The traffic was at a standstill, rows of cars locked in place. No movement in either direction for the last half hour. Windows were rolled up, air conditioners humming against the unbearable heat outside—over thirty degrees, just as the weather report had warned.
The air shimmered above the sun-baked tarmac, wobbling like a mirage. Inside the BMW, it was cool, but sitting idle, staring at the frozen scene outside, had become unbearable.
Laura unscrewed the cap of her plastic water bottle and took a few sips. David noticed there was less than a third left. She kept drinking without offering him any. Not that he’d take it—he’d give her the last drop if it came to it. But she acted as if he weren’t even there.
“How long is this going to last?” Laura snapped.
It was her first words since they’d left the countryside. Her silence was worse than shouting. He’d rather she screamed. They never fought outright, but when upset, Laura would sulk for hours—sometimes days—her icy stare enough to make David feel guilty. He’d apologize, endure her monotone lecture, and they’d move on.
“Why are you just sitting there? Do something,” Laura lashed out again, as if he were responsible for the gridlock on the M25.
This time, David stayed quiet. He had no answer.
“And why did we even go to that stupid cottage? Fine for you, but me? To sit on the other side of the fence while you fawn over your daughter? I could’ve gone shopping. Or had ice cream with Nina.” She sniffled.
“Great, now my nose is blocked. Just what I needed—to get sick from this aircon.”
David turned it off.
“Are you serious? The car will be an oven in minutes. Do you want us to suffocate?”
He didn’t recall her ever talking this much. It was unsettling. He stayed silent and turned the aircon back on.
A man walked between the car lanes ahead. Before reaching David’s BMW, he climbed into a car in the next lane.
“Did you see that? He came from up ahead. Maybe he knows why we’re stuck,” Laura said.
“Maybe,” David agreed.
“So what are you waiting for? Go ask.”
“What’s there to ask? This jam could stretch for miles. You think he walked all that way and back in half an hour? Doubt it.” He glanced at her and felt guilty again.
“I mean, we won’t be stuck here forever. It’s the M25—half of London’s probably stranded.”
Laura stayed silent, staring ahead.
“Fine.” David got out.
He looked back—endless rows of cars, just like the ones ahead. The man had gotten into a red Lexus. David knocked on the window, and it rolled halfway down.
“Sorry, mate—did you go up ahead? Any idea what’s happening?”
“Whole M25’s a car park. Might be an accident. Or a terrorist threat.”
Nothing new. David had already assumed as much. The heat outside was unbearable, like a sauna. By the time he leaned in, his shirt clung to his back, damp and sticky. He returned to the car just as the radio cut to the news—no mention of the jam.
“Well?” Laura demanded.
“Not sure. Someone guessed it might be terrorism.”
“I knew it. Why did I even come with you?”
David agreed. He shouldn’t have persuaded her. He’d have stayed at the cottage with his daughter, left later in the cool evening—by then, the traffic would’ve cleared.
And it had started so well…
***
David’s phone woke him. Half-asleep, he answered without checking.
“Dad, are you coming?” asked Emily’s voice.
“Hello. Forgot your daughter’s birthday, did you?” His ex-wife’s tone dripped with disapproval. “Bet you haven’t even bought a present.”
“No, I remembered. I’m leaving now.”
He opened his eyes—the sun was high. He pulled the phone away: 9:30 a.m.
He’d remembered until last night. But then he’d gone out with Laura and his mates, and it slipped his mind.
“Dad, I don’t need a present. Just come, I miss you!” Emily shouted in the background before the line went dead.
They’d married thirteen years ago and spent ten of them at each other’s throats. He hadn’t been in love—just a student waking up next to a vaguely familiar girl after a party. A month later, she found him at uni and said she was pregnant.
“Not bad,” he’d thought. “I’ll marry her.”
His parents were horrified. His mother doubted the baby was his, demanded a paternity test before the wedding. He took it—after Emily was born. She was undeniably his. The moment he held her, he fell in love. So he endured his wife’s jealousy, her nagging. He might’ve stayed forever if he hadn’t met Laura.
Cold, arrogant, stunning as a Greek goddess, she never shouted. Her silence was punishment. Her only flaw. She’d strut around in shorts and a tank top, taunting him. He’d apologize even when he wasn’t wrong.
After Emily’s call, Laura asked what was wrong. He admitted he’d forgotten her birthday, that he’d promised to visit the cottage where she and her mum stayed summers.
“You’re leaving? Now? So I spend the day alone?” Laura pouted, then marched naked to the bathroom. The sight short-circuited his brain. He followed.
“Come with me.”
“You’re inviting me to your ex’s cottage?”
“Yeah. What’s the big deal? We’re divorced.” He was sure she’d refuse, so he pressed on. “It’s beautiful—river, woods, we can swim…”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. But we need to hurry.”
They bought Emily a gift and drove. As David expected, Laura chickened out at the last minute and waited in the car.
Emily leaped into his arms, and he realized how much he’d missed her. Time flew. When he said he had to leave, she clung to him, crying.
His ex stood nearby, listening to his excuses about traffic, early work mornings…
“Dad has to go. His little girlfriend’s waiting. Too scared to come in?”
David ignored her.
“I’ll visit next Sunday,” he promised Emily, peeling her arms off. His heart ached—love for his daughter, guilt over keeping Laura waiting.
He thought he’d been quick, but forty minutes had passed. Laura shot him a look and turned away. He started the car, glancing back at the cottage. Through the fence, he saw his ex and Emily. He thought she was smirking, but couldn’t be sure—the fence made it hard to see.
He apologized to Laura the whole drive. He couldn’t just leave—Emily was crying… Laura stayed silent, even as they hit the gridlock.
***
“Why did you drag me here?” Laura asked again.
“I didn’t know we’d get stuck!” he snapped. “I’m not bloody psychic!”
She blinked, stunned by his outburst.
“Don’t shout at me!”
“Sorry. Let’s just wait it out.”
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
“You don’t get it.” Her calm tone sent a chill through him. “I don’t love you. Not for a while now. I can’t do this anymore. You can’t decide anything.”
She got out, turning to face him, one hand on the door—so she didn’t see the cars behind her lurch forward.
“I don’t love you!” she repeated, stepping back to shut the door.
“Laura, stop!” David yelled—too late.
A Range Rover accelerated, and she vanished beneath its wheels.
Then their lane moved. Horns blared as impatient drivers sped past.
Laura lay unconscious, no visible injuries.
“I didn’t do anything! She stepped out—” the driver stammered.
“Help me get her in,” David said.
No telling when an ambulance would arrive. He drove her to the nearest hospital himself. The Range Rover followed.
A young doctor examined her, confirmed no fractures, and asked David to return the next day.
He came with flowers and fruit. Inside her room, the doctor sat by her bed, gently stroking her hand. She smiled at him.
David left the gifts at the nurses’ station and walked away.
A week later, Laura came for her things. Through the window, David saw the doctor waiting for her below.
He never learned the cause of the traffic jam. Not that it mattered anymore.
***
A year later, driving home, a dog darted into the road. David braked—but not fast enough. A woman on the sidewalk gasped and rushed over.
“Is this your dog? Where’s its leash?” he snapped.
“It’s not mine. We need to get it to a vet. Please…” She draped her coat over the backseat to protect it from blood.
David lifted the dog—wheezing, a gash onHe looked at the woman helping him—her steady hands, her quiet strength—and realized that sometimes, the right path finds you when you least expect it.
