The cab driver pulled up to the house and froze when he saw his missing wife in the window.
Enough! How many times must we dig up the past? Nicholas Anderson threw the photograph onto the desk, his voice trembling. Its been a year and a half, Ethel. She wont come back.
Mr. Anderson, please understand, Officer Mary Peterson, the local constable, said gently as she lifted the picture and slipped it back into the folder. Were closing the case. By law enough time has passed to declare Mrs. Ethel Anderson missing.
You mean dead, Nicholas muttered, a bitter smile curling his lips.
I didnt say that, Mary replied softly. We just need to finish the paperwork. Sign here, please.
He took the pen, stared at the document for a few seconds, then signed with a sweeping flourish.
Is that all? Will you leave me alone now?
Mr. Anderson, Mary sighed, I understand how you feel. Believe me, weve done everything we can.
I know, he said, rubbing his eyes wearily. Forgive me. Every time you bring this folder, its the same nightmare againsleepless nights, endless thoughts, memories
I get it, the officer nodded. But if anything does surface that could help
For a year and a half Ive replayed every day, every hour before she vanished, Nicholas said, shaking his head. Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. A normal morning, a normal breakfast. See you tonight, love. And that was it. She slipped away between home and work.
Mary gathered the papers and stood.
In my experience there are cases where people return after three or five years.
Have you ever had a case where a wife simply left for another man without a word? Nicholas snapped.
The officer fell silent, then nodded. Yes. But they usually leave a note.
When the constables door shut, Nicholas sank into his chair and closed his eyes. A year and a half had passed since Ethel disappearedjust stepped out and never returned. No call, no message. Her phone was dead, her bank cards untouched. It was as if she had melted into the earth.
He had tried everythingpolice, private detectives, newspaper ads, online posts. Nothing. No one saw her, no one knew.
The first months were the worst. Endless interrogations (of course the husband was always the prime suspect), frantic searches, clinging to hope. Then numbness set in, followed by a dull, aching pressure in his chest, and a flood of unanswered questions.
Why? How did he not notice? Was she unhappy? Had she found someone else? Did something terrible happen? Maybe she was alive but couldnt reach out? He tried not to dwell on those thoughts.
A ringing phone snapped him out of the gloom. The number displayed belonged to the taxi firm.
Hello, Nick? the weary voice of dispatcher Tammy answered. Can you start early tomorrow? Mr. Petrovs blood pressure is spiking and were swamped with jobs.
Yes, of course, Nicholas said, pinching the bridge of his nose. What time?
At six, if you can. First run to the airport.
Will do.
Nicholas had taken up taxi work three months after Ethels disappearance. Hed lost his engineering jobmanagement had been patient, but endless unpaid leave finally wore them out. He also could no longer focus on calculations or blueprints.
Driving a cab turned out to be just right. Mechanical work that required attention but not intense concentration, and no emotional tiespassengers came and went, conversations flickered, stories passed. One day you ferry someone, the next day someone else. Responsibility boiled down to getting people from point A to point B.
Mornings began as they always hadup at five, a cold shower, a strong cup of tea. Nicholas stared at his reflection: a slackjawed face, a touch of grey at the temples, wrinkles that hadnt been there a year and a half ago. Fortytwo, looking closer to fifty.
The first client waited at the entrancea portly man with two suitcases, nervous and chatty. All the way to the airport he rambled about a trip to Brighton, a motherinlaw who nagged his wife, and a boss who was a bully. Nicholas nodded, gave the occasional right, but his thoughts drifted far away.
The day passed in routinerailway station, shopping centre, business park, back to the station. By evening fatigue settled in, yet he couldnt go home; the dispatcher asked for one more job.
Nick, we need you from River Street to Green Meadows. Last one for today, the passenger is already waiting.
Alright, Nicholas sighed, checking the address on his GPS.
The passenger turned out to be a young woman with a small child. The boy, about three or four, whined and refused to sit down.
Tommy, please, the mother coaxed. Well be home soon, Daddys waiting.
I dont want to go home! the child shouted. I want to go to Grandmas!
Well see Grandma on Saturday, I promise. Now we need to get home.
Nicholas waited while they settled. The ride promised to be tryingthe child whined, the mother looked exhausted.
Sorry, the woman said once she finally got comfortable in the back seat. Its been a rough day.
No trouble, Nicholas replied, tapping the meter. Green Meadows, Lime Street, number 17, right?
Yes, thats it.
Traffic snarled longer than expecteda crash in the city centre kept them stuck for almost an hour. The boy eventually fell asleep on his mothers lap. She stared out the window, silent. Nicholas put on some soft music, careful not to wake the child.
When they finally cleared the jam, dusk had fallen. A light drizzle pelted the streets, puddles forming everywhere. Nicholas drove steadily, fighting a growing headache.
Green Meadows lay on the outskirtsa swirl of new flats, towering blocks that still felt empty. He rarely visited such places; the faceless concrete seemed soulless.
Right turn here, the woman said as they entered a courtyard. And the third door, please.
Nicholas obeyed, stopping at a plain seventeenstorey block.
Here we are, he said, turning off the engine. Thatll be £4.20.
She handed him a fivepound note.
No change needed. Thank you for your patience.
Thanks for the generosity, Nicholas smiled. May I help with the child?
He opened the rear door, the woman passed the sleeping boy to him, then stepped out herself. Nicholas cradled the child while she paid and gathered her bags.
Ill take him, she said finally.
Are you sure? Maybe I should drop him off at the flat?
No, thank you, well manage. My husband will be home.
She handed the boy back, his small hand slipping into hers. The woman lingered at the door, looking out at the wet street. Nicholas decided to wait a moment longer; the rain was still falling and the child was asleep.
He watched as she struggled with the heavy door, then pressed the lift button. As the engine hummed, Nicholas glanced up at the windows of the building. On the third floor a light flickered. A woman stood by the pane, her silhouette outlined by the yellow glow.
His heart missed a beat, then hammered. He recognized the profile, the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He knew it because he had seen it a thousand times.
Ethel. His wife. The woman who had vanished a year and a half ago.
He didnt remember how he left the car, crossed the courtyard, or entered the building. He felt voices, felt eyes on him. All that mattered was the third floor, a flat with windows facing this side.
The lift was out of ordersigns of maintenance. Nicholas bolted up the stairs, his breath ragged. On the third floor he paused before four doors. Which one? He recalled the window placement. Counting from the left, the flat he needed was the second. He approached, pressed the buzzer. A long, tense pause, then footsteps. The door clicked open.
A man in his forties, in houseslacks and a Tshirt, stood in the doorway.
Yes? he asked, puzzled.
Nicholas opened his mouth but no words came.
Who are you looking for? the man asked, frowning.
I Im looking for a woman. Ethel Anderson.
The mans expression shifted from surprise to caution.
Theres no Ethel Anderson here, he said. Youve got the wrong address.
He reached for the door, but Nicholas held it.
Wait! I just saw her in the window. Im not mad, I swear. Shes my wife, missing for a year and a half.
The man hesitated, then the door swung wider. Behind him stood a womanexactly the passenger Nicholas had just dropped off, holding a sleepy child.
Whats happening, Simon? she asked, looking at the stranger.
This man claims he saw his wife in our window, Simon replied. He says shes Ethel.
The woman frowned, then her eyes widened.
Youre the cab driver who brought us here! she exclaimed. What are you doing here?
I saw my wife in your window, Nicholas repeated, his voice steady. Ethel Anderson, dark hair to the shoulders, a mole above the right eyebrow.
The couple exchanged a look that made Nicholas uneasy.
Listen, Simon said finally. Theres no Ethel here. Its just me, my wife, and our son.
And Gwendolyn? the woman added softly. My mother.
Who? Nicholas asked, leaning forward.
My mother, the woman said. Shes been living with us for the past year.
May I speak with her? Nicholas asked, desperation in his tone.
Simon shook his head. Shes not well. And why would I let you?
The woman placed a hand on Simons shoulder. Simon, maybe we should let him see?
Lena, you know how she reacts, Simon muttered. It could upset her.
Please, Nicholas pleaded. Ive not known my wifes fate for a year and a half. Just a minute. If its not her, Ill leave.
After a long silence, Simon consented reluctantly. Fine. One minute. And if shes not yours, you go.
They led him to a small hallway. The womanLenatook the child to another room, while Simon gestured for Nicholas to follow. They passed the living room and stopped at a closed door.
Stay here, Simon said. Ill warn her first.
He knocked, then entered without waiting for an answer, closing the door behind him. From the other side faint voices drifted, unintelligible.
When the door opened, Simon emerged, his face tight. You may go in. Dont disturb her.
Nicholas stepped into a modest bedroom: a neatly made bed, a chest of drawers, a few framed photos on the walls. By the window sat a woman in a comfy chair, watching the rain. She turned, and Nicholass heart stopped.
Ethel. Not exactly as he rememberedhair shorter, a new haircutbut the mole, the green eyes, the faint scar on her chin from a childhood bicycle fall.
Ethel, he whispered.
She stared at him, expression blank, as if he were a stranger.
Sorry, she said gently. You must be mistaking me. Im Gwendolyn.
Her voice was familiar, yet the tone was foreign.
Ethel, its me, Nick, he said, stepping closer, hands trembling. Your husband.
She frowned, confusion flickering across her face.
Simon? she asked, looking toward the doorway. Whos this man?
Simon was already at the door. All right, love, its a visitor, he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Hell be leaving.
Visitor? Gwendolyn repeated, eyes wide.
Nicholas sank to his knees beside the chair. Dont you remember? We met at a park concert. You dropped an icecream on my shirt and I joked youd have to marry me to wash it forever.
A flash of something crossed her face, then vanished.
No, she whispered. I dont know you.
Your name is GwendolynPeterson, Nicholas insisted. You have the mole above the right eyebrow, the scar on your chin, youre scared of heights, you love strawberry icecream and cant stand the smell of chrysanthemums.
She touched her chin, as if checking the scar.
Lena entered, the child now in her arms, eyes wide. Whats happening? she demanded. Mum, are you alright?
This man is talking nonsense, GwendolynEthel replied. He calls me by the wrong name.
Simon grabbed Nicholass arm. Were taking you out, now.
No! Nicholas fought the grip. You cant just send me away. Explain why my wife lives here under another name, why you call her my motherinlaw.
We didnt do anything to her, Simon said, exhausted. We rescued her.
Rescued? Nicholas barked. Weve been searching for her every day for a year and a half!
EthelGwendolyns shoulders shook. The bridge snow cold.
The room fell silent. Did you remember anything? Lena asked gently.
Cars a white car a man rough, she murmured, pressing her hands to her temples. I was grabbed, taken into a vehicle. I screamed, but no one helped.
What happened then? Nicholas pressed.
She shook her head. I dont recall. I dont want to.
Lena wrapped her arms around her mother. Youre safe now.
Nicholass voice softened. Are you really my wife?
She looked at him, eyes clouded, then a flicker of recognition sparked. I I dont remember you, but something feels familiar you.
He placed his hand over hers. You will remember, in time. Ill help you.
Turning to Simon and Lena, he said, Thank you for taking her in, for caring for her. She is my wife, and I want her back.
Lena began to sob, covering her mouth. We love her. Shes become part of our family. Tommy thinks of her as his grandmother.
I understand, Nicholas nodded. I wont stop you seeing her. But her place is with me.
Simon placed a gentle hand on Gwendolyns shoulder. She should decide herself, he said quietly. If she wants to leave with you, we wont stand in the way.
All eyes fell on the woman, trembling and confused.
I dont know, she whispered. I dont remember you, but I dont recall my life here either, before the accident. They told me I was Lenas mother, and I believed them.
Maybe she needs time, Simon suggested. To get to know you again, to be sure of who you both are.
Nicholas wanted to arguehow much time could he have after finally finding her? Yet looking at the bewildered face, he realized Simon was right. She was frightened, disoriented. She needed space to adjust to the idea that everything shed known for the past year and a half might be a lie.
Alright, he said at last. Ill give you time. Well meet again, get to know each other anew. No police reports, no forced handovers.
Will you stop coming? Simon asked.
No, Nicholas promised. If you dont hinder us, Ill keep coming.
GwendolynEthel managed a faint smile. I think Id like to know you again.
The smile was familiar, like a sunbeam breaking through clouds. Nicholas felt his throat tighten, tears threatening.
Ill wait, he said. For as long as it takes.
As he walked out of the flat, he glanced back. She stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself as if to keep out the cold. Familiar and alien at once.
Descending the stairs, Nicholas thought how strange fate could be. A year and a half of despair, a random passenger, a random address, a glance through a windowperhaps not random at all. Maybe some invisible thread had tugged them together despite amnesia and new identities.
Outside, the rain had stopped. Between the clouds, stars began to peek through. He inhaled the damp air deeply, feeling for the first time in ages that he could breathe fully.
She was alive. She had been found. The rest were details to be sorted out, in time, together.
He slipped into his own cab, gave one last lingering look at the glowing window on the third floor. In that moment, a silhouette appearedEthel watching from above. He raised his hand in farewell, and she seemed to return the gesture.
Tomorrow would be a new day. A fresh life. A new acquaintance with an old love.
For now, he would go home, call Officer Mary Peterson, and ask her not toHe drove home, dialing Officer Mary Peterson to beg her not to close the case yet.
