Lena's pov
"Come on, Adam!"
"I'm coming! Don't pull!" he says, tugging his arm free from my hand.
"All right, all right," I laugh, crouching to fix his collar. "Have a good day, yeah? I'll see you later."
"Okay."
"Give us a kiss."
He leans in, half embarrassed. "Muuah."
"Bye!"
"Byeee!"
I wave until he disappears through the school gate, then turn to leave. My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Unknown number:
This is me.
If you're not working tomorrow, do you want to go to the gym maybe?
I can give you a day pass.
Oh, it's Adele by the way. x
I stop mid-step, frowning. "Oh, bloody hell," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head.
At the office, deb's the first to greet me.
"Morning!" she chirps. "Somebody got out of bed on the wrong side today."
I blink. "Sorry?"
She nods toward Adrian's door. "Your boss. He was in before me , didn't even say good morning. Miserable bugger. But then again, they say that about the Scots, don't they?"
"Stingy?" I tease.
"And miserable," she says, smirking, one hand on her hip.
"We all have our off days," I reply, logging into my laptop. "Doesn't mean we have to share them, though."
Deb grins. "Want tea?"
"I'd love one."
I grab the file from my desk and head for Adrian's office, knocking lightly before pushing the door open.
He looks up, face unreadable. "Do you need something?"
"Just bringing these for your 10:30," I say, forcing a smile.
"On the desk's fine."
I walk over and place the files down, slow and steady. He's watching me , not kindly, not cruelly, just… distant.
"Leave it," he says again, sharper this time. "And can you knock next time?"
"I did," I shoot back before I can stop myself. "But next time, I'll wait to be summoned."
He blinks, like he wasn't expecting me to talk back. I turn and walk out before he can answer.
Deb raises an eyebrow when she sees my face. "Told you. Bad-tempered Scotsman."
"So it turns out," I mutter, pulling out my phone.
I open Adele's message again, sigh, and type back before I can overthink it:
Sure. But I'm very unfit, so don't laugh at me.
Send. Done.
The door opens, and a young boy storms in with his parents close behind.
"Hi," I say quickly, putting my phone face down. "Dr. Shaw will be with you in a minute."
"Thank you," the mother says politely.
But the boy , Anthony, his file says , is pacing. Hands shaking. Eyes darting.
"I don't wanna do this," he snaps. "I'm not a fucking addict, okay?"
"Anthony, please," his mum says softly.
He turns to me, desperate. "Maybe you'll actually listen. Will you listen?"
"I,"
"Oh my God, it's like I'm invisible!" He raises his voice. "Hello? Can you see me?"
My throat tightens. "I'm afraid you'll have to keep your voice down," I say, trying to sound calm, though my heart's pounding.
"Yeah? Or what?" he shoots back.
Then Adrian's voice cuts through from behind me. "It's okay, Lena. Thanks."
I step aside as he approaches. Somehow, within seconds, he's got the boy calmer, talking softer. It's like watching someone flip a switch.
They head into his office, and I'm left standing there, trying to unclench my fists.
"Can I get you anything?" I ask the parents, forcing a smile. "A cup of tea, maybe?"
"Oh, that'd be lovely," the mum says. "White, no sugar."
"Coming right up."
A while later, Adrian walks out of his office with Anthony
The tension in his shoulders is gone , replaced by that calm, professional face again.
He stops by my desk. "Lena, um, I've booked Anthony Hawkins for another session Friday, same time. 3:45."
"Should I charge for the extra half hour he's had today?" I ask, eyes glued to my computer.
He shakes his head. "No, no. That was my fault. I didn't want to stop him once he started talking."
"I know what Dr. Sharma would say about that," I say, glancing up at him with a half-smile.
"Well…" His mouth twitches. "I won't tell if you won't."
He walks off before I can say anything else.
And for a moment, I just sit there staring at his door , my stomach a mess of nerves I can't explain.
By the time I clock out, the sky's already turning that dull grey-blue that means rain's coming. The office empties around me in drips , Sue first, then the interns , until it's just me and the faint hum of the printer that nobody ever turns off.
I shut my laptop, rub my temples, and finally head out. The air outside is cold, sharp enough to sting my nose. I pull my coat tighter around me and start walking toward the bus stop.
When I get home, the flat feels too quiet.
Adam's drawings are still pinned crookedly on the fridge; his cereal bowl from breakfast is sitting in the sink. I should've washed it this morning.
I hang up my coat, kick off my shoes, and stand there for a moment , not moving, just… listening to the silence.
I put on the kettle, out of habit more than anything. Tea. Always tea.
While the water heats, I check Adam's room , tidy, too tidy
He was asleep already I gave him a peck on his forehead and went back to kitchen.
The kettle clicks off. I pour, stir, and carry my mug to the sofa.
The TV flickers on to some quiz show I don't care about. I just need the noise.
My phone sits on the coffee table, face down.
I reach for it once, twice, then finally pick it up. No new messages.
A quiet laugh slips out. "Pathetic," I mumble to myself, shaking my head.
By ten, I've showered climbed into bed and I dozed off .
The next morning, I walked Adam to school.
"Have a good last day, baby."
"Byeee!"
"Bye! Love ya!"
When I got back home, I started cleaning , dishes, laundry, wiping surfaces that didn't need wiping. Anything to fill the space.
Then the doorbell rang.
Adele.
"Hi," I said, blinking in surprise.
"Hey, good morning."
"Morning." I couldn't help a small laugh. "You found it."
"Nice flat," she said, stepping inside, her eyes darting around , curious, assessing.
"Oh, I don't know about that. You should've seen it earlier. Like a bomb site."
"Feels like a home. Happy."
"Uh,I'll, um, just grab my stuff," I said, backing into my room.
"No rush," she said.
"Tea? Coffee?" I called from the hallway.
"I'm good."
"Help yourself if you change your mind."
I was shoving clothes into a bag when her voice came from the doorway.
"Looking forward to this."
I turned, startled. "You're going to get a right laugh, trust me."
"I promise not to."
But of course she did.
Adele's laugh rang through the gym, bright and unrestrained.
"I think I'm gonna die," I gasped, panting on the treadmill.
"Just ten more seconds!" she said between giggles. "You can do it!"
"Fucking hell… oh God, I'm going to be in agony tomorrow."
She was still laughing.
"You said you wouldn't laugh!"
"I meant it! But it's impossible not to!"
"Eh… well. That's me. Comedy relief," I said, collapsing onto the handlebar.
"It's just practice," she said, still grinning. "You'll be fit as a flea in no time."
"You say that like I'm ever doing this again."
"I'd like a regular gym buddy," she said. "You could come with me on your days off. Come on, I'll show you the weights."
Afterward, we hit the spa. Steam curled around us, soft and lazy.
"Now this," I said, closing my eyes, "I could do all day. Closest I'm getting to a holiday this year."
"You've got a month on your own, at least."
"Yeah," I sighed. "But Adam being gone's gonna be weird. I already feel a bit lost , and he doesn't even leave until tomorrow afternoon."
"Shit."
"What?" Adele asked.
"I forgot to ask for the day off. I wanted to spend it with him."
She smirked. "Just call in sick."
"Should you be giving that kind of advice to your husband's staff?"
She chuckled. "You're my friend. It's one day. It'll mean a lot to him."
"Maybe I will," I said quietly. Then, after a pause: "How long have you been married?"
"Ten years. Since I was twenty."
"Whoa. You weren't hanging about."
"His parents ran the farm on our estate."
"Estate? Like, country estate?"
She laughed softly. "I told you , we have money."
She hesitated, eyes dropping to the floor. "He saved my life, you know. Adrain."
I frowned. "Literally or…?"
"Literally," she said. "The night my parents died. Fire at the house. I was seventeen. He broke in and dragged me out. Got burned pretty badly."
My heart squeezed. "Oh my God, Adele, I'm so sorry."
She smiled faintly. "Don't be. I'm tougher than I look." She stood, brushing imaginary dust from her leggings. "Come on. Let's grab a salad at the café."
"I've got time for pizza."I said
"Same thing, right?"she asked
"It's just salad between two slices of bread. Pizza's salad on top of bread, if you think about it."
She grinned. "Undoing all our hard work."
"Says the woman who eats cake like it's a food group."
"Busted." She glanced at the clock , too fast. Like she'd just remembered something.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yes, fine. Just lost track of time. Let's do lunch at my place. I'll make something. We can sit in the garden." She touched my arm.
I froze for a second , too aware of how soft her hand felt , and gently pulled away.
"Uh… I don't,"
"Please? I'll drop you home after."
I hesitated. But she was already smiling, already halfway to the door.
"Fine," I said. "But if you poison me with salad, I'm ordering pizza on the way back."
She laughed, but there was something in her eyes I couldn't quite read.
Adele's house looks like something out of a magazine.
The kind that makes you want to stand a little straighter, like you don't belong but you'll pretend anyway.
Everything is soft and white , the kind of clean that doesn't come from bleach but from people who can afford help.
Even the air smells expensive, something like lemon and jasmine and… control.
"Wow," I said, half under my breath. "You actually live here?"
Adele smiled, almost shyly. "Feels too big sometimes. Like it's swallowing me up."
I followed her through the hallway, my shoes clicking on the marble. Family photos lined the wall , her and Adrain, smiling stiffly at charity events, holding wine glasses, looking perfect. I tried not to stare too long.
"Come on," she said, waving me toward a room that looked like it came out of an art gallery. "Sit. I'll get us some tea."
While she disappeared into the kitchen, I ran a finger along the edge of a framed painting. Everything here felt untouched, like no one actually lived in it.
When she came back, she had a tray, cups, and a small, battered book.
She set it beside me.
"What's this?"
"Something that might help," she said, eyes flicking to my face. "You mentioned the nightmares."
I frowned. "Yeah. They're… bad lately."
"It's a dream journal," she explained. "Rowan used to write in it , a friend from my time at Westfield. He swore it helped him control his dreams."
"Control them?"
"Lucid dreaming," she said softly, like she was reciting something half-remembered. "It's when you realize you're dreaming and can change what happens. I used to… try it too. After the fire."
Her voice trailed off, her gaze drifting somewhere behind me.
I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded and held the book. The pages smelled faintly of smoke and paper that had been folded too many times.
"Try it," she said finally. "It might help."
I went back home to spend time with adam and pack his bags
"You sure you packed your charger?" I asked.
"Yes, Mum."
"And your toothbrush?"
"Yes, Mum."
I smiled but it felt brittle. "Okay. I'm just checking."
I got a text from his Alex I'm downstairs
I groaned…okay adam it's time to go "Come here," I said, opening my arms.
I love you mummy he said while hugging me tightly
I love you too baby.
After adam left the house was quiet again.
I opened the journal Adele had given me.
Rowan's handwriting was small, neat, a bit obsessive. Lines about "waking inside the dream" and "holding onto the feeling."
He wrote about Adele too , about her laugh, about wanting to protect her.
There was something tender and desperate in the words, something that made me feel like I was reading someone's secret.
I was halfway through when a knock startled me.
I froze. Checked the time.
9:42 p.m.
When I opened the door, it was Adrain
"Oh. It's you."
The words came out wrong , too surprised, too pleased. I tried to rearrange my face into something more neutral, but it was too late. He'd already seen it.
"You called in sick." He shifted his weight, hands shoved deep in his pockets like a schoolboy. "I was… I was nearby. Thought I'd check."
Liar. We both knew it.
"It was a headache." I stayed in the doorway, one hand on the frame. Keeping distance. Keeping control.
"Right."
"It was killing me this morning." I touched my temple, looked past him at the street. Anywhere but his face. "I'm fine now."
"Good. That's," He nodded like a bobblehead. "That's good."
God, he was nervous. Something about that made my chest ache.
I exhaled. I couldn't keep lying. "That's not true. It wasn't a headache."
He waited. Just stood there, patient, like he had all night.
"My son. It was his last day before he left for France, and I wanted…" I crossed my arms, trying to hold something in. "I meant to ask before, but,"
"I was acting like a prick."
"Yeah." I couldn't help it , I laughed. "A bit, yeah."
We stood there in my doorway. Mrs. Patterson's TV blared through the wall , some game show, all canned laughter and bells.
This was stupid. He was married. He was my boss. This was every kind of stupid.
"Do you want to come in?"
His flat was probably huge. Probably pristine. Mine felt shabby suddenly , the chipped mug in the sink, the stack of bills on the counter I kept meaning to file. But I poured wine anyway, grabbed two glasses that didn't match because I'd broken one last month and never replaced it.
"Your place is nice."
"Thanks." I waved at the sofa, trying not to notice how he filled the space, how my flat felt different with him in it. "Sit."
We sat on opposite ends like strangers on a bus. I took a long drink. The silence felt alive, breathing between us.
"Were you really just nearby?" I stared at my wine, watching it catch the light.
"No." He laughed , short, self-deprecating. "No, I, They said you're never sick. And I thought maybe…" He rubbed his face, and I noticed how tired he looked. "I thought maybe it was because of me. Because I was shitty to you, and I didn't want there to be this… I didn't want us to…"
"Ever the conversationalist, Adrian."
"Christ. Sorry."
"Why are you really here?" I needed to know. Needed to hear him say it.
"I didn't want to go home."
The words hung there, honest and terrible. I watched him pour more wine, his hands unsteady, a bit splashing on my coffee table. He didn't even notice.
"I've been walking around for an hour. Found myself outside and I just…" He stopped. Started again. "You know, I wondered if it was fate. Us meeting in that bar."
My stomach dropped. "I think it was bad luck."
"That how you see it?"
I finally looked at him. Really looked. "All things considered? It didn't work out great for me, did it? I finally meet someone I actually…" Don't say it. Don't. "Someone I could actually like, and he's married."
"So you did like me."
I threw a pillow at his stupid, hopeful face. "Men and their bloody egos."
But we were laughing, both of us, and Christ, when was the last time I'd laughed like this? Real laughing, the kind that makes your stomach hurt.
"I kissed you first," I said, quieter. The memory of it rushed back , his mouth, his hands in my hair. "First time I'd kissed anyone in ages."
"We really laughed, didn't we? That night."
"Yeah."
"People should be able to do that. Make each other laugh. That should always be there, whatever else happens."he said with a squint in his eyes
I just looked at him. At this man who belonged to someone else, sitting on my sofa, talking about laughter like it was revolutionary.
"How long have you been together? You and your wife."
"Long time." He stared into his glass like he could see something there. "Forever, really."
"She's very beautiful."I saw her picture in your office Blonde, elegant, the kind of woman who probably never had mismatched wine glasses I said while chuckling
"Yes." One word, heavy as a stone. "We haven't laughed in… I keep thinking about you."
My heart hammered. "That's not fair, Adrian."
"I know."
I stood up. Walked to the door. Opened it. If I didn't, I'd do something stupid. "You should go home."
"Lena,"
He handed me his glass. Our fingers touched.i felt butterflies in my stomach immediately
I didn't know when I kissed him.
I pulled back, gasping. What was I doing? "Bye."
But I could see my own want reflected in his eyes, and I hadn't let go of the glass, and then he was pulling me back in. The door slammed shut. We stumbled down the hall, my back hitting the wall, his mouth on my neck, my hands pulling at his shirt. We fell onto my bed , my unmade, ordinary bed , and I was on top of him, both of us breathing like we were drowning.
After, I stared at the ceiling. His arm was heavy across my stomach. I could feel his heart beating through his chest, pressed against my side.
This was bad. This was so bad.
"I should…" He sat up, started reaching for his clothes.
"Did you just wipe me off?" The words came out before I could stop them. "Sorry. That was gross."
"Took two of us, didn't it?"
"Still." I wrapped myself in the sheet, suddenly cold. "You don't have to,"
"I should go."
Of course he should. Of course.
"What were we thinking?" I wasn't really asking. There was no good answer.
"We weren't. I guess." He sat on the edge of my bed, putting on one shoe. "We weren't thinking."
I pulled my knees up, made myself small. "I won't… at work. I won't say anything."
"Thank you." He tied his other shoe.
Better if we keep things like this out of the office."
"Right. Things. Like shagging." I tried to smile. Failed. "That sort of stuff."
He laughed, but it sounded sad. Everything felt sad suddenly.
"Go on, Adrian." I looked at him sitting there, half-dressed, caught between staying and leaving. "It's all right."
He kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes and tried to memorize it , his lips, his breath, the smell of him.
"Goodnight, Lena."
"Bye."
The door clicked shut.
I sat there, wrapped in the sheets, the smell of him still on my skin.
The journal was still open on the floor.
Rowan's words stared up at me, the ink dark and unshakable.
I'd do anything for him.
And somewhere deep down, I couldn't tell who'd he meant.