Eleanor frantically rummaged through his expensive leather briefcase, her hands trembling uncontrollably, until her fingers finally closed around a small, orange prescription bottle. She fumbled clumsily with the childproof cap, extracted two pills, but they regrettably slipped from his shaking fingers and tumbled onto the gritty sidewalk.
— Hold on, she said, quickly retrieving two more. With utmost care, she placed them gently beneath his tongue, simultaneously steadying his jaw. She simply could not fathom why no one else had paused to offer assistance. A man was clearly struggling for his very life, and the world, with its relentless pace, merely continued its onward march.
— Should I call 911? she asked, holding up her phone, ready to dial.
He weakly shook his head, his eyes remaining tightly shut. Eleanor’s stomach twisted into a knot of apprehension. What if he were to succumb right here on the sidewalk? But gradually, imperceptibly, his breathing grew more regular, and a faint return of color began to grace his pallid face.
Once he managed to stir and move, she carefully assisted him toward a nearby bus stop bench. He produced a crisp handkerchief, wiped the perspiration from his brow, and discreetly slipped another pill under his tongue.
— Feeling better? she inquired softly.
— Much, he affirmed, managing a weak, grateful smile. — I’m Arthur. He extended a hand, his grip surprisingly firm for someone who had just experienced a collapse.
— Eleanor, she replied, shaking his hand warmly. — I’m glad I could be of assistance.
Glancing at her watch, her heart plummeted. She had unequivocally missed her interview.
— You missed something because of me, didn’t you? Arthur asked, his gaze keenly observing her sudden frown.
— It’s fine, she quickly assured him, forcing a reassuring smile. — Helping you was far more important.
— You saved my life, he declared earnestly, his eyes fixed on hers. — I owe you a tremendous debt. May I summon my driver? He can transport you wherever you need to go.
— No, thank you, she politely declined. — I’ll manage perfectly well.
She exhaled, a profound wave of relief washing over her, knowing he was now safe. Work, she told herself, would eventually materialize.
— What exactly happened out there? she asked, settling onto the bench beside him. — Was that a heart attack?
— Something of that nature, Arthur admitted, his eyes distant, clouded with a somber memory. — It’s… the anniversary of my son’s passing. It invariably affects me deeply every single year.
— I am so terribly sorry, Eleanor whispered, her voice infused with genuine empathy. She struggled to articulate appropriate words in the face of such profound grief. — Do you have grandchildren to lean on during these difficult times?
— Not really, he replied rather curtly, then his demeanor softened perceptibly. — I am seventy-four years old. I am acutely aware that any given day could realistically be my last. I have, in truth, made my peace with that inevitability.
Eleanor shivered involuntarily, unsure how to properly respond to such a stark admission. They sat in a comfortable silence until Arthur made a call to his driver. As his luxurious car smoothly pulled away from the curb, Eleanor promptly dialed the company whose interview she had just missed.
— Sorry, we’re completely inundated, a woman’s voice snapped brusquely through the receiver. — The boss is currently managing an unforeseen crisis. Can we reschedule your appointment for the day after tomorrow?
Eleanor nearly let out a shout of pure, unadulterated relief. A second chance! Perhaps even the most prominent figures in the corporate world encountered their own unexpected dramas. Returning home, she embraced Lily tightly and then proposed a delightful park playdate with Noah near the magnificent Buckingham Fountain. Sarah was absolutely thrilled by the suggestion.
— Perfect! Sarah exclaimed, clapping her hands together. — I can finally get my nails done. Noah has been unwell, so I’ve been entirely confined to the house. You are truly the best!
Eleanor found a quiet park bench and settled down, her gaze fixed on Lily as she joyfully chased Noah near the refreshing sprays of the fountain. She replayed her unexpected encounter with Arthur in her mind, a profound mix of quiet pride and genuine awe washing over her. She had undeniably saved a life today. That, she mused, truly meant something significant.
However, her greatest personal triumph had been making the agonizing decision to leave Mark, Lily’s father. It had been, without question, the most arduous choice she had ever been compelled to make. Lily had been born when Eleanor was a mere twenty-two years old, precariously juggling her college studies, a demanding part-time job, and the solemn responsibility of caring for her ailing father, all while simultaneously providing support for her mother and sister. Life had been undeniably challenging, yet somehow manageable—until Mark unexpectedly entered her world.
They had first crossed paths at a vibrant farmers’ market in Springfield. Someone had inadvertently bumped into Eleanor, causing her carefully selected bag of eggs to tumble to the ground, yolks splattering vividly across the pavement. Frustrated and dismayed, she knelt to begin the messy cleanup when a slurred, abrasive voice cut sharply through the market’s cheerful din.
— Watch where you’re going, clumsy!
She glanced up, her eyes narrowing, to find a visibly inebriated man leering at her—the very person who had caused her unfortunate mishap.
— You pushed me! she retorted, her voice sharp with indignation.
— Standing there like a damn statue, he sneered, his tone laced with mockery. — Move it, lady!
Before Eleanor could formulate another response, another man swiftly intervened, holding a pineapple in one hand and casting a piercing glare at the intoxicated individual.
— Apologize to her, or you’ll profoundly regret it, he stated calmly, his voice low and steady.
The drunk scoffed dismissively but instantly froze when the stranger squared his shoulders, his fists visibly clenching at his sides. Muttering a grudging apology, he reluctantly tossed a few dollars toward Eleanor for the broken eggs and then slunk away, retreating into the bustling crowd.
That, as it turned out, was Mark. Brave, undeniably charming, and remarkably quick to come to her defense. She was utterly smitten. They began dating, and for a period, she chose to overlook his increasingly volatile temper, rationalizing it as a misguided form of protectiveness. But following their wedding, the ominous red flags grew increasingly prominent, becoming utterly impossible to disregard.
One particular evening, as she was preparing to dress for a friend’s birthday celebration, Mark unexpectedly blocked the bedroom door.
— Where do you imagine you’re going? he demanded, his voice laced with suspicion.
— To Olivia’s party, she responded, genuinely confused by his aggressive tone.
— Not in that dress, he snapped, his eyes raking over her attire with disapproval. — You look… inappropriate.
Eleanor glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her bright red sundress was undeniably cute, certainly not provocative. But Mark refused to yield.
— You’re a married woman now, he declared with finality. — No more parties for you.