The office door swings open, and a tall, slightly tanned man steps inside. His deep, attentive gaze settles on Natalie. In a warm voice, he says:
“Good afternoon, Natalie Victoria. I’m Leonard, your new business partner.”
A spark races down Natalie’s spine. Her heart skips, but she gathers herself, smiles, and gestures to the chair.
“Hello, please sit.”
Nerves grip her, but soon, conversation flows, and the tension eases.
Rain pelts the windows as the kitchen clock nears midnight. Natalie puts the uneaten dinner in the fridge and drags herself to bed. She no longer calls her husband, no longer waits by the door. The exhaustion of endless waiting and hollow hopes has dulled the pain. The hysterics are gone—she’s resigned to this life.
She loved Steven with all her heart. Their love ignited in their third year at university in Manchester. Two years later, their son Oliver was born, now six. Natalie’s parents gifted them a flat in a new development, where they lived, dreaming of expanding someday.
After graduation, Steven and his friend Mark started a business. Mark, a medical graduate, worked at a hospital but soon opened a private diagnostics centre. Steven, an economist, became his partner. Later, Mark brought in classmates, and the centre grew, opening branches across the city.
Natalie stayed home, raising Oliver. At first, she longed to work—she was an economist too—but Steven insisted:
“Stay with Ollie, Nat. I’ll provide. When he starts school, you can think about work.”
“Fine,” she sighed. “But it’s lonely here.”
“I know. Let’s agree on this.” She didn’t argue.
They lived well: annual trips to Spain, no financial worries. For her birthday, Steven bought her a car. But as the business thrived, he grew colder. The cheerful, smitten student vanished, replaced by a stranger.
Natalie spent evenings alone, waiting past midnight. Sometimes she reheated dinner, but often he’d slip straight to bed without a word. Their intimate talks evaporated—she felt him slipping away.
“I need to change,” Natalie decided. “Reinvent myself.”
She visited a salon, transformed her look, slipped into an elegant dress, and surprised Steven at his office. He blinked in shock.
“Nat? You look different! Let’s go to a restaurant tonight.”
But irritation laced his voice, his gaze twitchy.
The evening was perfect: flowers, gifts, compliments. Natalie clung to hope, praying the spark would reignite. Over dessert, she ventured:
“Steven, maybe we could think about another baby?”
“Another?” He frowned. “Hadn’t considered it. We’ll see.”
The evasion stung, but she held onto hope.
That night, a hospital call jolted her awake. A voice demanded she come immediately, offering no explanation. Trembling, she left Oliver with a neighbour and sped to the hospital. Her mind raced—car crash? Was Steven hurt?
In the corridor, a nightmare unfolded. A stretcher held a bloodied man. Steven. Her love. Dead. She screamed, refusing to believe. The world shattered. Fragments of words echoed—crash, resuscitation, a girl…
After the funeral, her parents took Oliver, and Natalie locked herself in. She drank brandy, flipping through old photos, reliving their happiness—gone in an instant. A police officer explained: someone veered into their lane, slamming into the car carrying Steven and Mark.
Time passed. Her parents pulled her from despair:
“Love, you can’t bring him back. Live for Ollie. You need to work, to provide.”
Steven’s share of the business passed to her. Steeling herself, she visited the centre. A stranger stood at reception instead of Kate, the secretary.
“Hello. Where’s Kate?”
“You’re Natalie Victoria? I’m temping. Kate’s in hospital.”
“Hospital? What happened?”
“She was in the car… with Steven James.”
Natalie froze. That night, they’d mentioned a girl—she hadn’t processed it. She rushed to Kate. Visitors weren’t allowed, but Natalie sent gifts, asked for updates. Finally, she was permitted in.
Kate paled at the sight of her. She didn’t yet know about the others.
“Hello, Kate. How are you?”
“Better. And Steven James? Mark?”
“Gone,” Natalie whispered. “Buried.”
Kate turned away, tears streaming. Natalie, assuming she was in pain, left.
Weeks later, Kate was discharged. A nurse remarked:
“Kate and her baby are fine. Discharge tomorrow.”
“Baby? She’s pregnant?”
“You didn’t know?”
Natalie staggered. Kate was single—no visitors. In her room, Natalie asked:
“Kate, who’s picking you up tomorrow?”
“No one,” Kate murmured.
“The father? Why hide it?”
“I was… scared. Of you.”
“Of me?”
“It’s Steven’s,” Kate blurted, covering her face. “Forgive me—”
Natalie choked on betrayal. First losing her husband, now this. She fled to her car, driving blindly until she stopped outside the city, screaming into the void:
“How could you, Steven? I trusted you! Maybe it’s better you’re gone—you’d have left me for her!”
She didn’t fire Kate, waiting for her maternity leave. Kate was having a son. When she left, Natalie ignored her.
Then came another call from an unknown number.
“Hello. Kate died in childbirth. The baby’s healthy. Your number was her only contact.”
“Thank you,” Natalie muttered.
Another blow. No family—the baby would go to an orphanage.
Coffee in hand, it hit her:
“He’s Oliver’s half-brother. Same blood.”
She knew what to do. She went to the hospital, starting the long adoption process. Months later, baby Thomas came home.
“Ollie, this is your brother Tommy,” she said. “Dad sent him instead. Love him.”
“Cool, Mum, but he’s tiny. Will he grow fast?”
“Of course—just like you.”
At Steven’s grave, Natalie held Thomas.
“He’s your son, Steven. I’ll raise him as mine. Oliver adores him.”
Her mother quit work to help. The business flourished. Mark’s share went to his brother Leonard, who’d been abroad.
Then one day, the office door opened.
Leonard walked in.
Their eyes met—time froze. Lightning struck them both. Natalie recovered first:
“Take a seat.”
Their talk lasted hours. Leonard settled into work, and Natalie turned a new page.
She prayed fate’s blows were over. Leonard, divorced from his marriage in Germany, found hope too.
Life went on.
