The cab pulled up to the front door and halted, the drivers heart stuttering as he saw his vanished wife reflected in the upstairs window.
Enough! Nicholas Andrews shouted, slamming the photograph onto the kitchen table, his voice trembling. Its been a year and a half, Margaret. She wont come back.
Inspector Margaret Cole gently lifted the picture, slipped it back into the file. Were closing the case, Mr. Andrews. Legally enough time has passed to declare VictoriaSergeevna missing.
Declare her dead? Nicholas sneered bitterly.
I didnt say that, Margaret replied softly. Just finish the paperwork. Please sign here.
Nicholas took the pen, stared at the empty form for a few seconds, then signed with a sweeping flourish.
Now is that all? Will you leave me alone?
Mr. Andrews, Margaret sighed, I understand how you feel. Weve done everything we can.
I know, he said, his eyes drooping. Sorry. Every time you bring that folder, the nightmare starts again sleeplessness, thoughts, memories
I understand, the inspector nodded. But if anything surfaces, anything that might help
For a year and a half Ive replayed every day, every hour before she vanished, Nicholas shook his head. Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. A normal morning, a normal breakfast. See you tonight, love. And then she was gone, somewhere between home and work.
Margaret gathered the papers, stood up. In my experience, people sometimes return after three, sometimes after five years.
And in yours, have you seen wives just walk away to another man without a word? Nicholas snapped.
She fell silent, then nodded. Yes. But they usually leave a note.
When the inspectors office door closed behind her, Nicholas sank into the armchair and shut his eyes. A year and a half had passed since Victoria simply stepped out and never returned. No phone call, no message. Her line was dead, her bank cards untouched. It was as if she had dissolved into the earth.
He had tried everything the police, private detectives, newspaper ads, online posts. Nothing. No one had seen her, no one knew.
The first months were the most terrifying: endless interrogations (of course the husband is always the prime suspect), frantic searches, flickering hope. Then numbness settled in, a dull ache in his chest, and a cascade of unanswered questions.
Why? How did he not notice? Was she unhappy? Did she meet someone else? Did something terrible happen? Could she be alive but unable to reach out? He forced himself not to think about those possibilities.
The ringing of his phone cut through the gloom. The number on the screen read London Taxi Co.
Hello, Nicholas? the dispatcher, Tamara, sounded weary. Can you start early tomorrow? Mr. Parker is down with high blood pressure and were swamped with bookings.
Yes, of course, Nicholas said, rubbing his bridge of the nose. What time?
At six if that works. First run to Heathrow.
Got it, Ill be there.
Nicholas had taken up driving a cab three months after Victorias disappearance. Hed lost his engineering job his employers had been patient, but endless unpaid leave finally wore them out. He could no longer concentrate on calculations or blueprints.
Steering a wheel proved perfect for him. It demanded focus but not the deep concentration his old work required. Passengers flickered in and out, conversations rose and fell like tide. One day you were ferrying a businessman, the next a teenager with a skateboard. No lasting responsibility beyond getting someone from pointA to pointB.
Morning began as always up at five, icy shower, strong tea. Nicholas glanced at his reflection: a gaunt face, silver at the temples, lines that hadnt been there a year and a half ago. Fortytwo, yet looking fifty.
His first client waited by the building a stout man lugging two suitcases, nervous chatter spilling out. He jabbered about a trip to Brighton, a motherinlaw who nagged, a boss who ran the office like a tyrant. Nicholas nodded, offered the occasional I see, but his mind drifted elsewhere.
The day unfolded in the usual rhythm railway station, shopping centre, office park, back to the station. By evening fatigue settled in, but the dispatcher asked for one more job.
Nick, we need you from River Street to Greenfield Estate. Last one for today, passenger already waiting.
Alright, Nicholas sighed, confirming the address on his GPS.
The passenger turned out to be a young woman with a small child, a boy of about three or four who whined and refused to sit.
Mike, please, the mother coaxed. Well be home soon, dads waiting.
No home for me! the boy shrieked. I want Grandmas!
Well see Grandma on Saturday, I promise. For now we need to get home.
Nicholas waited patiently as they settled. The ride promised to be long the childs whine continued, the mother looked exhausted.
Sorry, she said finally, taking a seat in the back. Its been a tough day.
No problem, Nicholas replied, flipping the meter on. Greenfield Estate, Lime Avenue, number17, right?
Yes, thats it.
Traffic snarled after an accident in the city centre; they idled for almost an hour. The boy eventually fell asleep on his mothers lap. She stared out the window, silent. Nicholas turned on soft music, careful not to wake him.
When the jam cleared, night had fallen. A light drizzle misted the streets, puddles reflecting the amber streetlights. Nicholas drove steadily, a throbbing headache pressing at his temples.
Greenfield Estate lay on the outskirts rows of new flats, stark concrete blocks still halffinished. Nicholas rarely ventured here; the anonymity of the blocks made him uneasy.
Turn right here, the woman instructed as they entered a courtyard. Third entrance, please.
He obeyed, stopped at a plain brick building a seventeenstorey tower, unremarkable.
Here we are, he said, turning off the engine. Thatll be £4.20.
She pulled out a fivepound note.
No change needed. Thank you for your patience.
Thanks for the tip, Nicholas smiled. May I help with the child?
He opened the rear door, the mother handed over the sleeping boy, then slipped out herself. Nicholas cradled the child gently as 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, no, well manage. My husbands home, hell help.
Nicholas placed the boy in the back seat, the infant twitched but did not wake. The woman thanked him again and disappeared up the stairs. Nicholas lingered, watching the rain blur the streetlights.
When the woman finally entered the building, a light flickered in a thirdfloor window. He glanced up, and a familiar silhouette materialised in the yellow glow.
His heart missed a beat, then hammered faster. He recognized the profile, the way the hair was tucked behind the ear the same gesture hed seen countless times.
Victoria. His wife, missing for a year and a half.
Nicholas could not recall how he had stepped out of the car, crossed the courtyard, entered the stairwell. He felt as if muffled voices floated around him, unseen eyes watching. All that mattered was the third floor, the flat with the light.
The lift was out of service, a sign reading Under maintenance. He sprinted up the stairs, breath ragged, pausing at the third landing. Four doors faced him. Which one? He recalled the window placement counting from the left, the correct flat was the second door from the stairwell. He approached, pressed the buzzer.
A long, tense pause. Footsteps. The lock clicked. The door swung open.
A man in his forties, wearing sweatpants and a tshirt, stood in the hallway.
Yes? he asked, puzzled.
Nicholas opened his mouth, but the words stuck.
Who are you looking for? the man asked, brow furrowed.
I Im looking for a woman. VictoriaSergeevnaClarke.
The mans expression shifted from surprise to wariness.
Theres no VictoriaClarke here, he said. Youve got the wrong address.
He began to close the door, but Nicholas grasped the knob.
Wait! I saw her in the window just now. Im not crazy, I swear. Thats my wife, vanished a year and a half ago.
The man hesitated, then the door opened wider. Behind him stood a woman, the very passenger Nicholas had just dropped off, holding the sleeping boy.
Whats happening, Sam? she asked.
This man says hes seen his wife in our window, the man replied.
The womans eyes widened.
Youre the driver who brought us here? she asked. What are you doing?
I saw my wife in your window, Nicholas repeated, voice steady. VictoriaClarke. Dark hair to her shoulders, a mole above her right eyebrow.
The couple exchanged glances, tension hanging in the air.
We have no Victoria, the man said. Only me, my wife Lena, and our son.
Lena? Nicholas asked, confused. And who is Galia?
My mother, Lena answered, voice low. Shes been living with us for a year after an accident.
May I speak with her? Nicholas demanded, desperation cracking his tone.
No, the man said. Shes not well. Besides, why would I let a stranger see her? Were not were not what you think.
Lena placed a hand on Nicholass shoulder.
Sam, maybe we should let him in? What do we lose?
Her husband shook his head.
It could upset her, he whispered.
Nicholass plea grew louder.
Please, just a minute. If she isnt my wife, Ill leave and never bother you again.
After a heavy silence, the man relented. Fine. One minute. And if its not her, you go.
They led him into a modest hallway. Lena took the boy to another room, while Sam gestured toward a closed door.
Stay here, he said. Ill warn her first.
He knocked, then entered without waiting for an answer, the door closing behind him. muffled voices drifted out, indistinct.
When the door opened, a woman sat on a chair by the window, gazing at the rainy street. She was thinner than he remembered, hair cropped short, a faint scar on her chin, a mole still perched above the eyebrow.
Victoria? he whispered.
She turned, eyes wide, a flicker of recognition crossing her face before she steadied herself.
Im sorry, she said softly. You have the wrong woman. Im GaliaPeterson.
Galia? Nicholas repeated, heart pounding. No youre my Victoria.
Her voice trembled. Im not Im not you think I am.
Nicholas knelt, his hand reaching for hers.
Remember the icecream incident in the park? You dropped gelato on my shirt and I joked wed have to marry because youd have to wash it forever.
For a heartbeat, a shadow of memory brushed her eyes, then faded.
Im not I dont remember, she said. I was told Im Lenas mother. Thats all I know.
Lena entered, tears brimming.
This is whats happening? she asked, voice breaking.
Sam stepped forward, grip firm on Nicholass shoulder.
You need to leave, he said. We cant have this.
Nicholas stood, voice shaking.
Ive been searching for her for a year and a half. Im not leaving until I know whats real.
Sams jaw clenched. We rescued her after she was found on the north bridge, unconscious, with no memory. We took her in, gave her a name, a home. Shes been with us since.
And you think Im stealing her? Nicholas asked, incredulous.
No, Sam replied, just were protecting her.
Nicholas looked between the three of them, the rain drumming on the windowpane.
Maybe she needs time, he suggested, voice softer. Time to understand who she is, who we are. I wont force her.
Sam exhaled, shoulders relaxing. She can decide. If she wants to come back, we wont stop her. If she stays, well respect that.
Lena nodded, wiping her cheeks. We loved her. Hes been like a father to her for the past year.
Nicholas swallowed, the ache in his chest easing a fraction.
Thank you, he said. Ill wait. Ill be here when shes ready.
The woman Galia, or perhaps Victoria gave a faint smile, the first genuine one since the night she disappeared.
Outside, the rain ceased. Clouds thinned, revealing a scattering of stars. Nicholas breathed in the damp night air, feeling for the first time in months that he could fill his lungs.
He climbed back into his cab, casting one last glance at the glowing thirdfloor window. In that pane, a silhouette lingered, watching him leave. He raised his hand in a silent farewell; the figure mirrored the gesture.
Tomorrow would bring a new day, a new life, a new chance to rediscover a love that had been lost and found in the same breath.
First, he would call Inspector Margaret, ask her to keep the case open a little longer. Because sometimes, even after a year and a half, whats lost can be found again even if it takes a cab ride to a strangers doorstep to bring it home.
