**Diary Entry 12th March**
Lilys words hit me like a lorry. Daddy, that waitress looks just like Mummy! I turnedand my blood ran cold. My wife had been dead for two years.
It was a dreary Saturday morning when I took Lily to a cosy little café tucked away on a quiet lane in London. She held my hand, her small fingers curled around mine. Since Sarah passedtaken from us in that horrific crashI hadnt smiled much. The house felt empty without her laugh, her warmth.
We slid into a booth by the window. I barely glanced at the menu, my mind miles away. Across from me, Lily hummed softly, fiddling with the lace on her dress.
Then, out of nowhere:
Daddy that waitress looks just like Mummy.
At first, I didnt even process it. Then it hit me like a bolt.
What did you say, love?
She pointed. There.
I turnedand my heart stopped.
A few tables over, a woman laughed with a customer. She was the image of Sarah. The same hazel eyes, the same way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she smiled.
But it couldnt be. Id seen Sarahs body. Id buried her.
Yet there she wasalive.
She caught me staring. For a split second, her smile vanished. Then she ducked into the kitchen.
My pulse raced. Was it really her? Some twisted trick of fate?
Stay here, Lily, I murmured.
I moved toward the kitchen, but a staff member blocked me.
Sir, customers arent allowed back there.
I need to speak to that waitressthe one in the cream blouse.
After a pause, they let her out.
Up close, the resemblance was chilling.
Can I help you? she asked, cautious.
Her voice was differentlowerbut those eyes
Im sorry, I managed. You look exactly like someone I knew.
She gave a polite smile. Happens more than youd think.
I studied her. Did you know Sarah Pembroke?
A flicker in her gaze. No. Sorry.
I handed her my card. If you think of anything, call me.
She didnt take it. Good day, sir.
But I saw itthe way her fingers trembled. Just like Sarahs used to.
That night, I couldnt sleep. I sat by Lilys bed, replaying it all.
I hired a private investigator.
Three days later, he called. Oliver, your wife didnt die in that crash.
I went numb.
The CCTV shows someone else driving. Sarah was a passenger, but the body was misidentified. The waitress? Her names Sarah Hartley. She changed it after the accident.
My world shattered.
The next morning, I went back alone.
This time, she didnt run. She led me outside to a bench under an old oak.
I always wondered when youd find me, she admitted.
Why, Sarah? Why let us think you were dead?
She looked away. I wasnt supposed to be in that car. A colleague took my placeLily had a cold. The wreck happened later. The ID, the belongings they were mine.
I clenched my fists. So you let us grieve?
I panicked. Saw the news and froze. For a second, I thought maybe it was a way out.
Out of what? Us?
No. Not you. Her voice cracked. The life. The cameras, the money, the expectations. I didnt know who I was anymore.
I stayed silent, gutted.
When I saw the funeral, you crying I wanted to come back. But it felt too late. And seeing LilyI thought Id failed her.
I swallowed hard. She remembers you. She called you Mummy. What do I tell her?
Sarah wiped her tears. Tell her Im sorry.
I shook my head. No. Come home. Tell her yourself.
That evening, I brought Sarah back.
When Lily saw her, she gasped. Mummy?
Sarah sobbed, pulling her close. Yes, sweetheart. Im here.
Weeks passed. I sorted the legal mess quietlyno headlines, no scandal. Just us.
One night, after putting Lily to bed, I asked, Why stay this time?
Sarah looked at me, steady. Because I finally remembered who I am. Not Sarah the waitress, not Mrs. Pembroke the socialite. A mother. A woman who got lostbut found her way home.
I kissed her forehead and held her hand.
This time, she held on.
*Lesson learned: The past can haunt you, but sometimes, it gives you a second chance. Dont let pride keep you from taking it.*
