Life is full of surprises.
“Mum, I’m off,” Emily called from the doorway of the kitchen.
Lydia turned from the stove and studied her daughter carefully.
“What?” Emily sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
“Nothing. Why are you dressed up so late? Wearing makeup. A date? Don’t stay out all night, alright?”
“Fine,” Emily muttered before hurrying out.
*She’s grown up so fast,* Lydia thought to herself. She covered the frying pan with a lid and stepped toward the hallway mirror. *Where have my seventeen years gone? Time flies so quickly. I thought I had my whole life ahead of me, and now more than half is gone. School dragged on forever, and then life rushed downhill like a rolling stone—university, marriage… Happiness peeked out like the sun behind clouds, then vanished again.* She smoothed her hair. *Well, never mind. My girl’s clever and beautiful… Oh, the potatoes!*
Lydia dashed back to the kitchen, snatching the lid off the pan before it could clatter to the floor. She hissed, shaking her burnt fingers. *Too busy staring at myself in the mirror and nearly ruined dinner…*
Later, she ate alone without much appetite, then settled in front of the telly to watch a late-night drama. The room darkened unnoticed outside the window. She dozed off without realising, waking only when her phone rang. Half-asleep, she answered without checking—it had to be Emily. Who else would call this late? She had no close friends, just work acquaintances, all bound by quiet solitude.
A man’s voice startled her.
“Are you Emily Fletcher’s mother?”
“Who is this?” Lydia asked cautiously.
“Dr. Harris from St. Mary’s Hospital. You need to come in—your daughter’s been in an accident. She needs emergency surgery. As she’s a minor, your consent is required—”
*Emergency surgery?* Lydia couldn’t process it. The line went dead before she could ask more.
She tried to make sense of it. Must be a mistake—Emily had just gone out. What accident? But he knew her name. Her head, still groggy from sleep, refused to think clearly. Forcing herself to focus, she repeated the instructions—St. Mary’s Hospital—then called a cab. She changed quickly, grabbed her bag, and flew out of the flat, skipping the lift for the stairs. Outside, a taxi was already pulling up, headlights blinding her.
“Please, hurry… My daughter’s in hospital…” she gasped, breathless from running.
The entire ride, Lydia veered between urging the driver to speed up—so she could prove this was all a mistake—and secretly wishing he’d slow down, delaying whatever terrible truth awaited her. Her chest tightened with dread.
She burst into A&E, immediately spotting a young man slumped on a cot, his face scraped, a plaster above his eyebrow, his expression dazed. A dirty jacket hung off his shoulders.
“Where’s my daughter? What did you do to her?!” She lunged at him, grabbing his jacket and shaking him.
“It wasn’t my fault! A car came out of nowhere on the bend… I swerved, but it still clipped us—I swear, I didn’t—”
“Who hit you? Why?” Lydia shouted, not understanding.
“Who’s making all this noise?” An older doctor strode in, his greying moustache drooping slightly. “You’re Mrs. Fletcher? Sign here—consent for the operation.”
“What operation? Why? Where’s Emily?” She barely registered his medical jargon—*intracranial hematoma, increasing pressure…*
Numb, she scribbled her name on the form and collapsed onto the cot beside the shaken boy. The doctor left at once.
“I don’t understand… She just went out,” Lydia whispered, rocking slightly.
“We were walking, then I suggested we take my bike…”
Lydia whirled on him. “This is your fault!”
The boy flinched from the hatred in her gaze. “I *wasn’t* speeding… The driver didn’t even stop to see if we were alive…”
“James! Are you alright?” A tall man entered, and the boy stumbled toward him.
“Dad, it wasn’t me—another car swerved—if I hadn’t dodged, he’d have crushed us… A bystander brought us here. The doctor said ten minutes later and Emily would’ve—” He broke into loud sobs.
The man held him, rubbing his back. “I believe you. Did you see the car? Colour? Model? Where it happened? I *will* find him.”
“Find him, sure. Your son’s fine, but my girl… *Your* boy did this!” Lydia gasped, choking on tears.
“Who’s this?” the man asked his son.
“Emily’s mum.”
Ignoring her, the man turned back to his son. “Tell me everything, properly.”
Lydia sneered. “Yes, tell Daddy how you nearly killed my daughter!”
“Madam, I know you’re upset, but we need the facts. If James is at fault, he’ll face the consequences. Son, do you know Emily’s address?”
James nodded, still sniffling. “I didn’t do it…”
The man handed Lydia a business card. “Call if you need anything.” She refused to take it, so he tucked it into her open bag. “Ready to go home?”
James hesitated. “What about Emily?”
“Her mother’s here. They won’t let you see her now.” He glanced at Lydia’s rigid form. “Need a lift?”
She didn’t answer, rocking silently with her arms wrapped around herself.
Later, staring at an empty waiting room, Lydia noticed a small paper cross tucked behind a mirror above the sink. She stood on stiff legs and shuffled toward it.
“Save my daughter. She’s only seventeen. I can’t live without her… Take my life instead, do anything, just save her…”
How long she stood whispering those same words, she didn’t know. People came and went, but she dared not look away.
“You’re still here?” The doctor reappeared, exhausted, his moustache wilted. “The surgery went well—bleeding stopped, hematoma removed…”
“She’s… alive?” Relief buckled her knees.
“Sit.” He guided her to a chair, speaking gently. The words barely registered. When he offered water, she shoved it away, spilling it.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Go home. Rest. Your daughter will sleep till morning. Come back then.”
She didn’t argue, stepping outside onto a cold bench as dawn broke. Birds sang, celebrating a new day. Shivering, she crept back inside, slipping onto a sofa in a quiet hall…
“You never left?” The doctor’s voice roused her. “Your daughter’s fine. Come, I’ll get you coffee. You know the Stantons?”
Lydia blinked. “Who?”
“Your daughter was with James Stanton—his father’s a businessman. The lad’s a good sort, carried her from the crash himself. A passerby drove them—no time for an ambulance. You should be thanking him.”
Lydia remembered the scrawny boy with the plaster.
“He goes to Emily’s school,” she said faintly.
“Ah, parents are always the last to know. My son’s married now, but back in the day…” He waved a hand.
After coffee, he led her to Emily’s room.
“Two minutes. No crying—don’t upset her.”
Lydia froze in the doorway. Her daughter’s bandaged head, bruised face…
“Mum,” Emily whispered.
“Thank God!” She clutched her hand.
“Mum… where’s James?”
“He’s fine. His dad took him home.” She hesitated. “You never told me you were seeing James Stanton.”
The doctor gently pulled her away.
Days passed. Emily recovered, walking again. James visited daily, leaving flowers and fruit.
“Love, he’s not for you. Rich boys don’t marry girls like us,” Lydia fretted.
“Mum, we only went out once. He’s leaving soon.”
“Where?”
“University—Cambridge. So…”
“Good. You’ll meet someone else.”
One evening, a knock startled Lydia. She opened the door to find Richard Stanton on her step. Unprepared, she clutched her faded dressing gown.
“Sorry for dropping by unannounced. May I come in?”
She stepped aside.
“I found the driver who hit them.”
“Really?” In her joy, she loosened her grip, exposing her nightdress. Richard averted his eyes.
“He confessed. I’ll see he’s punished. How’s Emily?”
“Better. Why hasn’t James visited?”
“He’s with his mother.”
“Because of Emily?”
“No, planned long ago.”
Lydia scoffed. “Lucky for us she was with *your* son. A nobody, and no one would’ve cared.”
Richard gave her a disapproving look before leaving. Too late, she regretted herLydia closed the door behind her, fingers lingering on the handle as she realized, for the first time in years, that happiness wasn’t something lost to the past—it was waiting, quietly, in the unlikeliest of places.
