Too Late to Realize…
When Nathan got back from his business trip to Manchester, the clock read half past six. The flat was eerily quiet.
“Odd… Where’s Emily?” he thought, tossing his bag onto the floor.
He wandered through the rooms, checking the bathroom, kitchen, and the nursery. No sign of her. The stove was cold, the kettle untouched, but the fridge was packed with containers of homemade meals.
“Gone for a while… But where?”
He called his wife’s number—no answer. Shrugging, he grabbed a container of shepherd’s pie and sat down to eat. An hour later, he tried calling again—just endless ringing.
“Right… out gallivanting, I see. Maybe she’s found herself a bloke?” Rage bubbled inside him. “When she gets back, I’ll give her a piece of my mind.”
By nine, Nathan was convinced: she was cheating. Bits of old arguments flashed in his head—how he’d snap at her for every scratch on the car, how he demanded receipts for every pound she spent.
“Doesn’t even work, I provide everything. Lives like a queen. And now she’s off chasing freedom?”
He checked the wardrobe—everything in place. Car keys still hanging by the door.
“So she didn’t drive off? Then where is she?”
By eleven, he was seething. His pulse thundered in his ears. He dialed again.
“Where the hell are you, you slag?!” he yelled when the line connected.
“Hello… Good evening. This is Sister Davies from A&E. Who am I speaking to?”
“What kind of joke is this? Have you lost the plot?”
The call cut off. Trembling with fury, Nathan redialed. A man answered this time.
“Stop harassing our staff. If you’re Mr. Thompson, you need to come to the surgical ward immediately. There are papers to sign.”
“What papers? What are you on about?”
“We did everything we could. I’m so sorry for your loss. Your wife’s heart stopped.”
Nathan slumped onto the sofa.
“Died? She had no heart problems… She couldn’t have…” he muttered.
Turned out, earlier that day, Emily had gotten a call from the GP—urgent test results. While Nathan was traveling across the country, his wife went alone… and walked out of the building, stunned.
She sat on a bench outside, still in shock. One thought pulsed in her head: *”Pull yourself together. Need to prep meals for Nathan so he doesn’t go hungry. And iron his shirts. The doctors said the surgery’s routine, they’ll discharge me soon…”*
Except they didn’t.
And Nathan never said *”thank you,”* *”sorry,”* or *”I love you.”* Just anger, suspicion, and blame.
Too late, he learned what it truly means—to lose someone forever.
