Elaine tightened her dressing gown and stepped to the window.
The trees stood nearly bare. Last evening, a drizzle had fallen, and by nightfall, a frost had settled. The cold, bleak November—a harbinger of the long, sunless winter ahead…
Elaine sighed. Melancholy lingered outside, melancholy weighed on her heart. Another weekend alone at home, with no one to share it.
…It had been November then, too. During her lunch break, Elaine had hurried to the café across from her office, where they sold takeaway meals.
She and her colleagues took turns fetching food. A light rain misted the air, but she hadn’t bothered with an umbrella—too cumbersome when carrying bags.
The road was empty. Elaine stepped boldly onto the zebra crossing. It was a quiet street, without traffic lights.
She never saw the Jeep round the corner. The screech of brakes split the air, and she froze, hands pressed to her face.
“Trying to get yourself killed?” a furious voice snapped.
Elaine lowered her hands and blinked. A tall man stood beside the Jeep, his dark eyes flashing.
“Look where you’re going!” he scolded.
But Elaine barely registered his words. He was striking—tall, draped in a black coat left carelessly open, with a strong jawline accentuated by a well-groomed beard. The eyes of a man from dreams sparkled with irritation.
“Do you think because you drive a flashy car, people should leap out of your way?” she shot back. “There’s no traffic light here. The road was empty. I didn’t break any rules. Maybe *you* should slow down on turns. People walk here, you know.”
He studied her, then exhaled.
“I was in a rush. If you’re unhurt, I’ll be on my way. Apologies.” The last word was tossed over his shoulder as he strode back to his car.
Elaine trembled for hours afterward. The next day, the rain had stopped. She walked leisurely to the café, cautiously stepping onto the crossing—when suddenly, a car door slammed nearby. She flinched back onto the pavement.
From the parked Jeep emerged the same man. He approached, smiling.
“Good Lord, what now? Go ahead, I’ll wait,” she said, her pulse quickening at the sight of him, at that disarming grin.
“Forgive me. I waited for you. To make amends for yesterday. Have lunch with me—as restitution for my rudeness.” His teeth gleamed, white and even.
“No urgent business today?” she asked warily.
They sat in the café, and Elaine forgot the world. Then she noticed the ring on his finger. Married.
Her heart clenched. He was a solicitor, father to two daughters.
He asked for her number, then immediately called so she’d save his. “In case you ever need legal advice.”
Elaine never planned to ring him. Yet two days later, *he* called, inviting her to a café across town—somewhere they’d be unlikely to run into anyone he knew.
“People recognise me. I’d rather avoid gossip,” he explained.
She scarcely understood how it happened, but soon, he began visiting her flat—sporadically, unexpectedly, never staying long.
Weekends and holidays, she sat alone, pining for him. He’d warned her early: he’d never leave his wife, adored his children.
Then why come at all? The question burned her tongue. But she feared sounding foolish, feared pushing him away with demands.
She was in love. And she clung to the fleeting moments he gave her.
After all, she’d little experience with men…
…Today was Elaine’s day off. She lounged in bed—why not? No hurry, no one to dress for. Another solitary day stretched ahead.
Eventually, she rose, drifted to the window, and stood there in her pink dressing gown, her hair unbrushed.
A knock at the door startled her.
She hurried to answer, not sparing a glance at the mirror.
Anthony stood on the threshold. He swept inside, embraced her, and between kisses murmured that he had half an hour…
When he left—as abruptly as he’d come—Elaine showered, then drifted back to the window.
The morning frost had melted, leaving the pavement damp.
“So this is love. Alone again… It’s always like this—he whirls in, barely time to speak, then vanishes. But he spared me thirty minutes on his day off. That must mean something…” She pressed her hands to her temples.
How long could she live like this? Sustained by crumbs of affection, no future in sight?
One day, he’d stop coming. The thought twisted inside her. She’d need to end it first—before it was too late.
Being second choice, sharing him—it was unbearable. Yet walking away when she loved him… Oh, how hard it was.
Midweek, he couldn’t visit. But on Friday, he called unexpectedly, summoning her to a restaurant.
“Darling, I’ve missed you desperately. I’ve an hour free. Meet me. The roads are jammed—take the bus.”
He gave the address and hung up.
Elaine snatched her coat, wrapped a scarf hastily, swiped on lipstick.
“Cover for me? I’m not feeling well. Alright?” she asked her desk-mate, Marie.
“Of course,” Marie nodded, smiling knowingly.
On the bus, Elaine stared ahead, seeing no one.
Until she collided with an old man. His bag thudded to the ground. Elaine stumbled before halting, turning back. The old man fumbled to retrieve it.
“Sorry,” she murmured, scooping it up.
“No matter. Off to see your young man, eh? At your age, I ran to my sweetheart just the same. Blind to all else. Now I’ve nowhere to rush. She’ll not run off…”
Elaine noticed the four daisies in his hand. Daisies—in November. It took her a moment to realise why there were four.
“Forgive me,” she said guiltily.
“No harm. Run while you can. Your lad won’t wait forever.”
“How did he guess?” she wondered.
“Are you visiting a grave? Your wife?”
“Aye. Went every day after Tilly passed. Now I’ve not the strength. My time’s coming soon… We’ll meet again. Sixty years together. Loved her to the end. Thank God she went first—spared her this loneliness. You’ve her look, in youth…” His eyes dimmed. Her phone trilled.
“I’ll not keep you,” he said, shuffling on.
Elaine answered. Anthony’s voice crackled with impatience. “Where *are* you?”
She hung up. When he rang again, she switched the phone off.
Glancing back, she saw the old man nearing the crossing. Traffic swarmed. She darted after him.
“Let me help,” she said, guiding him across.
A horn blared. The old man chuckled. “At my age, such things don’t rattle me.” He ambled away.
Elaine watched him go. *This* was the love she dreamed of—a lifetime together. Someone who’d mourn her, bring daisies in November.
She turned and walked back to work.
“That was quick,” Marie remarked.
“Feeling better,” Elaine lied, settling at her desk.
At home, she found missed calls from Anthony. She clutched the phone, debating. How often she’d longed to call *him*—imagining his wife answering, his hasty excuses.
No. She pitied that trusting woman, mother of his girls…
The phone buzzed. Anthony.
“What was *that*? You stood me up!”
“Did you wait?” she asked, oddly pleased by his anger.
“Elaine, what’s got into you?” His tone softened.
“Nothing. Only—I want a family. A husband who sleeps beside me, breakfasts I cook for him. Someone who waits, like your wife waits for you. I’m tired of stolen half-hours…” Her voice cracked.
“I *told* you I was married—that I’d never leave—”
“Honest to *whom*?” she whispered.
“Must we do this?” Weariness edged his words.
“Anthony, I can’t wait around anymore. You’ve never asked about *my* life, my days without you…” Tears fell freely now. She hung up.
Still, she hoped he’d call back. Silence.
“It’s over,” she thought, returning to the window.
Dusk hid her tears. Outside was easier—less chance of foolishness.
She left without an umbrella, wandering past glowing shopfronts until rain drove her beneath an office awning.
Pedestrians hurried home. Cars hissed through puddles.
“Young lady, share my umbrella. I’ll see you home.”
A plain-faced man stood before her, holding a brolly—one spoke bent.
For some reason, that small flaw charmed her. Here was an ordinary man, offering his time. Elaine stepped forward…
As they walked, the rain ceased.
“Care toThey strolled through the quiet streets, and for the first time in months, Elaine felt no need to rush.
