There’s Always a Way
«Emily, Em, open the door!» Tamara pounded on her neighbor’s door, her voice shaking with tears. «Emily, please, something terrible’s happened!»
Emily leapt from bed, John close behind—they’d only just gone to sleep. The autumn night was pitch-black. Still in her nightdress, she yanked the door open.
«What is it, Tam? What’s wrong?»
«It’s your Mike, Mike’s had an accident…»
«What d’you mean, an accident?» Emily’s legs buckled, and John caught her, his grip tight as he stared at Tamara, dread in his eyes.
«How? Is he alive?» John demanded, steadying Emily while Tamara helped her inside.
«Near the bridge—he hit a tree at full speed. My Daisy ran back from the club in tears, I don’t know how bad it is.»
John pulled on his trousers, snatched a jacket from the hook, and threw it over his bare chest. He bolted into the dark, the village’s few streetlights barely piercing the gloom. The river wasn’t far. A small crowd had gathered. Mike lay in a pool of blood; his motorbike was smashed to pieces nearby.
«Uncle John, we called an ambulance—he’s not responding,» stammered his son’s friend, Tony.
«Mike… Mike, lad,» John choked, bending over his boy, but there was no answer.
The ambulance arrived, its headlights casting harsh beams over Mike’s still form. The paramedic examined him, then shook her head. «I’m sorry. He’s gone.» They loaded him into the ambulance.
«Come to the hospital tomorrow,» the paramedic said gently, stopping John as he tried to climb in after his son. «Your boy’s passed.»
Emily never made it outside. Tamara brought her sedatives and sat with her, waiting for John.
«Well? How’s Mike?» Tamara asked the moment he stepped inside. Emily just stared, wordless.
«He’s gone. Our boy’s gone,» John suddenly broke into loud sobs, the reality crashing over him. «They took him to the hospital morgue.»
The village reeled. No one believed Mike had hit that tree by accident. He was always careful on his bike. The tree stood well off the road. And he never touched a drop. It made no sense.
Mike was well-liked—a decent lad who’d come back from his Army service two years prior, landed a good job in town, and visited his parents every weekend. Polite, hardworking, respectful. Everyone from the village to his factory mates thought the world of him.
It happened on a Saturday evening. He’d spent the day chopping wood for his dad, bathed, had supper, then headed to the club. Except no one saw him there. He must’ve turned back, started his bike, and ridden off. His mum had wondered aloud when she heard the engine: «Thought he was going to the club—why’d he need his bike there?»
What happened in those missing hours? No one knew.
The next morning, John and Tamara’s husband, Nigel, drove to town. Nigel had insisted: «Let me take you in my car, mate. You shouldn’t go alone.»
They learned little—just that Mike was in the morgue. Arrangements would have to wait till Monday.
The whole village turned out for the funeral. Women wept; men smoked in grim silence. Such a waste of a good lad. Everyone agreed—he’d done it on purpose. But why?
Old Mrs. Wilkins muttered, «Such a sin. God gives life, and only He takes it.»
People speculated endlessly. Had he rowed with his parents? His mate Steve dismissed it: «Never. His mum and dad adored him.»
«Maybe a girl broke his heart?» someone suggested. They ran through every lass Mike had ever been seen with.
There was Sarah, his old schoolmate—she’d fancied him for years, but he’d never noticed. Then there was Daisy, Tamara’s daughter. They’d gone to the cinema a few times, sat together on her porch. But to Mike, she’d always just been the girl next door.
«Daisy, did Mike ever say anything?» Tamara pressed. «Was there someone else?»
No one could fathom it. There was no reason for such a desperate act.
But there was a reason. Only one person knew: Kate, the village beauty. She kept her mouth shut.
When Mike first returned from the Army, they’d danced at the club. He’d walked her home—just one of many lads who did. But that night, he’d finally spoken his heart.
«Kate, I’ve loved you for years.» He pulled a tiny box from his pocket—a gold ring. «Brought this back for you. Will you marry me?»
Under the streetlamp, Kate slipped it on, delighted. No one had ever given her anything so fine. She didn’t love him—a village boy with no prospects—but she couldn’t resist the ring.
«Give me time to think,» she’d teased. «Keep it our secret, yeah?»
Mike left floating on air. Every weekend after, he’d ask again. «When, Kate? I can’t wait forever.»
She’d smile coyly. «Patience, love.»
That Saturday, as Mike headed to the club, he saw Kate arm-in-arm with a stranger. He confronted her.
«Who’s this? Have you been playing me?»
Kate laughed cruelly. «You? Marry you? You’ve got nothing—no car, no house. I’m engaged to a bloke with a flat and a business. Get lost.»
Mike stood frozen as they walked away, her laughter ringing in his ears. His world shattered.
He rode home, started his bike, and sped into the dark.
Kate never told a soul. Even when her city bloke left her, she carried the guilt. She married another, but it ended badly. Back in the village with a daughter, her life was no better than anyone else’s.
Folks still say Mike should’ve known—there’s always another way. Life’s too precious to throw away.