Lying half-asleep in bed, Veronica savored the drowsy space between dreams and wakefulness. Eyes still closed, she smiled to herself.
*How lovely—it’s the weekend. No rushing, no listening to grumbling patients at the clinic, some of whom weren’t even ill.*
A glance at the clock confirmed she’d slept late, but she still didn’t want to move. Then her phone buzzed—a message from Mark.
*”Fancy coming fishing? It’s your day off. We’re leaving in an hour. Say yes, please!”*
Veronica grinned, picturing Mark with a fishing rod. She remembered him like that from their school days. Back in Year 11, they’d spent summers by the river, Mark always with his tackle. He’d catch fish, and they’d cook it over a fire—well, *he* would. She had no idea how. But that soup—she’d never tasted anything better. Or so she’d thought at the time.
They’d been sweethearts then, never imagining life would pull them apart. Classmate Annie always tried to wedge between them, but Mark brushed her off effortlessly.
*”Annie, jog on—you’re not my type,”* he’d say when she pestered him after school.
*”We’ll see about that,”* she’d smirk, throwing a sly glance at Veronica, who just rolled her eyes. She *knew* Mark only had eyes for her.
After school, Veronica went to medical school—her childhood dream. Mark, never much for study, trained as a mechanic at the local college. They promised to stay in touch, and they did—calls, letters, summer visits home. She’d return from the city; he’d stayed in their small town where everyone knew each other.
*”Don’t forget me, yeah?”* he’d say.
*”As if I could,”* she’d laugh. *”Wish I could visit more, but it’s a four-hour drive each way.”*
Summers were golden. Dawn till dusk together—chatting in the garden, flicking through photos, swimming in the river with friends back for the holidays.
Mark’s birthday fell in September, always a sore spot.
*”Can’t even celebrate with you now,”* she’d sigh over the phone, sending cards instead.
That year, he marked the day at a pub with mates—until Annie showed up with a friend. She’d flunked out after school, working at a fruit stall in the market.
*”Class reunion!”* she’d chimed, plopping down uninvited. *”Where are your girls, then?”*
Out of politeness, Mark let them stay. At closing time, Annie sent her friend off and clung to his arm.
*”You’ll walk me home, won’t you? Can’t leave a girl alone at night.”*
One thing led to another—wine on her porch, too much drink, and a blur Mark regretted at dawn. Annie smirked as he scrambled away.
*”Run all you like—you’re mine now.”*
She hounded him after that—calls, “chance” meetings—until the day she turned up at his house. His mum answered.
*”Annie? What brings you—”*
*”I’m pregnant,”* Annie announced, eyes welling. *”Mark’s been avoiding me.”*
His mother—a well-bred schoolteacher—was horrified. Mark confessed everything.
*”You’ll marry her,”* his mum insisted. *”You’ve a duty now.”*
Trapped, he did.
When Veronica heard from a classmate, she refused to believe it—until Mark’s own mother confirmed.
*”Then he’s dead to me,”* she sobbed in her dorm.
*”These things happen,”* her flatmates consoled. *”Long distance… who knows the truth?”*
For years, she avoided romance—until final-year med student Anton charmed her out of her gloom. He proposed; she accepted.
Anton came from money—his father ran a steel empire, with a corner office waiting for him. Their wedding was lavish, but Veronica soon realised her mistake. At the clinic where they both worked, she caught him with a nurse.
*”I want a divorce,”* she said coldly at home.
*”Then quit the clinic,”* he sneered. *”Go back to your hick town.”*
*”It’s a *town*,”* she corrected, oddly calm. *”And you’re right—I should leave.”*
Back with her parents in their cottage, she announced:
*”No fuss—Anton and I split. I’m staying.”*
Her mother huffed, but her father silenced her with a look.
*”Good to have you home,”* he said simply.
Veronica settled into the local surgery, life quiet—until she bumped into Mark.
Had he waited for her? Or was it chance? Either way, her vision swam when he appeared outside the shop. She knew the rumours—Annie’s child wasn’t his; he’d left town after their divorce.
That evening over coffee, they talked for hours. Both divorced. Mark’s eyes lit up.
Now, jolting awake, Veronica wiped her brow. Those memories had ambushed her. Decision made, she texted Mark: *”Yes. Fishing sounds perfect.”*
Her mother frowned as she rushed breakfast.
*”Off with Mark, are you?”*
*”So?”*
*”After he ditched you?”*
*”We *both* messed up. Maybe it’s fate’s second chance.”*
Outside, Mark waited in his car. Her mother watched them drive off, uneasy.
*”What if he breaks her heart again?”*
The day was magic—fish caught, soup cooked, laughter like old times. They skirted talk of Annie.
*”Not today,”* Mark said, kissing her cheek when she gently stopped him going further. *”Wrong place.”*
A week later, alone at his flat, they finally came together—tender, urgent, certain. By morning, Mark grinned against her skin.
*”Suppose I’ll have to marry you now. Fancy it?”*
Laughing, they knew—this time, nothing would tear them apart.
