It’s Never Too Late

**A Second Chance**

By ten in the morning, the dull March sky had cleared, and the sun broke through the grey veil of clouds. The sea turned a welcoming blue, the waves lapping gently at the pebbled shore. Even the air felt fresher, sharper. It was too fine a morning to stay indoors, so Edward set aside the newspaper hed been reading after breakfast. With a quiet grunt, he rose from his armchair and dressed. The hallway of the guesthouse was emptyno clusters of holidaymakers lounging on the sofas as usual. Even they had ventured outside.

Edward walked along the promenade, the pebbles crunching under the thick soles of his boots. Seagulls cried overhead, their voices bright against the crisp air. The salt breeze filled his lungs, waking him like a tonic.

Once the guesthouses faded behind him, he climbed a gentle slope, stepping through the dry, yellowed grass where timid green shoots had begun to push through. From a distance, he noticed the single bench by the shore was already taken. It always puzzled him why there werent more benches heresuch a perfect spot to sit and watch the sea. He often came when the fickle spring weather allowed.

He almost turned back but changed his mind. The bench wasnt reservedthere was room for him too. And watching the sea with company was better. As he drew closer, he realised the occupant was a woman. At his approach, she glanced up, her gaze flickering over him with disinterest.

She was about his age, perhaps a little younger. Dressed in joggers, a deep maroon hoodie, and trainers, her grey hair was cropped short. Her features were fine. *She must have been beautiful in her youth. Still is,* Edward thought before he could stop himself.

“Lovely morning, isnt it?” he said instead of a greeting.

She didnt reply, only raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Mind if I join you?” He didnt wait for an answer, circling the bench to sit at the other end. “Havent seen you here before. Just arrived?”

“Two days ago,” she said suddenly. Her voice was low, rough at the edges.

“Ive been here a week. You could watch the sea forever. Calms the mind.”

“And do you need calming?” She turned her head, studied him briefly, then looked back to the water.

“What? Oh, no. Just an expression. Though these days, theres plenty to unsettle anyone.” Edward already regretted speaking. Words only spoiled the view.

“So what troubles you?” She sounded almost willing to talk.

“Just like that, eh?” he muttered.

“Why not? Its why you sat here, isnt it? Easier to open up to a stranger.”

“Youre right.” He paused. “Thirty-odd years ago, I came here after my divorce. A wreck. Lonely, desperate. Drove my friends mad with self-pity until they packed me off to the coast.” He chuckled. “Back then, I was younger. The sky bluer, the sea more inviting, the sun brighter. Early autumn. A few brave souls still swam. I tried it once. No bench here thenI used to sit on those rocks further out. One day, I noticed a new face on the promenade. Remember how *The Lady with the Dog* starts? Well, I spotted a young woman walking alone by the shore. She kept smilingjust at the corners of her mouth. I felt something, a kinship. Went to talk to her. Her name was Well, no point in names now.”

They walked, talked. She was married. Her husband much older, dying. Hed called his sister to stay and sent her to the sea for a weeks respiteher first in years. Thats why she smiled so much.

The next day, they met again. And she came. They spent days, nights together. She wasnt recklessquite the opposite. Edward searched for the right words, found none, and fell silent.

“I married for love, but we stopped hearing each other. Even in bed, my wife wasnt thinking of pleasure, just whether to buy our son rollerblades or new trainers. Not that I blamed her. Takes two. But this It was a gift. To a soul starved by a hollow marriage. She loved me fiercely, desperately, like a condemned woman. But time ran out. On my last day, she saw me off at the station. Smiling, wavingtears on her cheeks. And me? It never even crossed my mind to stay.”

“And you never saw her again?” His companions voice was rough.

Shed listened intently, eyes on the sea. Edward almost thought shed been hanging on every word.

“No. I asked for her address. No mobiles back then. Wouldnt have called anywaytoo risky. At first, I missed her terribly. Kept putting off visiting. Then the idea seemed foolish. Why? Her husband was dyingwould I waltz in and make things worse? She had enough grief. Nothing good would come of it. So I decided. Then I lost the address.” Edward trailed off. The woman said nothing.

“Chickened out, I suppose. Failed love does thatgnaws at your confidence. Makes you doubt everything.”

“Beautiful story. You never remarried?”

“No. There were womenwont lie. But none stuck. Kept remembering that week by the sea.”

“Maybe because it was short. No obligations, no disappointments.” She stood.

“Youre leaving?” Edward felt a pang.

“Time to go. You shouldve gone to her. She waited for you.” With that, she walked briskly toward the guesthouses.

Edward stared after her. *What did she mean? A guess? Or* But he didnt follow.

After lunch, restless, he returned to the shore, hoping to see her again. She never came. At dinner, no sign of her either. The next day, he waited on the bench, imagining her younglong dark hair, bright eyes. A jolt ran through him. *It was her. Annie. Bloody old fool.* He rushed to nearby guesthouses, asking after her. One receptionist said a woman matching her description had left early that morning. Her name was Anne.

“Where did she go? Please, her addressyou must have it,” he pleaded.

“What if she doesnt *want* to be found?” the girl reasoned. But when Edward told his story, moved, she relented.

And so he arrived in a strange city. Heart hammering, he climbed to the fourth floor of a brick terrace. Hesitated at the door. *What do I say? After all these years? What if shes married? Shell turn me awayrightly so. But Im here nowring the bell.* Sweat beaded on his brow. *Dont drop dead on her doorstep.* He took a breath and pressed the buzzer.

The door opened. Anne smiledas if shed been expecting him.

“Hello. I knew youd come,” she said simply, stepping aside.

“Sorry its so late,” he gasped, suddenly wishing hed bought flowers.

“Never too late. Just bad timing. Hereslippers. Not my husbands,” she added.

In her cosy kitchen, over tea, she told her story. Her husband died eight months after she returned. Before the end, he said he loved her, bore no grudge. Hed sensed the change in her. Shed waited for Edward. Given up. When he told their tale on the bench, shed nearly confessed it was her. Thrilled he remembered. But he hadnt recognised herso shed dropped a hint as she left.

“I was a coward. Robbed us of years. But its not too late, is it? Fate brought us back. Anne, lets try. Were not old yet. Dont worryI can look after myself. Lived alone long enough. I wont be a burden.” He spoke days later, earnest.

“Were both set in our ways. Starting overs hard. No time left for mistakes. Youre rightfailure makes us cautious. But Im tired of being alone. For what? No children. Its not about wholl bring the glass of water. Were meant to have someone. Maybe weve earned this, after all the losses.” She nodded. “Alright. Lets try.”

What their life would be? Their choice alone.

In youth, we drink loves wine in desperate gulps. With age, it mellows, grows richersavoured sip by sip.

Two lives, shared at last. No grand promises, just quiet hope. And yethow glad I am for them, finding love on the threshold of parting.

Its never too late.

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