Returning to her quiet hometown, where she was born and raised, Veronica felt a wave of relief and joy.
«Goodness, I’m home! Everything here is so old and familiar.»
«Love, breakfast is ready,» her mother called from downstairs. Veronica lingered in her small childhood bedroom on the second floor of her parents’ house. This was where she grew up, where she left to study medicine. Nine years had passed, and now she was back for good, leaving behind the sprawling city.
There, she had graduated from medical school, married Artem during her final year. Artem was a local boy, from a family of doctors—his father a dentist, his mother a GP. Naturally, they sent him to medical school, expecting him to follow their path. Though, truth be told, Artem didn’t care where he studied. His father paid his way everywhere.
Veronica and Artem had lived together for nearly four years in a grand country house with his parents. They had welcomed her warmly—she was kind, beautiful, and they never looked down on her for being from the provinces. They never demanded their son marry within their circle.
As students, everything was fine. But after graduation, they both started working. Veronica became a GP at the local clinic, while Artem’s father secured him a position at a hospital through a friend. As a graduation gift, his father bought Artem a lavish flat in the city centre—though he kept it in his own name. He knew his son too well.
Veronica wanted a child. Artem did not.
«Don’t be ridiculous, Vee. We should live for ourselves first,» he snapped when she brought it up. «I can’t stand those squalling little things. Later, always later.» His parents occasionally mentioned grandchildren, but he brushed them off.
Friends hinted that Artem had a wandering eye, but Veronica dismissed the gossip—until she came home early one day and found him tangled up with another woman. How he talked his way out of it, she still didn’t understand. But it happened again. And again.
A row erupted. Artem blamed her.
«This is your fault—you don’t give me enough attention, so I find it elsewhere,» he sneered, shameless, grinning as if he’d done nothing wrong.
Veronica filed for divorce and left, forgetting Artem like a bad dream. Back home, she found work at the local clinic, even pleased to see it was newly built. The queues were long—patients came from nearby villages—but she worked gladly.
The job distracted her from melancholy thoughts. It felt good to be needed, to help people.
«The clinic was built by our MP, Edmund Whitmore,» her nurse, Lucy, told her. «The locals respect him—he actually gets things done.»
«Is he from here?» Veronica asked.
«Oh yes, born and raised. That’s why he cares,» Lucy said.
Near closing time, the door opened, and a tall, handsome man walked in. Lucy jumped up.
«Good evening, Mr. Whitmore!»
He greeted them warmly and took a seat.
«Please, sit,» Veronica said, studying him—he didn’t seem unwell. «How can I help?»
He laughed. «I came to introduce myself. I booked an appointment properly—no cutting queues. Everyone speaks highly of Dr. Veronica Hartley. Your father, Robert, is a good man—well-respected at his firm. Fair, but knows when to show his teeth. I admire that.»
He glanced between her and Lucy. «Anything you need help with?»
«Not at all. The clinic’s wonderful—modern equipment, everything new. I’m lucky to work here.»
«Well, I won’t keep you. Patients are waiting.» He handed her a card. «Call if you need anything. Lovely to meet you.»
As he left, Lucy giggled. «He fancies you! Booking an appointment just to say hello? Oh, I know these things.»
Three days later, Veronica left the clinic on foot—home wasn’t far. Suddenly, a voice called out.
«Veronica!»
She turned. Edmund Whitmore approached. «Evening. Mind if I join you?»
«Not at all. Just heading home.»
«How about dinner? You must be tired after work. Listening to complaints all day—must be exhausting.»
She laughed. «I’m used to it. Always wanted to be a doctor—bandaged everyone as a child.»
He smiled. «You have a lovely smile.»
They talked for hours in the café. He asked about her life; she asked about his.
«Veronica, let’s drop the formalities. Call me Ed,» he said. She agreed—she liked him.
She hesitated to ask if he was married. He hadn’t mentioned it, though he’d asked her. Soon, rumours spread—the MP was seeing the doctor.
«Love, heard you’ve been spotted with Mr. Whitmore,» her mother said over dinner.
«So what? I’m allowed to see men, aren’t I?» Veronica smirked.
«Just be careful.»
Her father winked. «We’ll find out in time, won’t we, love?»
Veronica and Ed’s love was like a dream—they saw no one else. He took her to his home, told her he’d been divorced a year—his ex-wife had moved back to her parents’ village.
One morning, her father handed her an envelope.
«Love, could you deliver these plans to Ed? He needs them today.»
At lunch, Ed called.
«Veronica, could you drop them at my place? I’m tied up with the mayor. Just pop them through the letterbox.»
She took a taxi after work. The grand two-storey house was familiar. She stepped out, approached the door—but it swung open before she could post the envelope.
A young woman stood there, assessing her coolly. «Ed’s not home.»
Veronica thrust the envelope at her and fled. Her phone died as she tried to call him.
Near the cinema, she paid the driver and wandered inside, ordering cake and coffee, borrowing a charger. The woman’s smirk haunted her.
Later, in the cinema, a message lit up her phone.
*Where are you?*
*At the movies.*
A hand touched her shoulder. She jumped. Ed slid into the seat beside her.
«How’d you find me?»
«Only one cinema in town, love. And five people in it.»
After the film, they walked out.
«Thanks for the envelope. Sorted it already.»
«Efficient,» she said. «That woman handed it to you?»
«My ex. Just collecting her things.»
«She acted like she lived there.»
Ed chuckled. «She’s a dreadful actress. Overdramatic. You weren’t jealous, were you?»
At his car, he opened the door.
«Come home with me. I’ve a surprise.»
Inside, a puppy wobbled over, tail wagging.
«Oh, he’s gorgeous!»
Ed fed the pup. «Tea? I’ve got pastries.»
As they sat, she confessed—her ex, the betrayal, her friend’s suicide.
Ed held her. «You’re not to blame.»
Carrying her upstairs, everything after felt like a dream.
Next morning, he served breakfast on the terrace. Sunlight warmed them; birds sang. The puppy chased butterflies.
«Veronica,» Ed said softly. «Be my queen. Marry me.»
Happiness surged through her. She paused, but her eyes betrayed her.
«Yes.»