The cab driver pulled up to the house and stopped dead when he saw his missing wife in the upstairs window.
Enough! How many times must we rattle the past? Nicholas threw the photograph onto the desk, his voice trembling. One and a half years have gone by, Emma. She wont come back.
Mr. Andrews, please understand, Officer Mary Parker gently lifted the picture, returning it to the folder. Were closing the case. By law enough time has passed to declare Eleanor Clarke officially missing.
You mean dead, Nicholas muttered with a bitter grin.
I didnt say that, the officer replied calmly. We just need to finish the paperwork. Please sign here.
Nicholas took the pen, stared at the document for a few seconds, then signed in a sweeping motion.
Is that all? Will you leave me alone now?
Mr. Andrews, Mary sighed, I know how you feel. Believe me, weve done everything we could.
I know, he said, rubbing his eyes wearily. Forgive me. Every time you bring that file, it all starts again. Insomnia, thoughts, memories
I understand, the officer nodded. But if anything surfaces that could help
In the last year and a half Ive replayed every day, every hour before she vanished, Nicholas shook his head. Nothing. Just an ordinary morning, an ordinary breakfast. See you tonight, love. And that was it. She disappeared somewhere between home and work.
Mary gathered the papers and stood.
In my experience people have turned up after three, even five years.
And have you ever had a case where the wife simply left for someone else without a word? Nicholas asked sharply.
The officer was silent, then nodded.
It happens. But most leave a note.
When the officer closed the door, Nicholas sank into the armchair and shut his eyes. One and a half years had passed since Eleanor walked out and never returned. No phone call, no message. Her mobile was switched off, her bank cards unused. It was as if she had slipped beneath the earth.
He had tried everything the police, private detectives, newspaper ads, online postings. Nothing. No one had seen her, no one knew anything.
The first months were the worst. Endless interrogations (of course the husband was the prime suspect), frantic searches, fleeting hopes. Then came a numbness, a dull ache in his chest, and a flood of unanswered questions.
Why? How did he miss it? Was she unhappy? Did she meet someone else? Did something terrible happen? Could she be alive but unable to contact him? He forced himself not to think about those possibilities.
A ring snapped him out of the gloom. The caller ID showed the local taxi firm.
Hello, Nicholas? the dispatcher, Tamara, sounded weary. Can you start early tomorrow? Mr. Peterson is down with high blood pressure and were swamped with bookings.
Yes, of course, Nicholas said, pinching the bridge of his nose. What time?
Six oclock, if you can. First run to the airport.
Ill be there.
Nicholas began driving a cab three months after Eleanors disappearance. He had lost his engineering job his employers were sympathetic at first, but endless unpaid leave and sick days wore down their patience. He could no longer focus on calculations or blueprints.
Steering a car turned out to be just right. It was mechanical work that needed attention but not intense concentration. And it involved no emotional attachments passengers came and went, conversations flickered, stories changed. One day youre ferrying a commuter, the next youre dropping off a tourist. No responsibility beyond getting people from point A to point B.
Mornings started the same up at five, a cold shower, a strong cup of tea. Nicholas glanced at his reflection: a gaunt face, a touch of grey at his temples, lines that werent there a year and a half ago. Fortytwo, yet looking fifty.
His first fare waited outside the building a stout businessman with two suitcases, nervous and chatty. On the way to the airport he rattled on about a trip to Brighton, a demanding motherinlaw, a boss who liked to micromanage. Nicholas nodded politely, but his mind drifted elsewhere.
The day passed with routine stops the railway station, the shopping centre, a business park, back to the station. By evening fatigue set in, but a final dispatch came.
Nick, we need one more. From River Road to Greenfield Estate. Last job today, the clients waiting.
Alright, Nicholas sighed, confirming the address on his GPS.
The client turned out to be a young mother with a small boy, about three or four, who refused to sit down.
Milo, please, she coaxed. Well be home soon, Daddys waiting.
I dont want to go home! the boy shouted. I want to see Grandma!
Well visit Grandma on Saturday, I promise. Right now, we need to get home.
Nicholas waited patiently while they settled in. The ride was likely to be long the child whined, the mother looked exhausted.
Sorry, the mother said once she finally perched on the back seat. Its been a tough day.
No problem, Nicholas replied, glancing at the meter. Greenfield Estate, Lime Street, house 17, right?
Yes, thats it.
Traffic snarled after an accident in the city centre, holding them up for almost an hour. The boy eventually fell asleep on his mothers lap. She stared out the window in silence. Nicholas turned on soft music, careful not to wake the child.
When they finally cleared the jam, dusk had fallen, a light drizzle misted the roads, and puddles reflected the streetlights. Nicholas drove steadily, trying to ignore the growing headache.
Greenfield Estate lay on the outskirts new flats, tall blocks, still halfempty. Nicholas rarely visited this part of town; the plain concrete towers felt impersonal.
Turn right here, the mother instructed as they entered a courtyard. Third door on the left, please.
Nicholas obeyed, stopping in front of a plain seventeenstorey block.
Weve arrived, he said, turning off the engine. Thatll be £4.20.
The woman dug into her purse and handed over a £5 note.
No change needed. Thanks for your patience.
Thank you, Nicholas smiled. Let me help with the child.
He opened the rear door, the mother handed the sleeping boy to him, then hurried inside. Nicholas cradled the child gently while she paid and gathered her bags.
Ill take him, she said finally.
Are you sure? Should I drop him at the flat?
No, no, well manage. My husbands home, hell help.
Nicholas placed the boy back in the back seat. The child stirred but didnt wake. The woman thanked him again and walked toward the entrance. Nicholas paused, the drizzle outside making the air cold, and decided to wait until they were inside.
He watched her struggle with the heavy door, then push the lift button. As he started the engine, his eyes fell on a lit window on the third floor. The woman and boy stood at the entrance, but the light caught a silhouette that made his heart skip.
It was a familiar profile, a hand tucking a strand of hair behind an ear the same gesture he had seen a thousand times.
Eleanor.
He could not remember how he left the car, crossed the courtyard, or entered the block. In a fog he heard voices, felt eyes on him. All that mattered was the thirdfloor window, the yellow glow, the shape that matched his wifes.
He ran for the stairs the lift was out of order and raced up. On the third floor he found four doors. He remembered the placement of the windows; counting from the left, the correct flat was the second door. He pressed the buzzer. A long, tense pause, then footsteps. The lock clicked, the door swung open.
A man in his forties, in pajama trousers and a tshirt, stood there, bewildered.
Yes? he asked.
Nicholas opened his mouth but no words came.
Who are you looking for? the man asked, frowning.
Im Nicholas swallowed. Im looking for my wife, Eleanor Clarke.
The mans expression shifted from surprise to suspicion.
Theres no Eleanor Clarke here, he said. Youve got the wrong address.
He reached for the door, but Nicholas held it.
Wait! I saw her just now, in the window. Im not crazy, 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 the very passenger Nicholas had just dropped off cradling the sleeping boy.
What are you doing here, Simon? she asked, surprised.
This man says he saw a woman in our window, the man replied. He says shes his missing wife.
The womans eyes widened.
Youre the driver who took us here! What are you doing?
I saw my wife, Eleanor, Nicholas repeated stubbornly. Shes about the same height as you, dark hair to her shoulders, a mole above her right eyebrow.
The couple exchanged looks.
Listen, the man said finally. Theres no Eleanor here. Its just me, my wife Linda, and our son.
And your mother, the woman added quietly.
Who? Nicholas asked.
My mother, the woman said. Shes been living with us for the past year.
May I speak with her? Nicholas pleaded, desperation clear in his voice.
The man shook his head.
No. Shes ill, and theres no point.
Please, just a minute. If she isnt my Eleanor, Ill leave and never bother you again.
The woman placed a hand on the mans shoulder.
Simon, let him see. What do we have to lose?
Linda, shes fragile, Simon warned. This could upset her.
Please, Nicholas begged. Ive not known if shes alive for a year and a half.
After a long silence, Simon nodded reluctantly.
Fine. One minute. If its not her, you must go.
They led Nicholas to a small hallway. The woman, Lena, took the child to another room and Simon gestured for Nicholas to follow. They passed the living room and stopped before a closed door.
Wait here, Simon said. Ill warn her first.
He knocked gently, then entered without waiting for an answer, closing the door behind him. From inside came muffled sounds, indiscernible.
Finally the door opened. Simon emerged, his face tense.
You may go in. Please, dont frighten her.
Nicholas entered the bedroom. It was modestly furnished: a neatly made bed, a dresser, a few framed photographs on the wall. By the window sat a woman in a comfortable chair, looking out at the rain.
She turned slowly, and Nicholass breath caught.
Eleanor. She was thinner, her hair cut short, but the mole and the faint scar on her chin were there. Her green eyes met his.
Eleanor, he whispered.
She stared at him, expression blank.
Im sorry, she said softly. You must have me confused with someone else. My name is Linda.
Her voice was familiar, yet different.
Eleanor, its me, Nick, he stepped forward, kneeling beside the chair. Your husband.
She frowned, a flicker of unease crossing her face.
Simon? she asked. Whos this man?
Simon appeared at the doorway, his hand on her shoulder.
Its okay, Mum, he said. Hes a friend.
Mum? Nicholas repeated, baffled. What are you talking about?
Youre mistaken, Linda replied. Im your mother-inlaw.
Nicholas stared, trying to reconcile the woman before him with the wife hed imagined for eighteen months.
Eleanor, we met at the park concert. You dropped icecream on my shirt and I joked that youd have to marry me to wash it out. You laughed
A shadow passed over her face, as if a memory tried to surface, then vanished.
I dont know you, she said firmly. My name is Linda Harper. Im Emmas mother.
No, Nicholas protested. Youre Eleanor Clarke, my wife. You have a mole above your right eyebrow, a scar on your chin, youre afraid of heights, you love strawberry icecream and cant stand the smell of chrysanthemums.
She raised a hand to her chin, feeling the scar.
Emma entered the room, now without the child, her eyes wide.
Whats happening? Mum?
This man says Im his wife, Linda whispered. He calls me by another name.
You need to leave, Simon said firmly, taking Emmas arm. Hes causing a scene.
No! Nicholas shouted, standing up. I wont leave until you tell me why youre living under my wifes name.
Simon tightened his grip on Lindas shoulder.
We didnt do anything to her, he said. We found her on the north side of the old bridge after she was beaten and unconscious. She woke up with no memory of who she was. No ID, no papers. The police could not match her fingerprints.
I reported her missing the same day, Nicholas interjected. My report must have never reached you.
Apparently not, Simon admitted. We thought she might be a stray, so we took her in. My mother, Linda, had just died a year earlier, and we felt it was a sign to give her a home.
You stole my wife, Nicholas cried, his voice cracking. You gave her a new name, a new life!
We gave her shelter, Simon replied. When no one else would.
Ive been searching every single day! Nicholas shouted. Every minute!
Lindas face grew pale; she clutched the arm of her chair.
The bridge snow cold she murmured. A white car a rough man I was grabbed, dragged
The words stumbled out, fragmented.
She was on a bus that morning, right? Nicholas asked.
She nodded slowly.
He grabbed me, put me in a car. I screamed, but nobody helped
Who was he? Nicholas pressed.
She shook her head, tears welling.
I dont remember. I dont want to.
Emma moved closer, wrapping an arm around her mother.
Its okay, Mum, youre safe now.
But am I really your mother? Nicholas asked gently. Are you really my Eleanor?
Linda looked at him, fear and confusion mingling.
I dont know, she whispered. I only know that Ive lived here for a year and a half, that Ive cared for Emma, that Ive tried to piece together a life that I never asked for.
Simon sighed.
Maybe she needs time, he suggested. To get to know you again, to decide who she wants to be.
Nicholas felt the anger melt into something softer. He realized he could not simply snatch her away; she was terrified, disoriented, and the life shed built, however false, was all she knew.
All right, he said slowly. Lets give her time. Let her get to know me again.
And you wont go to the police? Simon asked.
No, Nicholas promised. As long as you dont stand in the way of us meeting.
Linda managed a faint smile.
I think Id like to know you, she said, her voice shaking. To see if the pieces fit.
A small smile sparked in Nicholass chest, as if sunlight had finally pierced the clouds.
Ill wait, he said. As long as it takes.
He left the flat, pausing at the doorway to look back at the lit window on the third floor. In that glow, Eleanors silhouette turned toward him, and he raised his hand in a silent farewell. She seemed to wave back.
Tomorrow would be a new day. A fresh start. A chance to rediscover an old love.
He got into his cab, glanced at the sky, now clear, the stars peeking through. He inhaled the damp evening air and felt, for the first time in years, that he could breathe fully.
She was alive. She had been found. The rest were details to untangle, slowly, together.
Life had shown him that hope can survive evenHe learned that love, once lost, can be reclaimed not by force but by patience, understanding, and the quiet courage to let both hearts heal together.
