**A Lucky Year**
“Emily, are you busy?” Mum peeked into her daughter’s room.
“Just a second. I’m sending an email, then I’ll help,” Emily replied without looking up from her screen.
“I’ve run out of mayonnaise for the salad. Forgot the parsley too. Could you pop to the shop before it closes?”
“Sure.”
“Sorry to rush you. You’ve already done your hair. My head’s spinning with all this holiday prep,” Mum sighed.
“Done.” Emily shut her laptop and turned to face her. “What did you say?”
She pulled on her boots and coat but skipped the hat—no point ruining her hairstyle. The shop was just next door; she wouldn’t even get cold. Outside, a light frost dusted the pavement, and delicate snowflakes drifted down—like something out of a Christmas card.
The shop was quiet. Only a few last-minute shoppers darted in. The only parsley left was in a sad, wilted bundle with thyme and spring onions. Emily considered calling Mum to ask if she still wanted it but realised she’d left her phone at home. After a moment’s thought, she grabbed the herbs, picked up a jar of mayonnaise from the nearly empty shelf, paid, and stepped outside.
She hadn’t taken three steps when a car screeched around the corner, headlights blinding her. Emily stumbled back. Her boot heel slipped on a patch of ice hidden beneath the snow. Her ankle twisted, and she crashed onto the pavement, her bag skidding away.
She tried to stand, but a sharp pain shot through her ankle, bringing tears to her eyes. No one around. No phone. What now? She didn’t hear the car door softly click shut behind her.
“Are you hurt?” A young man crouched beside her. “Can you stand? Here.” He offered his hand.
“I think I’ve broken my ankle, thanks to you. Speeding around like it’s a racetrack,” Emily snapped, ignoring his hand.
“Should’ve worn sensible shoes if you’re walking at night.”
“Piss off,” she muttered, fighting back a sob.
“Planning to sit here till morning? Fine. Not in the habit of leaving pretty girls stranded. Where do you live?”
“There.” She gestured vaguely toward their building.
The man disappeared, but moments later, she heard an engine. The car reversed and stopped beside her.
“Let’s get you up. Try not to put weight on that foot. One, two—” Before she could protest, he lifted her smoothly and set her down gently, her good leg bearing her weight.
“Steady?” He held her with one hand while opening the car door. “Hold onto me and slide in.”
“My bag!” Emily yelped as she landed on the seat.
He retrieved it from the pavement and tossed it onto the backseat.
At their building, he helped her out, then scooped her into his arms and kicked the door shut.
Pausing at the entryway, he asked, “Keys in the bag? Anyone home?”
“Mum.”
“Then buzz her and get her to open up.”
No lift. He carried her up three flights, her arms looped around his neck. She could hear his laboured breaths. Under the dim stairwell lights, sweat trickled down his temple. *Serves you right. Shouldn’t drive like a maniac near shops,* she thought spitefully.
“Put me down. I’ll manage from here,” she said outside their flat.
He said nothing, just exhaled heavily. The door swung open, and Mum gaped at them.
“Emily? What’s happened?”
The man barrelled past, forcing Mum to step aside. He carefully lowered Emily, then straightened with a deep breath.
“Fetch a chair,” he ordered, ignoring Mum’s wide-eyed panic.
She hurried to the kitchen and returned with one. Emily sat with relief, stretching her injured leg. The man knelt before her.
“What on earth is going on?” Mum demanded.
He ignored her. Holding Emily’s foot steady, he unzipped her boot in one sharp motion. Emily yelped.
“Ow! That hurts!”
“What are you *doing*?” Mum cried in unison.
“It’s just a sprain. I’m a doctor. Get ice. Quickly.”
Mum rushed off, returning with a bag of frozen peas.
“Press it to the ankle.” He stood and grabbed his jacket.
“You’re leaving?” Emily asked, alarmed.
“Going down to the car. I’ve got a bandage. And your bag.” Then he was gone.
“You left your bag with him? Who *is* he?” Mum pressed the peas to Emily’s swelling ankle, making her hiss in pain.
“He came speeding round the corner, I slipped, and he brought me home. That’s all I know.”
“What if he’s a thief? He could be driving off with your purse, cards, keys! Should we call the police?”
“Mum, if he wanted to rob me, he’d have left me at the shop. He carried me home.”
Before Mum could argue, the intercom buzzed.
“It’s him. Let him in.”
The man returned, studying them both before setting Emily’s bag on the side table.
“Check if everything’s there.” He shrugged off his coat, dropped it on the floor, and knelt again.
“This will hurt. Hold onto the chair.” He cradled her foot, bent it slightly—Emily bit back a whimper.
“Something’s burning,” he said, glancing at Mum.
She bolted to the kitchen.
Then—*agony*. White-hot pain flared up her leg, so intense her vision blurred.
“Breathe. It’ll ease now,” he murmured.
Mum rushed back. “Nothing was—!”
“It’s set. It’ll ache for days. Keep weight off it.” He lowered her foot gently, shrugged on his coat.
“Thank you. I’m sorry for my thoughts earlier,” Mum blurted. “It’s nearly midnight—stay? You won’t make it home. I’ve got plenty.”
He hesitated.
“Mum!” Emily shot her a look.
“I’ll get the roast out. You, young man, help Emily to the sofa,” Mum said breezily.
Leaning on him, Emily hopped to the living room. Testing her toe brought discomfort, but it was bearable. Still, she liked the warmth of his side, his arm around her waist.
“Thanks,” she said, settling onto the sofa.
“My fault. Least I could do.”
“Not your fault. I overreacted. What’s your name?”
“James. Let’s drop the formalities.”
“You really a doctor?”
“Surgeon. Just wanted to grab something from the shops…”
“Your wife must be worried.”
“Left me six months ago. Sick of me never being home. Even holidays, I’m on call. Took our daughter and moved in with her mum.”
“I must look awful,” Emily mumbled.
“Quite the opposite.”
And so, the three of them saw in the New Year. How you greet it is how you’ll spend it.
When James left, she and Mum went to bed. But Emily couldn’t sleep. The ghost of his touch lingered at her waist. The memory of being carried—his hands, his breath—stirred something even now. Could she ever forget it?
By morning, she could hobble. Her ankle was puffier, the bandage tight, but she could walk.
She didn’t hide her joy when James returned. He checked her ankle, rebandaged it.
“No damage. Can you bear weight?”
“We’re past surnames, remember? Yes, I can.”
“Tea?” Mum offered.
“Next time. On duty.”
“Will you come back?” Emily asked quickly.
He smiled in reply.
Two months later, she moved in with him.
“He’s not even divorced. What if his wife comes back?” Mum fretted as Emily packed.
“She won’t. He says she’s already with someone.”
“You’re rushing.”
It *was* a happy year. Emily burned when he visited his daughter—seeing his wife, too. She’d seen photos. The woman was beautiful.
Living with him, Emily understood his ex. James was always on call—nights, weekends. And the nurses flirted shamelessly. How could they not? But when he was home, she glowed.
A year passed. Despite everything, it *was* happy. But James never filed for divorce. That stung. Mum nagged her to confront him, but Emily hesitated.
On the 31st, she bustled in the kitchen. The tree sparkled in the lounge, a new dress lay on the bed. She checked the roast—then her phone rang. James was by the window, murmuring.
“Fine. I’ll come now,” he said, turning.
“On call again?” Her voice faltered.
“No. My wife. My daughter’s upset, won’t sleep without me. I’ll be quick”But when he finally returned just before dawn, smelling of snow and regret, she knew this was a year she’d remember—not for the endings, but for the quiet beginnings hidden within them.”