Taxi pulled up to the house and I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw my missing wife in the window.
Enough! I snapped, flinging the photo onto the kitchen table. My voice shook. Its been a year and a half, Emily. Shes not coming back.
Inspector Margaret Clarke lifted the picture gently, slipped it back into her folder. Mr. Anderson, were closing the case. Under the law the period has elapsed, so we can declare Mabel Anderson officially missing.
You mean dead, I said, a bitter smile creeping across my face.
I didnt say that, she replied softly. We just need to finish the paperwork. Please sign here.
I took the pen, stared at the document for a few seconds, then signed in a sweeping motion.
Is that all? Will you leave me alone now?
Mr. Anderson, Margaret sighed, I understand how you feel. Believe me, weve done everything we could.
I know, I murmured, rubbing my tired eyes. Sorry. Every time you come with that folder, its a fresh woundinsomnia, thoughts, memories
I get it, she nodded. But if anything pops up that could help
In the past eighteen months Ive replayed every day, every hour before she vanished, I said, shaking my head. Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. A normal 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 sometimes turn up after three, five years.
Have you ever had a case where a wife just left for someone else without a word? I asked sharply.
She was silent for a moment, then nodded. Yes. Usually they at least leave a note.
When the inspectors door closed behind her, I sank into the armchair and shut my eyes. Eighteen months had passed since Mabel 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.
I tried everythingpolice, private detectives, newspaper ads, internet posts. Nothing. No one had seen her, no one knew anything.
The first months were the hardest. Endless questioning (of course, I was the prime suspect), frantic searches, false hope. Then a numbness settled in, a dull ache in my chest, and an endless stream of unanswered questions.
Why? How did I miss it? Was she unhappy? Did she meet someone else? Did something terrible happen? Could she be alive but unable to contact me? I forced myself not to think about it.
The phone rang and snapped me out of the darkness. The number displayed belonged to City Cabs.
Hello, Nicholas? the dispatcher, Tamara, sounded weary. Can you start early tomorrow? Petrovs blood pressure is up and were slammed with bookings.
Sure, I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. What time?
Sixam, first run to the airport.
Got it.
I took the cab job three months after Mabel disappeared. Id lost my position as a civil engineermy bosses were sympathetic, but endless unpaid leave finally wore them out, and I could no longer focus on calculations or blueprints.
Driving a cab turned out to be just right. Its mechanical work that needs attention but not intense concentration. No emotional tiespassengers come and go, conversations flicker and fade. Today I ferry them, tomorrow someone else. The only responsibility is getting people from point A to point B.
My day began as usual: up at five, cold shower, strong tea. I caught my reflection in the mirrorpale face, a few grey hairs at the temples, lines that werent there a year and a half ago. Fortytwo, feeling fifty.
The first fare waited at the entrancea stout gentleman with two suitcases, nervous and chatty. He talked nonstop about his trip to Edinburgh, his motherinlaws nagging, his bosss tyranny. I nodded, gave the occasional right, but my mind drifted far away.
The day unfolded in the usual rhythm: railway station, shopping centre, office park, back to the station. By evening fatigue settled in, but the dispatcher asked for one more job.
Nick, please. From River Road to Greenfield Estate. Last one for today; the clients waiting.
Alright, I sighed, punching the address into the GPS.
A young mother with a small boyabout three or fouranswered the call. The boy squirmed, refusing to sit down.
Tommy, please, his mum pleaded. Well be home soon, Daddys waiting.
I dont want to go home! the child shouted. I want to go to Grandmas!
Well see Grandma on Saturday, I promise. Now we need to get home.
I waited while they settled into the back seat. The ride was expected to be long; the boy whined, the mother looked exhausted.
Sorry, she said once she finally sat down. Its been a hard day.
No problem, I replied, turning on the meter. Greenfield Estate, Lipwood Street, number 17, right?
Yes, thats it.
Traffic snarled after an accident in the city centre, keeping us stuck for nearly an hour. The child eventually fell asleep on his mothers lap. She stared out the window in silence. I put on a soft song, careful not to wake him.
When the jam cleared, dusk had fallen, a light drizzle misted the roads, and puddles reflected the streetlights. I drove steadily, the throbbing headache behind my eyes growing louder.
Greenfield Estate lay on the outskirtsa sprawl of new blocks, stark concrete towers still halffilled. I never liked the impersonal façades, but I had no choice.
Right here, please, the mother said as we turned into a courtyard. Third door on the left.
I obeyed, stopped in front of a plain seventeenstorey block and rolled down the window.
£5, I said, reaching for the fare.
She handed me a £10 note. Keep the change. Thanks for your patience.
Thanks, I replied, smiling. Do you need a hand with the child?
She handed the sleeping boy to me, thanked me again, and slipped into the building. I cradled the little lad until the mother paid and gathered her bags.
Can I take him for a moment? she asked.
Are you sure? He could be dropped off at the flat.
No, its fine. My husbands home, hell look after him.
She left him with me; the boy twitched but didnt wake. I followed her to the entrance, but the rain made the street slick, and I lingered a bit longer.
From the doorstep I glimpsed a lit window on the third floor. A silhouette moved in the amber glowhair tucked behind an ear, a familiar curve of a cheek. My heart stuttered, then hammered.
It was her. Mabel.
I didnt notice how I stepped out of the car, crossed the courtyard, or entered the stairwell. It was as if a fog lifted and the world narrowed to that single flat.
The lift was out of order, so I raced up the stairs, breath ragged, reaching the third floor. Four doors faced me; I counted from the leftsecond one.
I pressed the buzzer. The silence stretched. Then a click, footsteps, and a door swung open.
A man in his forties, dressed in pyjamas and a Tshirt, stood there, bewildered.
Can I help you? he asked.
I tried to speak, but the words tangled.
Im looking for a woman. Mabel Anderson, I managed.
His brow furrowed. Theres no Mabel here. Youve got the wrong address.
He began to shut the door, but I grasped the knob.
Wait! I saw her just now, in the window. Im not crazyIm her husband. She vanished a year and a half ago.
He hesitated, then the door opened wider. Behind him stood a womanher hair a shade lighter, a tired smile, holding a sleeping child.
Whats happening, Steven? she asked, looking at me.
This man claims hes looking for a Mabel, the husband replied, voice tight.
The womans eyes widened. You drove us here? Youre the driver?
I saw my wife, I repeated, voice shaking. Mabel. Dark hair to her shoulders, a mole above the right eyebrow.
The couple exchanged a glance that made my skin crawl.
Its impossible, the man said. Were the Harris familymy wife is Lena, my son is Tom. Theres no Mabel.
Your mother lives with you, doesnt she? I pushed, desperation seeping in. I need to see her.
My mum, yes, shes staying with us. Shes called Gwendoline for the past year.
My mother? I asked, heart hammering. May I speak with her?
The man shook his head. Shes not well. It wouldnt be right.
Lena placed a gentle hand on my arm. Steven, maybe we should let him have a look? Theres nothing to lose.
Please, I pleaded. Just a minute. If its not her, Ill leave and never bother you again.
After a long pause, Steven sighed. Fine. One minute. But you must leave after that.
They led me down a narrow hallway to a small sitting room. Lena slipped away with the child, while Steven opened a bedroom door and called for her.
Inside, a modest bedroom with a neatly made bed, a bedside table covered in framed photos. In a chair by the window, a woman sat, watching the rain.
She turned slowly. My breath caught.
Mabel. A little thinner, hair cropped short, a faint scar on her chin, a mole still exactly where I remembered. Her eyes, a shade of green, met mine.
Mabel, I whispered.
She stared, expression blank. Im sorry, youve got the wrong person. My name is Gwendoline.
Her voice was hers, but the tone was foreign.
Its me, Nicholas. Your husband.
She frowned, confusion flickering. Steven? Who is that?
Steven stepped forward, trying to calm the situation. Everythings fine, mum. Hes a friend of ours.
My husband? I said, feeling the room tilt. We were married eight years, lived on Rose Street, you worked at the library. We were planning a baby.
She shook her head, a tremor in her voice. Im not your wife. Im Gwendoline Harris. Im Lenas mother.
I felt the ground shift beneath me. I listed detailsher mole, the scar from a childhood bike fall, her fear of heights, her love of strawberry icecream, her hatred of chrysanthemums. She touched her chin, as if checking the scar.
Lena entered, eyes wide. Whats going on? Mum, are you alright?
This man is saying Im someone else, Gwendoline said, voice shaking. He calls me by another name.
Steven placed a firm hand on my shoulder. We need you to leave, Nicholas.
No! I snapped, shaking him off. You cant just tell me to go. Explain why my wife lives here under a different name, why you call her your motherinlaw.
We didnt do anything to her, Steven replied, exhausted. She was found on a deserted patch near the North Bridge, unconscious and beaten. She woke up with no memoryno ID, nothing. The police couldnt identify her. We took her in because we thought it was the right thing.
Someone reported her missing that same day, I said, voice breaking. I filed a report! How could you not know?
Probably the info never reached the right department, Steven shrugged. We thought shed end up in a shelter after discharge, but when we learned she needed a home, we invited her to stay with us. My mother died a year ago, and we felt she deserved a family.
My wife has been given a new name, a new life, I shouted, grief raw. Shes been living a lie!
We gave her a roof, a family, Steven countered. When no one else was looking for her.
Ive been looking! Every single day! I cried.
Gwendolines face paled. The bridge snow cold
Lena whispered, What did you remember, Mum?
A car a rough man I was grabbed, Gwendoline murmured, hands clasped over her temples. I cant recall the rest.
Lena hugged her. You dont have to remember if it hurts.
But I need to know, I said, leaning forward. Are you really my Mabel?
She stared at me, then slowly reached out, her fingers brushing my cheek. I dont know you. Im not sure who I am anymore.
I placed my hand over hers. Youll remember. In time. Ill help you.
Turning to Steven and Lena, I said, Thank you for rescuing her, for caring for her. Shes my wife, and I want her back.
Lena burst into tears, covering her mouth. We love her. Shes become part of our family. Tom thinks shes his grandma.
I understand, I replied. I wont stop you seeing her. But her place is with me.
Steven sighed. She decides herself. If she wants to leave with you, we wont stop it.
We all looked at Gwendoline, bewildered and frightened.
I dont know, she whispered. I dont remember you, but I also dont recall my life here before the accident. They told me I was Lenas mum, and I believed them. Now you say Im your wife.
Maybe she needs time, Steven suggested. To get to know you again, to be sure who she wants to be.
I wanted to arguehow could I wait after finding her? Yet seeing the terror in her eyes, I realised Steven was right. I could not force her into a life she didnt recognise.
Alright, I said finally. Well take it slow. Ill be patient. No police reports, no demands. Just give us a chance.
Steven nodded. We wont block your meetings. Just let her decide.
She managed a faint smile. I think Id like to learn about you again.
That smile, familiar yet distant, felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. My throat tightened, tears welling up.
Ill wait, I promised. No matter how long it takes.
As I left the flat, I glanced back at the thirdfloor window. She stood there, arms wrapped around herself, as if shielding from a chill I could not feel. The night air was damp, but the stars were beginning to pierce the clouds.
I descended the stairs, thoughts swirling. Fate is a strange thingeighteen months of despair, a random passenger, a random address, a chance glance through a window.
Or maybe it wasnt random at all. Perhaps some invisible thread pulled us together, refusing to be broken by amnesia, by a borrowed name, by a new life.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The sky opened, revealing a few twinkling lights. I inhaled the cool, moist air and, for the first time in a long while, felt I could breathe fully.
Shes alive. Shes been found. The restdetails, paperwork, explanationscan be sorted later. In time. Together.
I got back into my cab, gave one last lingering look at the lit window on the third floor. In that glow, I thought I saw her silhouette, a quiet nod in response.
Tomorrow will be a new day. New life. A fresh start with an old love.
First thing Ill do is call Inspector Clarke and tell her the case cant be closed. Sometimes, whats lost finds its way back, even after a year and a half, even when hope seems almost gone.
Even if it took a taxi ride to the very house where a light was shining on the third floor.
