The cab driver pulled up to the doorstep and stopped dead, his eyes catching the silhouette of his vanished wife in the upstairs window.
Enough! How many times must I rattle the past? Nicholas Andrews flung a photograph onto the kitchen table, his voice trembling. Its been a year and a half, Emma. She wont be coming back.
Inspector Margaret Whitaker, the local constable, lifted the picture gently, slipping it back into its folder. Were closing the case, Mr. Andrews. By law enough time has passed to declare Victoria Whitaker missing in action.
You mean dead, Nicholas sneered bitterly.
I never said that, Margaret replied softly. We just need to finish the paperwork. Please sign here.
Nicholas 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. Andrews, Margaret sighed, I understand how you feel. Believe me, weve done everything we can.
I know, he said, his eyes weary. Forgive me. Every time you bring this file, it all starts againsleepless nights, thoughts, memories
I understand, the inspector nodded. But if anything comes to mind that might help
For a year and a half Ive replayed every day, every hour before she vanished, Nicholas said, shaking his head. Nothing. Nothing unusual. An ordinary morning, a simple breakfast. See you tonight, love. And then she was gone, somewhere between home and work.
Margaret gathered the papers and stood. In my experience weve had people return after three, even five years.
And have you ever had a case where a wife simply walked off with another man without a word? Nicholas asked sharply.
The woman fell silent, then nodded. We have. But they usually leave a note.
When the inspector closed the door behind her, Nicholas sank into the armchair and shut his eyes. A year and a half had passed since Victoria disappeared. She had simply walked out and never returnedno call, no message. Her phone was switched off, her bank cards untouched. It was as if she had melted into the earth.
He had tried everythingpolice, private detectives, newspaper ads, internet posts. Nothing. No one had seen her, no one knew anything.
The first months were the hardest. Endless questioning (of course the husband is always the prime suspect), frantic searches, flickering hope. Then came a numbness, a dull ache in his chest, and an endless stream of unanswered questions.
Why? How had he missed it? Was she unhappy? Had she found someone else? Or had something terrible happened? Could she be alive but unable to reach out? He tried not to think about it.
A ring of the telephone jolted him from his gloom. The display showed the local taxi depot.
Hello, Nicholas? the weary voice of dispatcher Tamara answered. Can you start early tomorrow? Mr. Hartleys pressures gone, and weve got a backlog of jobs.
Yes, of course, Nicholas said, rubbing his nose. What time?
Six oclock, if you can. First run to the airport.
Alright, Ill be there.
Nicholas had taken up taxi driving three months after Victorias disappearance. Hed lost his job as a civil engineerhis employers were understanding at first, but endless sick days and unpaid leave finally broke their patience. He could no longer focus on calculations and blueprints.
Driving a cab fit him perfectly. It was manual work that required attention but not intense concentration, and it demanded no emotional attachmentfaces flickered past, conversations changed, stories shifted. Today you ferried a passenger, tomorrow someone else. No responsibility beyond getting someone from point A to point B.
Mornings began the sameup at five, a cold shower, a strong cup of tea. Nicholas glanced at his reflection: a gaunt face, a streak of grey at the temples, lines that werent there a year and a half ago. Fortytwo, but he looked fifty.
The first client waited at the curba stout man with two suitcases, nervous and chatty. He talked nonstop about a trip to Brighton, his motherinlaw, his overbearing boss. Nicholas nodded, gave the occasional right, but his thoughts drifted far away.
The day unfolded normallytrain stations, shopping centres, office blocks, back to stations. By evening fatigue settled in, but the dispatcher sent another job.
Nick, a lift from Riverbank to Greenfield Estate. Last one today, passenger waiting.
Alright, Nicholas sighed, checking the address on his GPS.
The passenger turned out to be a young mother with a small boy, perhaps three or four, who whined and refused to sit down.
Michael, please, the mother coaxed. Well be home soon, Daddys waiting.
I dont want to go home! the boy shouted. I want to see Grandma!
Well be at Grandmas on Saturday, I promise. For now, we need to get home.
Nicholas waited while they settled, the child fussing, the mother looking exhausted.
Sorry, she said once finally seated in the back. Its been a hard day.
No problem, Nicholas replied, tapping the meter. Greenfield Estate, Lime Street, number 17, correct?
Yes, thats right.
Traffic snarled longer than expectedan accident in the city centre held them up for nearly an hour. The boy gradually calmed, drifting to sleep on his mothers lap. She stared out the window, silent. Nicholas turned on a soft station, careful not to wake the child.
When they finally emerged from the jam, dusk had fallen, a light drizzle misted the streets, puddles glimmered. Nicholas drove carefully, a throbbing headache beginning to pulse behind his eyes.
Greenfield Estate lay on the outskirtsnew blocks of flats, tall, bland, still half empty. Nicholas seldom visited such places; the soulless concrete didnt appeal to him.
Right turn here, the mother instructed as they entered a courtyard. And to the third entrance, please.
Nicholas obeyed, stopped at a nondescript seventeenstorey block.
Weve arrived, he said, turning off the engine. Thatll be £4.20.
She handed him a fivepound note.
No change needed, thank you.
Youre very generous, Nicholas smiled. May I help with the child?
He stepped out, opened the rear door, and the mother placed the sleeping boy in his arms before hurried away with her bags.
Ill take him for a moment, she said.
Are you sure? Should I drop him off at the door?
No, no, well manage. My husbands home, hell look after him.
Nicholas cradled the boy, feeling the warm little body against his chest. He waited as the woman paid and shuffled toward the lift. The rain fell harder, the air grew colder, and the child slept peacefully.
When the woman disappeared into the building, Nicholas turned to leave, but paused, glancing at the street. A light flickered in a thirdfloor window. He watched the curtain sway, caught a flash of a familiar silhouette.
His heart stuttered, then hammered. He recognised the profile, the way a stray lock fell behind the ear. He knew it from a thousand recollections.
Victoria. His Victoria. His wife missing for a year and a half.
He couldnt recall how he had stepped out of the car, crossed the courtyard, entered the stairwell. It was as if a fog had lifted, and voices, gazes, lingered around him. The only clue was the third floor, a flat with a window facing this side.
The lift was out of order, so he sprinted up the stairs, breath ragged, reaching the third floor. Four doors stood there. He recalled the layoutif counting from the left, the second door was the one. He approached, listening. Silence. His pulse thudded so loudly he feared the others might hear.
With a trembling finger he pressed the doorbell. A long, painful pause, then footsteps. The lock clicked, the door swung open.
A man in his forties, dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a plain Tshirt, stood in the doorway.
Can I help you? he asked, puzzled.
Nicholas opened his mouth but no words came. Where is? he stammered.
What do you want? the man demanded.
Im looking for a woman. Victoria Whitaker.
The mans expression shifted from surprise to guardedness. Theres no Victoria Whitaker here, he said. Youve got the wrong address.
He began to close the door, but Nicholas caught the handle.
Wait! I saw her just now, in the window. Im not mad, I swear. Shes my wife, she disappeared a year and a half ago.
The man hesitated, then the door opened wider. Behind him stood a woman cradling a sleepy childthe very passenger Nicholas had just driven.
Whats happening, Serge? the woman asked.
This man says hes looking for a Victoria, the husband replied.
The woman frowned, then her eyes widened.
Youre the driver who brought us here, she said. What are you doing?
I saw my wife in your window, Nicholas repeated, his voice shaking. Victoria Whitaker. Dark hair to the shoulder, a mole above the right eyebrow.
The couple exchanged a glance. Something in their eyes made Nicholas uneasy.
Theres no Victoria Whitaker here, the man said. Only me, my wife Eleanor, and our son.
And Eleanor Whitaker, the woman added softly. Thats my mother.
My mother? Nicholas asked, leaning forward.
Shes been living with us for the past year, the woman explained. We found her unconscious on the North Bridge after a late shift. She had no ID, no memory of who she was.
She paused, then continued. The doctors said shed probably never recall her past.
The police tried to identify her, the man added, but there were no fingerprints, no documents. No one reported a missing woman matching her description.
My wifes disappearance was reported the same day! Nicholas exclaimed.
It seems the report didnt reach the right people, the man shrugged. We thought shed end up in a shelter after the hospital, but we took her in. My mother had passed away a year ago, and we felt it was a sign to give this woman a home.
Nicholas felt his anger flare. Youve taken my wife, given her another name, another life!
We gave her shelter, a family when no one else would, the man retorted. We didnt know she belonged to someone else.
Ive been searching every day! Nicholas shouted.
Victorianow called Eleanorrose from her chair, her face pale, hands trembling.
The bridge snow cold, she whispered.
The room fell silent. The womans son, still asleep, lay on a nearby sofa.
Do you remember anything, mum? the daughter asked gently.
My car a white car a man it was scary, Eleanor said, pressing her hands to her temples.
Nicholas stepped forward. Victoria, you rode the bus to work that morning, right? What happened after?
She stared through him, eyes unfocused. He grabbed me, put me in a car. I shouted, but no one no one helped.
Who was he? Nicholas asked.
She shook her head, as if trying to banish a nightmare. I dont know. I dont want to remember.
The daughter wrapped her arms around her mothers shoulders. You dont have to if you dont want, she whispered. Youre safe here.
But I need to know, Victoria said, looking at Nicholas. Are you really my husband?
Yes, he whispered, Victoria, weve been married eight years. We have a flat on Garden Street, I work as a civil engineer. We dreamed of a child.
A flicker of recognition crossed her facea brief flash, then gone.
I she reached out, touching his cheek. I dont remember, but something feels familiar you.
Nicholas placed his hand over hers. Youll remember, in time. Ill help you.
He turned to the couple. Thank you for rescuing her, for caring for her. Shes my wife, and I want her back home.
The daughter began to sob, clutching her mouth. We love her. Shes become part of our family. Michael thinks shes his grandmother.
I understand, Nicholas said. I wont stop you seeing her. But she belongs with me.
The husband placed a hand on Nicholass shoulder. She should decide for herself. If she wants to leave with you, we wont stand in her way.
All eyes fell on Victoria, bewildered and frightened.
I dont know, she whispered. I dont remember you. I dont remember my life here before before the accident. They told me Im my daughters mother, and I believed it. Now you tell me Im your wife
Maybe she needs time, the husband suggested. To get to know you again, to be sure of who you are to each other.
Nicholas wanted to arguehow long could he wait now that hed found her? Yet seeing her bewildered, he realised the husband was right. She was scared, disoriented. She needed space to process the notion that everything shed known for a year could be a lie.
Alright, he said at last. Ill give her time. Time to get to know each other again. Whatever it takes.
You wont involve the police? the husband asked.
No, Nicholas promised. As long as you dont block our meetings.
Victoria gave a faint smile. I think Id like to get to know you again.
That smileso familiar, so warmwas like a sliver of sunlight breaking through clouds. Nicholas felt his throat tighten, tears welling.
Ill wait, he said. As long as it takes.
Leaving the flat, he glanced back at Victoria standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself as if against a chill. She was both familiar and strange.
Descending the stairs, Nicholas ruminated on fates odd humor. A year and a half of desperation, endless searching, and then a random passenger, a random address, a glance through a thirdfloor window.
Or perhaps it wasnt random at all. Perhaps some unseen thread had bound them together, refusing to be cut by amnesia, a new name, or a fresh life.
Stepping onto the street, he lifted his face to the darkening sky. The rain had stopped. Stars pierced the clouds. He breathed the moist air deeply, feeling for the first time in ages that he could fill his lungs fully.
She was alive. She had been found. The restdetails, paperwork, legalitiescould be sorted later, in time, together.
He got into his cab, gave one last lingering look at the lit window on the third floor. In that pane, a silhouette turned toward him, eyes meeting his. He raised his hand in farewell; she seemed to answer with a faint wave.
Tomorrow would be a new day. A new life. A new acquaintance with an old love.
First thing, he would call Inspector Whitaker, ask her not to close the case yet. Because sometimes the lost do turn up, even after a year and a half, even when hope has all but faded, even when it takes a stray passenger to lead you home.
