**The Call of the Heart**
“Next, please,” called the nurse as another patient stepped out of Dr. Diana Carter’s office.
“Good afternoon,” greeted Oliver with a polite smile, walking to the desk and taking a seat.
“Hello,” replied Diana, still unaccustomed to being addressed so formally despite her title. Only the nurse insisted on it.
When she looked up, her breath caught—those familiar grey eyes staring back at her. Her pulse quickened, but she steadied herself.
“Oliver?” It was him—her old school friend, the boy she’d once walked home with every day.
After finishing school, Diana had left their small market town for London to study medicine, while Oliver stayed behind. His father had been ill, and he hadn’t managed to secure a university place—his family couldn’t afford private tuition. His mother had passed six years earlier, leaving just him and his father.
Now, the man before her was broader, more striking. Diana doubted his visit was purely medical, but she asked anyway.
“What brings you in today?”
“My heart races—especially when I see you,” he answered with a grin.
“Right, I’ll leave you to it,” the nurse said, shooting Oliver a knowing look before slipping out. It was the last appointment of the day.
“Diana, I came because you’ve been avoiding me. I need to talk. I’m leaving for a two-week haul tomorrow, and I can’t go without saying my piece. I know what you’ll say—married, kids…”
Back in school, they’d been inseparable. Walking together, cinema dates, evenings by the river. Everyone assumed they’d marry. But life had other plans.
Lizzie from the year above had pursued Oliver relentlessly—lurking at his locker, waiting after school. He ignored her antics, his eyes only on Diana.
*”You’ll be mine, Oliver. You’ll see,”* she’d sing, laughing.
Diana left for university. Oliver stayed—got a job, trained as a lorry driver, then served his time in the military. They rarely met; she hardly visited home.
But after his service, Lizzie latched onto him. She worked at the greengrocer’s, quick-witted and fond of a drink. One night, at his mate Tom’s birthday in the pub, she sat beside him. When he stepped out for a smoke, she spiked his pint with vodka. He didn’t even realise he was drunk until Tom frowned.
“You’re smashed, mate. I’ll call you a cab.”
Lizzie jumped in. “I’ll take him. Already ordered one.”
Tom helped Oliver into the car—but Lizzie took him to *her* flat. Her mum was on night shifts. She put him to bed, climbing in beside him. What happened—or didn’t—he couldn’t recall. But he woke to her laughter—and her mother in the doorway.
“Well, well. Didn’t expect this.” The door slammed shut.
Lizzie giggled. “Mum’s back. We slept in, didn’t we? After last night…” She smirked. “You’ll have to marry me now. Mum saw us.”
His head throbbed. The ultimatum made it worse. He was decent—still loved Diana. Hoped she’d return after uni.
“I should go,” he mumbled, staggering up.
“Of course,” she purred, clinging to his neck. “Call me later.”
He never shook her off. Weeks later, she claimed she was pregnant. He married her.
When Diana heard, she accepted a proposal from her long-time admirer, Edward.
*Do I love him?* she wondered, even as his wife. Their marriage felt hollow—both doctors, always busy. He lacked romance, seemed distracted. She suspected affairs.
“We’re not ready for children,” he’d said.
“But we have the flat—your dad bought it for you—why wait?”
“Money,” he’d replied. “You should understand that.”
His father, who respected Diana, slipped her cash, eager for grandchildren. Edward refused.
Six childless years passed. Then, one evening, a knock. A young, pregnant woman stood there.
“Are you Edward’s wife?”
Diana’s stomach dropped.
“I’m having his baby. He promised to leave you. Just sign the papers—you’ve no kids, after all.”
“Fine,” Diana said calmly. “Consider it done.”
She shut the door, let the tears fall—briefly. *I knew it.* Maybe it was for the best.
She filed for divorce, moved back home, and took a job at the local clinic.
Oliver’s life was misery. Lizzie drank when he was on the road, left their boys with her mum. The gossip was relentless.
“She’s out all night,” his own mother warned. “Disgraceful.”
Lizzie boasted, *”He won’t leave. Two sons—he’s trapped.”*
But Oliver had had enough.
“Where can we talk properly?” Oliver asked.
“Not here. The café next door.”
Over tea, he confessed. “I’m ending it with Lizzie. This isn’t a marriage. We don’t even share a bed anymore.”
Diana listened.
“That councillor, Lewis—he’s been circling you. He’s bad news.”
Her brows lifted. “I’m free to see who I like.”
“Just… wait for me. I’ll fix this.”
He left for his haul.
Three days later, during her shift, social services arrived.
“Dr. Carter, we need you. Children reported alone—neighbours heard crying.”
The address was Oliver’s.
Lizzie hadn’t been home in days. The flat was filthy, the boys—five and two—surviving on crusts.
“We’re taking them,” the social worker said.
“No,” Diana cut in. “They’ll stay with me. Until Oliver returns.”
She brought them home—dirty, hungry. Her parents stared but said nothing. They knew.
“Oliver’s boys are staying,” Diana declared. Her mother set plates out, understanding.
When Oliver returned, they finally found their way. Now, in a house of their own, they raise three children—two sons, and a daughter, theirs at last.
