Too Late to Realise…
When Edward returned from his business trip to his hometown of Manchester, the clock struck half past six. The flat was unusually still.
“Odd… Where’s Evelyn?” he wondered, dropping his bag by the door.
He wandered through the rooms, checking the bathroom, the kitchen, the nursery. Not a trace. The stove was cold, the kettle unplugged, but the fridge was packed with containers of prepared meals.
“Must’ve left ages ago… But where?”
He dialled his wife’s number—no answer. With a shrug, he grabbed a shepherd’s pie from the fridge and sat down to eat. An hour later, he tried again—still ringing.
“Right then… gallivanting about, is she? Found herself a fancy man, has she?” His blood boiled. “Just wait till she gets home. I’ll give her a piece of my mind.”
By nine o’clock, Edward was convinced: she’d betrayed him. Scraps of old arguments flashed through his head—how he’d scolded her for every scratch on the car, demanded an account for every penny spent.
“Doesn’t even work—I put food on the table. Lives like a queen. And now she fancies a taste of freedom?”
He paced the flat again, checking the wardrobe—everything in place. The car keys hung on the hook.
“So she didn’t drive off. Where’s she got to, then?”
By eleven, he was fit to burst. His pulse throbbed in his temples. He called once more.
“Where the devil are you, you waste?!” he bellowed when the line connected.
“Hello… Good evening. This is Sister Clarke from A&E at St. Mary’s. May I ask who’s speaking?”
“What d’you mean, ‘Sister Clarke’? Have you lost your marbles?”
The line went dead. Trembling with fury, Edward redialled. A man’s voice answered.
“Stop harassing our staff. If you’re Evelyn Whitmore’s husband, you need to come to the surgical ward immediately. There are papers to sign.”
“What bloody papers? What’s this nonsense?”
“We did all we could. Our condolences. Your wife’s heart has stopped.”
Edward sunk onto the sofa.
“Death? She… she wasn’t ill. No heart trouble. She couldn’t…” he muttered.
As it turned out, that afternoon, Evelyn had received a call from the GP’s office—her test results had come in, and they needed her urgently. While Edward was crisscrossing the country, his wife went alone… and walked out of the building, numb with the weight of what she’d heard.
She sat on a bench outside, still in shock. One thought hammered in her mind: “Pull yourself together. Must stock the freezer for Edward—can’t have him going hungry. And iron his shirts. The doctors said the surgery’s routine… home in no time…”
But she never came home.
And Edward never told her “thank you,” never said “I’m sorry,” never whispered “I love you.” Only anger, suspicion, scorn.
And far too late, he learned what it truly meant—to lose someone forever.