The cab pulled up to the house and stopped, the drivers breath catching when he saw the silhouette of his vanished wife in the upstairs window.
Enough! How many times must we rattle the past? Nicholas flung a photograph onto the kitchen table, his voice shaking. Its been eighteen months, Emma. She wont come back.
Mr. Anderson, please understand, Officer Margaret Harper, the local constable, said, carefully lifting the picture and slipping it back into the file. Were closing the case. By law enough time has passed to declare Eleanor Bennett missing presumed dead.
…presumed dead, Nicholas bitterly repeated.
I didnt say that, Margaret replied gently. We just need to finish the paperwork. Sign here, please.
He took the pen, stared at the document for a few seconds, then signed with a sweeping flourish.
Is that all? Will you leave me alone?
Mr. Anderson, Margaret sighed, I know how you feel. Believe me, weve done everything we could.
I know, he said, rubbing his eyes. Sorry. Every time you bring that folder its like starting overinsomnia, thoughts, memories
I understand, the officer nodded. But if anything comes back to you that might help
For the past year and a half Ive replayed every day, every hour before she vanished, Nicholas said, shaking his head. Nothing. Just an ordinary morning, a normal breakfast, See you tonight, love. And then she was gone, somewhere between home and work.
Margaret gathered the papers and stood.
In my experience, people have returned after three, even five years.
And have you ever had a case where a wife simply left for someone else without a word? Nicholas asked sharply.
She fell silent, then nodded.
Sometimes. But they usually leave a note.
When the constable closed the door, Nicholas sank into his chair and shut his eyes. Eighteen months had passed since Eleanor walked out and never returned. No call, no text. Her phone was dead, her bank cards untouched. It was as if she had dissolved into the earth.
He had tried everythingpolice inquiries, private detectives, newspaper ads, online posts. Nothing. No one had seen or heard anything.
The first months were the worst: endless interrogations (the husband always the prime suspect), frantic searches, false hopes. Then a numbness settled in, a dull ache in his chest, and relentless questions without answers.
Why? How could he have missed it? Was she unhappy? Did she meet someone else? Did something terrible happen? Could she be alive but unable to contact him? He tried not to think about it.
A ringing phone ripped him from his gloom. The number displayed belonged to the cab firm.
Hello, Nicholas? the dispatcher, Tamara, sounded weary. Can you start early tomorrow? Mr. Peters is down with a pressure issue and weve got a backlog of bookings.
Yes, of course, Nicholas said, rubbing his bridge of the nose. What time?
At six if you can. First run to the airport.
Will do.
Three months after Eleanor disappeared, Nicholas returned to driving a cab. He had lost his engineering jobhis boss initially understood, but endless unpaid leave and sick days finally wore them down. He could no longer focus on calculations or blueprints.
Steering a vehicle suited him better. It required attention but not intense concentration, and there were no lasting attachmentspassengers came and went, stories flickered by. One day youre ferrying someone, the next its a stranger. The only responsibility is to get people from point A to point B.
His mornings began at five, with a cold shower and a strong cup of tea. He stared at his reflectionpale skin, a hint of grey at the temples, lines that hadnt been there eighteen months ago. Fortytwo, yet he looked fifty.
The first passenger waited at the curba stout businessman with two suitcases, nervous and chatty. He talked nonstop about a trip to Edinburgh, an overbearing motherinlaw, and a boss who was a tyrant. Nicholas nodded and gave the occasional right or I see, but his mind drifted.
The day unfolded in the usual rhythmtrain stations, shopping centres, office blocks, back to the stations. By evening fatigue set in, but a dispatch call forced him to stay out.
Nick, could you do one more? From Riverbank to Green Meadows. Last job for today, the clients waiting.
Alright, Nicholas sighed, entering the address into his GPS.
The client turned out to be a young mother with a small boy, about three or four years old, who refused to get into the car.
Mike, please, she coaxed. Well be home soon, dads 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 just need to get home.
Nicholas waited patiently as they finally settled in. The ride was tiringthe child whined, the mother looked exhausted.
Sorry, she said, finally sitting in the back seat. Its been a hard day.
No problem, Nicholas replied, turning on the meter. Green Meadows, Lime Street, house number 17, right?
Yes, thats it.
Traffic snarled due to an accident, delaying them an extra hour. The boy fell asleep on his mothers lap, and she stared out the window. Nicholas put on soft music, careful not to wake the child.
When they finally emerged from the jam, dusk had fallen, a light drizzle misted the streets, and puddles reflected the streetlights. Nicholas drove cautiously, a throbbing headache growing at the base of his skull.
Green Meadows lay on the outskirtsa housing estate of tidy terraced houses, still half empty. He rarely visited such places; the uniform brick seemed lifeless.
Right here, please, the mother said as they turned into the culdesac. Third door on the left.
Nicholas obeyed, stopping in front of a plain threestorey block.
Here we are, he said, turning off the engine. Thatll be four pounds twenty.
She handed him a fivepound note.
No change needed, thank you.
Thanks for your patience, Nicholas smiled. May I help with the little one?
He opened the rear door, and the mother gently placed the sleeping boy in his lap before slipping away.
Ill take him inside, she said. Weve got the rest of the stuff.
Are you sure? Shall I carry him to the flat?
No, weve got it. My husband will be home.
Nicholas set the boy down, watching the mother disappear up the stairs. He lingered a moment, the rain still falling, the boy still asleep.
Through a thirdfloor window, a yellow glow lit a room. A woman stood, looking out at the drizzle. Her profiledark hair tucked behind one ear, a faint mole above the right eyebrowstopped his heart.
It was Eleanor.
He could not recall how he had left the car, crossed the courtyard, or entered the building. The world seemed a fog, voices muffled, faces blurred. All that mattered was the third floor, that particular window.
The lift was out of service, so he rushed up the stairs, breath ragged. On the third floor, four doors waited. He remembered the layout; the second door from the landing should be it. He pressed the buzzer.
A long, tense pause. Then footsteps, a lock clicking, the door opening.
A man in his forties, in jeans and a Tshirt, stood in the doorway.
Can I help you? he asked, puzzled.
Nicholas opened his mouth, but words failed. I Ive seen a womanyour neighbourthrough the window. Shes my wife.
What are you talking about? the man replied, frowning.
Im looking for Eleanor Bennett.
The mans expression shifted from confusion to wariness. Theres no Eleanor here. Youve got the wrong address.
He tried to shut the door, but Nicholas held it.
Wait! I saw her just now. Im not crazy, I swear. Shes my wifeshe disappeared a year and a half ago.
The man hesitated, then the door swung wider. A woman stepped out, cradling a sleepy child. She was the very passenger Nicholas had just dropped off.
Whats happening, Danny? she asked.
This man says hes looking for a woman named Eleanor, Danny said.
The womans eyes widened. Youre the taxi driver who brought us here?
Yes, Nicholas insisted. Eleanor Bennettdark hair, mole above the right brow, a scar on her chin from a childhood bike fall.
The couple exchanged looks.
Theres no Eleanor here, Danny said. Only meLenaand my mother, who we call Gran. Shes been living with us for a year.
My mother? Nicholas asked.
Grandma Helen, Lena replied. She moved in after a nasty fall.
Can I see her? Nicholas begged, desperation clear in his voice.
Danny shook his head. Shes not well. It would only upset her.
Lena placed a gentle hand on Nicholass shoulder. Danny, maybe we should let him have a look? What could we lose?
Danny sighed. Fine, but only a minute. And if its not her, you leave.
They led him to a modest hallway, then through the living room to a closed door. Danny knocked, entered without waiting for an answer, and shut the door behind him. Soft murmurs floated out, indistinct.
After a moment, Danny emerged, his face strained. You can go in. Please dont startle her.
Nicholas entered a small bedroom, neatly made, with a bedside table holding a few framed photos. In a chair by the window sat a woman, looking out at the rain. She turned, and Nicholass breath caught.
It was herEleanor, though her hair was shorter, her face a little thinner, a faint scar on her chin, the mole still present.
Eleanor, he whispered.
She stared at him, expression blank, as if seeing a stranger.
Im sorry, she said softly. Youve got the wrong person. My name is Helen.
Her voice was familiar yet distant.
Its its me, NickNicholas Anderson, your husband, he said, stepping closer. Weve been married eight years. We lived on Saffron Street, you worked at the library. We wanted a child.
She frowned, confusion flickering across her features. Whos Danny? she asked. Why does my son call you Dad?
Danny, standing nearby, placed a hand on her shoulder. Helen, youve been with us for a year. Youre a mother now.
EleanorHelenlooked between them, eyes darting. I dont remember any of this.
Lena entered, tears in her eyes. Shes our mother. Shes been with us since the accident.
Nicholass anger softened into raw pain. Ive searched for you ever since you vanished. Ive driven every cab, chased every lead. Please, let me help you remember.
Helen shook her head. I cant. Its all a blur. I think I think I was in an accident on the North Bridge. Snow, cold. I woke up in a hospital with no memory.
Did you ever see a white van? Nicholas asked.
She stared at the ceiling. There was a manrough I think he grabbed me. I cant picture him.
Lena sat beside her, holding her hand. You dont have to remember everything now. You can take time.
Danny nodded. We wont force you. If you ever want to see Nicholas, well be here.
Nicholas felt a strange peace settle over him. He realized he couldnt force a life that had been stolen and rewritten. He could only offer patience and hope.
Ill wait, he said quietly. For as long as it takes.
As he walked back down the stairs, the rain had stopped. The sky cleared, revealing stars peeking through the clouds. He inhaled the damp night air and, for the first time in years, felt his chest fill with a steady breath.
He climbed into his cab, glanced once more at the illuminated thirdfloor window, and saw a faint silhouette looking back. He raised his hand in a simple wave, and she seemed to answer with a gentle nod.
Tomorrow would be another daynew routes, new faces, perhaps new chances to rebuild what had been lost. He would call Officer Margaret later and ask her to keep the case open a while longer. Sometimes, even after a year and a half, the missing can be found, and hope, however fragile, can be resurrected.
The lesson lingered: loss may cast a long shadow, but patience, compassion, and the willingness to let anothers story unfold on its own terms can light the way back to what truly matters.
