**Rescue from Loneliness**
I woke up late today. My first thought was that I’d overslept—my daughter and grandson would be up soon, and I hadn’t even started breakfast. But then I remembered. They’d left yesterday. I’d seen them off at the station myself.
Sighing, I dragged myself to the bathroom. Normally, I’d plan my day—what to tackle first, what could wait. But today, all I could think about was Emily and little Oliver. I missed them. The last time they’d visited was for my husband’s funeral two and a half years ago. Oliver had grown so much—almost as tall as me now. If they waited another few years to visit again, I might not even recognise him.
If they lived nearby, we’d see each other more. How many times had I begged Emily to come back? She was divorced—what kept her in that other city? Then again, I understood. She’d grown used to her independence. Should’ve never left in the first place.
I never liked her ex-husband. Too quiet. If you didn’t ask, he’d stay silent all day. Hard to tell what he was thinking—always secretive. Just wasted years, and in the end, a divorce. I exhaled sharply.
Now they’re fighting over the flat. If only he’d just pay Emily her share. They could buy a small place here, I’d move in, and they could have mine. But no, he’s stubborn—his parents whispering in his ear. “If only David were still here,” I muttered. He’d have sorted it in no time.
I washed my face, staring at my reflection. Emily was right—I’d let myself go. Stopped dyeing my hair, the grey coming through. Looked tired, worn out. When David was alive, I put in the effort. But now? Who’s there to impress? Only neighbours drop by, and even then, barely. The phone ringing snapped me from my thoughts.
Rushing to answer, I realised—Emily and Oliver should’ve arrived home by now. She must be calling.
“Emily, did you make it alright? Good… I knew you would. I’ll try not to mope, I promise. But just think about moving back—no, I’m not pressuring you. I just—time’s slipping, love. I’m not getting younger… Don’t shout—”
She was getting annoyed, and I didn’t have the heart for an argument. Mood already at rock bottom. I forced a cheerful goodbye.
Making the bed, I kept arguing with her in my head. “Always the same. She does what she wants. Made enough mistakes already. If only David…” I sighed. “Fine. Let her decide. She’s a grown woman.”
I drank my tea, took my blood pressure pills, and decided—no more delays. I’d go to the hairdresser’s today. Maybe it’d lift my spirits. I’d gotten used to being alone since David passed, but with them gone now, it was hard not to cry.
The hairdresser took her time—I nearly dozed off. But the result? Stunning. A short, modern cut, ash-blonde to hide the roots. Took years off me. I couldn’t stop staring. Should’ve done this ages ago. I swore to myself I’d keep it up.
At home, I admired myself in the mirror again, then opened my laptop. Before New Year’s, Oliver and I had gone shopping—I’d bought him a new one. Emily scolded me for spending so much, but Oliver had been thrilled. Kissed me, gave me his old laptop right then. Set me up on social media, even helped pick my profile picture—a photo from twenty years ago. I ought to take a new one. Later.
Scrolling the newsfeed, I spotted a message. A man—Victor—was thrilled to have found me, asking me to reply. I zoomed in on his photo. Didn’t recognise him. Probably a trick—saw a pretty, younger version of me and decided to slide into my DMs.
Around my age, warm smile, good teeth—former dentist’s habit. Almost ignored him. But curiosity won. “How do you know me?”
An hour later, we were deep in conversation. Turned out, he was Victor Dawson, an old classmate. Sent a photo of our Year 11 class, circled us both. It took me a moment—I barely recalled the quiet boy from back then. Even myself, I only recognised from the label.
Soon, we messaged daily. Then Sarah—another classmate—reached out. We’d shared a desk. Her profile picture was clearly doctored, too.
Once, during a maths test, she’d begged for help. I’d solved her problem, ran out of time for mine. She got an A; I scraped a C. Never helped her again. She’d held a grudge ever since.
Sarah had always been spiteful. Still, I replied—no point clinging to old wounds. My circle grew. No time to mope. How had I lived without the internet? A month flew by. Then Victor suggested meeting up.
“Living in the same city, haven’t seen each other in decades. We should fix that. Ladies, name the place.”
I hesitated. Imagined us all older, changed. Glad I’d had the haircut. Suggested a café—neutral, quiet.
I nearly wore a fancy dress. But it was winter—too cold. And it wasn’t a date. Settled for trousers and a warm jumper. Light makeup. A bit of blush. Looked nice, if I say so myself.
Nearing the café, my nerves flared. Blood pressure didn’t need a spike now. Why had I agreed? Too late. I pushed the door open. A man waved from the back. I recognised Sarah Dawson instantly—bleached blonde, just like in school. She looked good, despite the weight. I said so.
Then I turned to Victor. Hard to believe the distinguished, silver-haired man was the same shy boy.
“You haven’t changed. Knew you straight away,” he said, pulling out a chair. Smooth. Let Sarah gawk at me, not him.
Sarah, true to form, gave a backhanded compliment. I relaxed—she’d never admit another woman looked better in front of a man.
“Ladies, I’m so glad to see you. Both lovely. Shall we toast?” Victor glanced between us.
The waiter came. Turns out, we were all single. Many classmates were already gone, Victor said.
By the end, Sarah was drunk, clinging to Victor as we left.
“Call her a taxi,” I said. “You can’t take her on the bus.”
“Why me? What about you?”
“You expect *me* to take her home?”
“We could drop her off, then I’ll walk you—”
A taxi pulled up. Sarah flopped inside, yanking Victor’s sleeve, slurring declarations of love. He pried free, slammed the door, gave her address.
“You know where she lives?” I asked.
He paused. “We were married.”
“I didn’t know.”
Suddenly, Sarah’s coldness made sense. Those longing looks—not just flirting. She wanted him back.
We walked—my place wasn’t far.
“Got married young. Divorced a year later. She’s had two husbands since. Still tries to reel me back.” He stopped. “Truth is, I fancied you back then.”
“Here we are. Thanks for walking me,” I said.
“Invite me up,” he blurted.
“What about Sarah?” I smirked. “We’ve had coffee. Best head home.” I slipped inside.
In the dark, I peered out the window. Empty. What had I expected? Him pining under my window like a schoolboy? At our age, with creaky joints and dodgy hearts? Ridiculous. I decided—no more messages. No drama. No spiteful Sarah.
Days passed. Curiosity won. Victor had apologised—blamed the wine. Admitted his schoolboy crush. Sarah had known—that’s why she’d snagged him. If I wasn’t interested, he’d back off.
He sounded hurt. Fine. What did I need him for? Stupid. Should’ve trusted my gut. Maybe Emily and Oliver would visit soon—no time for old flames.
Sarah sent a dozen venomous messages. Accused me of holding a grudge over that maths grade. ‘Stealing Victor?’ Ha. ‘Over my dead body.’ Bitter nonsense. I barely held back from firing back.
Two weeks of silence. I grew uneasy. Messaged Victor—no reply. A week later, tried Sarah.
“Happy now? He’s in hospital—almost gave him a heart attack,” she sneered.
“Not my fault. I never led him on. Which hospital? I’ll explain.”
Reluctantly, she gave details. Victor lit up when he saw me. I was blunt—”I liked chatting, but no romance. Too old for that. Sarah loves you. At our age, treasure what you’ve got.”
Next day, Sarah messWhen Emily and Oliver finally arrived, the house was filled with laughter and warmth again, and I realised that sometimes, the greatest rescue from loneliness comes not from the past, but from the love that never truly left.
