The taxi pulled up to the house and I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw my missing wife reflected in the window.
Enough! I snapped, flinging the photograph onto the kitchen table, my voice trembling. Its been a year and a half, Megan. She wont come back.
Inspector Mary Parker lifted the picture gently, slipped it back into her folder. Mr. Andrews, were closing the case. By law enough time has passed to declare Vera I mean, your wife legally missing.
Are you saying shes dead? I muttered, a bitter smile tugging at my lips.
I didnt say that, she replied softly. Just that the paperwork has to be finished. Please sign here.
I took the pen, stared at the form for a few seconds, then signed with a sweeping flourish.
Is that all? Will you leave me alone now?
Mr. Andrews, I understand how you feel. Believe me, weve done everything we could.
I know, I sighed, rubbing my eyes. Sorry. Every time you bring that folder, it all starts over again sleepless nights, endless thoughts
I get it, she said. But if you remember anything that could help
For the past year and a half Ive replayed every day, every hour before she vanished, I said, shaking my head. Nothing. Just an ordinary morning, a normal breakfast. See you tonight, love. And then she was gone, somewhere between home and work.
Mary gathered the papers and stood. In my experience, people sometimes return after three, five years.
Have any of your cases involved a wife simply walking out for someone else without a word? I asked sharply.
She was silent a moment, then nodded. Yes. But they usually leave a note.
When the inspector shut the door, I sank into my armchair and closed my eyes. A year and a half had passed since Vera walked out and never returned. No call, no text. Her phone was switched off, her bank cards untouched. She had vanished as if swallowed by the earth.
I tried everything police, private detectives, newspaper ads, internet posts. Nothing. No one had seen her, no one knew anything.
The first months were the worst. Endless interrogations (of course I was the prime suspect), frantic searches, fleeting hopes. Then numbness set in, followed by a dull ache in my chest and a flood of unanswered questions.
Why? How did I miss it? Was she unhappy? Did she meet someone else? Was something terrible happening? Could she still be alive but unable to contact me? I tried not to think about it.
A ringing phone jolted me from the gloom. The number belonged to the taxi firm.
Hello, Nick? the dispatcher, Tammy, sounded weary. Can you start early tomorrow? Mr. Peters is on the line with a hypertension case and were swamped with orders.
Sure, I said, rubbing my nose. What time?
Six if you can. First job to the airport.
Got it, Ill be there.
Id taken the cab job three months after Vera disappeared. Id lost my engineering job management had been patient, but endless sick days and unpaid leave finally wore them out. I could no longer focus on calculations or blueprints.
Driving a cab fit me perfectly. Its mechanical work that demands attention but not heavy concentration, and theres no emotional attachment faces flash by, conversations rise and fall. Today I ferry a passenger, tomorrow someone else. No responsibility beyond getting people from point A to point B.
Morning began as usual up at five, cold shower, strong tea. I caught my reflection in the mirror: a gaunt face, grey at the temples, lines that werent there a year and a half ago. Fortytwo, looking nearer fifty.
My first fare waited outside the blocka stout man with two suitcases, nervous and chatty. He rattled off everything about his trip to Manchester, his motherinlaws meddling, his overbearing boss. I nodded, gave the occasional right, but my mind was elsewhere.
The day passed in the usual rhythm train station, shopping centre, business park, back to the station. By evening I was exhausted, but the dispatcher asked for one more job.
Nick, could you do a run from River Street to Green Estate? Last one for today, passenger waiting.
Alright, I said, checking the address on the GPS.
The client turned out to be a young woman with a small child, a boy of about three or four who whined and refused to sit.
Mick, please, his mother pleaded. Well be home soon, dads waiting.
I dont want to go home! the boy shouted. I want to see Grandma!
Well go to Grandma on Saturday, I promise. Right now we need to get home.
I waited while they settled in. The ride promised to be long; the child kept whimpering, his mother looked exhausted.
Sorry, she said once she finally sat in the back. Its been a hard day.
No problem, I replied, starting the meter. Green Estate, Lipton Road, number 17, right?
Yes, thats it.
Traffic snarled after an accident in the city centre, and we sat in a queue for nearly an hour. The boy gradually calmed, eventually drifting to sleep on his mothers lap. She stared out the window in silence. I turned on some soft music, careful not to wake him.
When we finally cleared the jam, dusk had fallen, a light drizzle turning the roads slick. I drove with a growing headache, focusing on the road.
Green Estate lay on the outskirtsa maze of new flats, tall blocks still halffilled. I never liked these soulless concrete boxes.
Right here, the woman said as we turned into a courtyard, third entrance, please.
I obeyed, stopping at a seventeenstorey block that looked like any other.
Weve arrived, I announced, turning off the engine. Thatll be £420.
She pulled out a £500 note.
No change needed, thank you for your patience.
Thanks for the tip, I said, smiling. Can I help with the kid?
She handed the sleeping child to me, then slipped inside with her bags.
Ill take him, she said.
Are you sure? Maybe I should drop him at the flat?
No, no, well manage. My husbands at home, hell help.
I cradled the boy as she paid and headed for the door. I waited a moment, rain pattering, the child still asleep. I glanced up at the buildings windows. On the third floor a light glowed. The woman and her son were at the entrance, but the window caught my eyea familiar silhouette flickered in the yellow glow.
My heart skipped, then hammered. I recognized the profile, the way she tucked a stray lock behind her ear. I knew it because Id seen it a thousand times.
Vera. My Vera. My wife, missing for a year and a half.
I couldnt remember how Id stepped out of the car, crossed the courtyard, entered the block. My mind was hazy, voices muffled, eyes drawn to that thirdfloor window.
The lift was out of order, so I bolted up the stairs, breath ragged, reaching the third floor. Four doors stood before me. I recalled the layout counting from the left, the second door was the one. I pressed the buzzer, fingers trembling. A long, tense pause. Then footsteps, a click, the door opened.
A man in his forties, in houseslippers and a Tshirt, stood in the doorway.
Can I help you? he asked, puzzled.
I opened my mouth but no words came. Im looking for a woman. Vera Vera Clarke.
His expression shifted from surprise to wariness.
Theres no Vera Clarke here, he said. Youve got the wrong address.
He reached for the door, but I held it ajar.
Wait! I just saw her in the window. Shes my wife. Im not crazy, I swear.
The man hesitated, then the door swung wider. Behind him stood a woman the very passenger Id just dropped off, a young mother clutching a sleepy child.
Whats going on, Simon? she asked, eyeing me.
This man says hes seen his wife in our flat, Simon replied. Hes looking for a Vera.
She frowned, then her eyes widened.
Youre the driver who took us here? she asked.
I saw my wife in your window, I repeated, voice shaking. Vera Clarke. About the same height as you, dark hair to the shoulders, a mole above the right brow.
Simon and his wife exchanged a look that made my skin crawl.
Theres no Vera here, Simon said, trying to stay calm. Only me, my wife Lucy, and our son.
My mother, Gwendolyn, lives with us, Lucy added softly.
May I speak to her? I asked, desperation creeping in.
Simon shook his head.
Shes not well. It would be cruel to disturb her.
Ive been looking for her for a year and a half, I pleaded. Just a moment. If shes not her, Ill leave and never bother you again.
Lucy placed a hand on Simons shoulder.
Simon, maybe we should let him have a look? What have we got to lose?
Simon hesitated, then sighed. Fine. One minute. If its not you, you go.
They led me to a small hallway. Lucy took the boy to another room, while Simon ushered me toward a closed door.
Hold on here while I warn her, he said, knocking lightly before pushing the door open.
Inside, a modest bedroom with a neatly made bed, a dresser, and a few family photos. A chair by the window held a woman, looking out at the rain. She turned, and my breath caught.
Her hair was shorter than I remembered, but the mole was there, the scar on her chin from a childhood bike fall, the green eyes.
Vera? I whispered.
She stared at me, expression blank.
Im sorry, you must be mistaken, she said gently. My name is Gwendolyn.
Her voice was familiar, yet the tone was foreign.
Gwendolyn, its me, Nick, I said, stepping closer. Your husband.
She frowned, confusion flashing across her face.
Whos Simon? she asked. Why does he call me mum?
Simon moved in, placing a hand on my shoulder.
Its best you leave now, he said. My mothers not interested in strangers.
Mum? I shouted. Im Nick Clarke, your husband. Weve been married eight years!
Gwendolynns eyes widened. Nick? I dont know you.
I launched into a frantic recollection of how we met at a summer concert in the park, how shed spilled icecream on my shirt and Id joked that she owed me a wedding. I mentioned her fear of heights, her love of strawberry icecream, her hatred of chrysanthemums.
She stared, a flicker of something passing over her features, then shook her head.
Im Gwendolynn Parker, she said firmly. Im Lucys mother.
Lucy entered the room, eyes widening at the scene.
This man is saying strange things, Gwendolynn said to Lucy. Hes calling me by another name.
Simon grabbed me by the arm.
You need to go, he said.
No! I snapped, shaking his grip. I wont leave until you explain why my wife is living here under a different name, why you call her your motherinlaw.
Nothing happened to her, Simon replied, voice low. We found her on the north side of the bridge, halffrozen, barely conscious. Shed lost all memory no name, no address. The hospital could identify nobody. The police couldnt match fingerprints. No one reported a missing person.
Exactly the same day I filed a report! I shouted.
It seems the report never reached the right department, Simon shrugged. In any case, we took her in after she was released. My mother, Gwendolynn, had died a year earlier, and we thought it was a sign to give this woman a home.
My wifes name is Vera Clarke, I said, voice cracking. Youve taken her, given her a new identity, a new life!
We gave her shelter when nobody else would, Simon said. When youre looking for someone for a year and a half, you might as well accept that shes safe here.
Youve robbed me of my wife! I roared. Ive searched every day, every minute!
Gwendolynns face went pale. The bridge snow cold she murmured.
A silence fell. Lucy asked gently, Mum, did anything come back to you?
The car a white car a rough man, Gwendolynn whispered, gripping her head. I remember a white car and a a man, angry.
I leaned forward. Vera, you went to work on the bus as usual. What happened after?
She stared into nothing, eyes unfocused. He seized me. Dragged me into a car. I screamed, but nobody nobody helped.
Who? I asked.
She shook her head, tears spilling. I dont know. I dont want to think about it.
Lucy wrapped an arm around Gwendolynn. Its alright if you dont want to remember, she said. Youre safe now.
I need to know, I said, voice softer. Are you really my Vera?
A flicker of recognition sparked, however brief. I I dont remember you, she said, touching her cheek where the scar lay. I was told Im Gwendolynn Parker, mother to Lucy. I believed it.
I placed my hand over hers. Youre Vera Clarke. You have a mole above your right brow, a scar on your chin, you hate chrysanthemums, you love strawberry icecream
She lifted her hand, feeling the mole. Yes thats thats me.
Lucy looked between us, tears in her eyes. Maybe we should give her time, Simon suggested. Let her get to know who she really is.
I wanted to argue, to demand she come home immediately, but I saw the fear in her eyes, the bewilderment of a woman who had lived a whole year and a half under a different name. I realized I couldnt just yank her away.
Alright, I said, voice hoarse. Well take it slow. Ill wait, however long it takes for you to remember.
Simon nodded. We wont involve the police, then. Well let you see her as often as you like.
Gwendolynn Vera gave a faint smile. II would like to get to know you again.
The feeling in my chest loosened, a familiar warmth returning. Ill wait, I promised.
I left the flat, glancing back at the thirdfloor window. The rain had stopped; stars peered through the clearing sky. I inhaled the damp air and finally felt I could breathe fully again.
She was alive. She had been found. The rest the paperwork, the details couldAs the sunrise broke over the quiet street, I stood outside the flat, waiting for Vera to open the door and step back into the life we had once shared.
