It was a little before dawn when Vince started the Toyota, desperate to get back to the hospital. Last night he’d been there until 2am, overjoyed to be with his wife and new-born son. It seemed more than a miracle. Two years ago, he’d never had a steady girlfriend and had long given up hope of having kids. He remembered standing on the clifftop at Manangra, contemplating the hard granite boulders on the valley floor. Then out of the blue Belinda had come along and now aged 44 he was a father. A father — he could not believe it still. But Evan’s little fingers curling and gripping his pinky was evidence this was no dream. Even his plaintive wah-wah seemed to him the sound an angel must make. Belinda too looked lovelier than ever. Motherhood was good to her. Vince’s heart nearly burst with love. Mother of my son. My beautiful, precious Belinda. A warmth like he’d never known surged through his body. There’s a word for the way he felt — bliss — yes, that’s it. Bliss that gave meaning to his once meaningless life. He turned left on Salisbury Road and realised he was grinning like an idiot. Yet, he could not help himself. He pulled up at the traffic lights and gave a little wave to the motorist beside him, who smiled and nodded as if sensing his own happiness. The lights changed to green just as the sun crested the hill, casting a divine light into his eyes. He turned right and didn’t see the semi-trailer until it smashed into him.
Photo by Aditya Romansa on Unsplash
