edward hovered between dreams and wakefulness before forcing his eyes open.
Sarah had called at eight in the evening, saying she’d be late—a friend was in trouble, she couldn’t leave her alone. She’d explain everything later. He hadn’t even had the chance to ask which friend or what had happened. He could’ve called around, checked with the numbers saved in his phone, but he refused to humiliate himself—or her.
Edward had begun suspecting something months ago. Too many late nights, sudden weekend errands. Too many “friends” with emergencies only she could handle.
He reached for his phone on the bedside table. An unknown number. His chest tightened with dread.
“Hello?” His voice was rough with sleep.
“Detective Harris here. Are you the husband of Sarah Elizabeth Turner?”
“Yes.”
“Your wife has been in an accident… She’s been taken to St. Mary’s Hospital in critical condition—”
“Is she alive?” Edward’s voice cracked.
“Yes, but—”
“Dad, is that Mum?” Ten-year-old Emily stood in the doorway, her frightened eyes fixed on him.
Edward swallowed hard.
“No. It’s… Your mum’s in hospital. There was an accident.”
“Did she die?”
“No, no, she’s alive,” Edward rushed to say.
“But you asked— Dad—” Emily flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck so tightly he could barely breathe. “Let’s go see her. I’m scared.”
Gently, he pried her arms away and sat her down beside him.
“Not now, sweetheart. The hospital’s closed to visitors. We’ll go first thing in the morning. You need sleep—if we show up looking exhausted, what will Mum say?” He forced a weak smile.
Emily nodded and shuffled back to her room. Edward lay down again. Dawn was already creeping through the window. He remembered checking the time before answering the call—half past one.
He needed to calm down. Pressing a hand to his chest, he felt his heart hammering against his palm.
In the morning, they drove to the hospital. He left Emily in the corridor and stepped into the doctor’s office.
“You’re the husband?” The doctor, a man about his age, asked.
“Yes. How is she?”
“We’ve operated. Severe head trauma, multiple fractures… She’s in a coma.”
“How did this happen? She doesn’t drive.”
The doctor spread his hands. “All I know is, another vehicle hit the car she was in. Both drivers died at the scene. Your wife was lucky. I won’t sugarcoat it—her condition is grave, but we’re doing everything we can. She’s young, strong. There’s a chance.”
“Can we see her? My daughter’s outside.”
“That’s your call. Understand, she doesn’t look… well. But sometimes, loved ones make all the difference.”
“Who was in the car with her?” Edward asked as they walked toward the ICU.
“That’s a question for the police. Just a warning—she’s comatose, so don’t stay long.”
Inside the room, Edward barely recognised Sarah. Bandages covered her head, her face bruised and swollen. A stranger. Only the wedding ring on her hand was familiar.
“Mum!” Emily touched her fingers lightly. “Is she asleep?”
“Yes. The doctors had to operate. We can only stay a minute.”
The drive home was silent. Edward called Sarah’s mother, explained what happened, and asked her to stay with Emily. He needed to go to work.
Margaret stepped into the flat, dabbing her eyes with a damp handkerchief.
“Maybe I should take Emily for a while? You’ve got enough on your plate,” she said, calming slightly. “Want to come stay with me, love?”
Emily nodded.
“I warned her. But did she listen?” Margaret clenched the handkerchief, stopping abruptly when she caught Edward’s sharp look.
“Margaret, what did you warn her about?”
She shook her head, wiped her nose.
“Tell me. I’ll find out eventually.”
“Forgive me, Edward. I told her this would end badly. I scolded her.” She waved a helpless hand. “Kept saying she loved him, couldn’t live without him… Like she’d lost her mind. Oh, God, I shouldn’t have blurted it out like this—”
A dull ache spread through Edward’s chest. He took a slow breath, wincing. He’d sensed the changes in Sarah, ignored the signs, refused to face the truth.
“Who was he?” His voice was hollow.
“James Rutherford. He’s loved her since school. Went abroad for years. When he came back, that’s when it started…”
Rutherford. Edward had seen him once. Sometimes, if he finished work early, he’d pick Sarah up. Wait in the car park. She’d run to him like he was a gift.
Months ago, he’d gone to fetch her and saw Sarah with a man. The way they looked at each other—no one else existed. He’d known instantly.
He’d stepped out of the car, approached them. Sarah had frozen, panic flashing across her face before forcing a smile. Introduced them—her husband and an old school friend. She’d called him by his surname. The men sized each other up, didn’t shake hands. The dislike was instant, mutual.
“How nice you came to get me! I was just looking at birthday presents for Emily…” She’d looped her arm through Edward’s, pulling him toward the car.
Before driving off, he’d glanced back. Rutherford was already gone. The whole way home, Sarah had chattered nervously, smiling at nothing.
*She wasn’t with friends. She was with him. Sleeping with him. For how long? Were they planning a future? Talking about me? Comparing us? He was driving her home that night. In a hurry. She’d never come back so late. Maybe if not for the crash, she’d have confessed…* His breath came ragged, pain pulsing in his ribs.
“Tomorrow, I’d like to take Emily to the hospital. Will they let us in?” His mother-in-law’s voice pulled him back. Sarah was in a coma.
*What do I do with this? How do I live? Play the angry, betrayed husband? And if she never wakes up?* His thoughts swirled. *Her lover’s dead. I’m alive. We have Emily. Just let her wake up—we’ll figure out the rest.*
“They’ll let you in,” he finally answered. The doctor hadn’t forbidden visits. Maybe hearing their voices would help.
*Should I tell her I know while she’s unconscious? Spit out my anger? What if she dies hearing it? No. Don’t even think it. Just wake up. For Emily. For me.*
The next day, during his lunch break, he went to the hospital. Emily and Margaret were already there. When they left, he studied Sarah’s battered face. Then, haltingly, as if the words fought him, he whispered that he was trying to forgive her. That he wanted her to come home. He meant to say he loved her—but couldn’t.
The following morning, the hospital called. Sarah had woken up. He rushed out of work. But as he neared the hospital, doubt crept in. Could he hold back the accusations? What if he saw grief—for Rutherford—in her eyes?
Legs unsteady, he walked to the ward. The doctor warned him—Sarah was still weak, drifting in and out of sleep. No stress.
Edward approached the bed slowly.
“Sarah.”
Her eyes opened, found his faceThey drove home together, the weight of unsaid words heavy between them, but with the quiet understanding that love, though tested, had endured—and for now, that was enough.
