The Leash of Fate
Soft yet insistent morning sunlight slipped through the thin curtains, painting golden ripples across the sleeping womans face as though whispering, *”Wake up, the world is beautiful and waiting.”* Freya stretched beneath the sheets, savoring the lightness in her limbs after a deep, dreamless sleep. It was a hard-earned lightnessyears of discipline had carved this peace into her bones.
Eight years, two months, and seventeen days had passed since shed shown her husband the door. Not that she was countingthe date had simply burned itself into her memory as the start of her real life. Their son, James, was grown now, a self-sufficient man studying in Edinburgh, barely visiting home. Just phone calls, his voice tinny through the receiver, familiar yet growing ever more distant.
*”Mum, exams, then a part-time job, and Ellie and I”* shed hear, masking the ache with a bright, *”Of course, love! Im fine, really!”* And she wasnt lying. Her life was fullorderly, purposeful.
At forty-three, Freya felt thirty in spirit. Slender, sharp-eyed, with a quiet grace, she looked younger than her years. The secret was simple: four years of ritual. Up at dawn, a jog, a bracing shower, a sensible breakfast, then off to the office. She was a manager at a reputable firm, her punctuality legendary. The director, a man with an uncanny knack for spotting tardiness, loathed sloppiness.
Shed seen it oftenhim materializing in the hallway at 9:01 sharp before some hapless latecomer. *”Running behind, are we? Earlier alarms, perhaps? Explanation on my desk!”* His voice, low and final, could make even the innocent flinch.
Respected by her colleagues, Freya was sharp, driven, and unpretentious. Her personal life, though, had been quiet since the divorce. Work, self-care, and her loyal Labrador, Baxteraffectionately called “Baxy”filled her days.
Baxy had arrived four years ago, sparking those life-giving morning runs. He was her alarm clock, her coach, her confidant. A glossy chocolate-brown with wise, gentle eyes, he was effortless company, his easy temperament the perfect antidote to solitude. Years ago, when choosing a breed, a friends husband had advised, *”Get a Labrador. Theyre friends, therapists, antidepressantsall in one.”* He hadnt been wrong.
Pets had been forbidden during her marriage to Richard. *”If you bring some mangy mutt into this flat, Ill toss it off the balcony myself,”* hed snarled, eyes so venomous shed believed him.
In the end, *she* had nearly thrown *him* off the balconymetaphoricallywhen hed raised a drunken hand to her. She hadnt the strength, only the will. That night, shed wept in the bedroom while he raged in the living roomuntil hed slammed the door himself, taking the bags shed packed. Fifteen years, the last three a slow unraveling into hell. Richard had failed as a husband, as a fatherselfish, perpetually aggrieved. That slap had been the last straw. Thank God James hadnt been home.
*”Better alone than trapped in that ugliness,”* shed thought then. And shed been right. For eight years, shed been happy. Men were kept at arms lengthRichard had soured her for good.
—
The August morning hummed with summers last warmth. Freya rose and peered into the hallBaxy was already waiting by the door, leash clamped in his jaws, tail drumming the floor. *”Good boy! Who needs an alarm with you around?”* She laced up her trainers. *”Right then, off we go!”*
Their park was just across the road, a green haven of tidy paths. Mornings bustled with joggers, cyclists, fellow dog walkers. Freya unclipped Baxys leash, and he bolted ahead, glancing back to ensure she followed.
She jogged leisurely, nodding at familiar strangersthe usual dawn brigade. Then, from behind the lilacs, a yowl. Freya veered off the path and froze. Baxy stood rigid before a tiny black kitten, ears flattened in terror. Her heart lurchedshe knew he wouldnt harm it, but instinct hurled her forward
The world flipped. Her foot caught on a hidden stone, twisting with a sickening *crack*. White-hot pain seared through her. She crumpled with a gasp, vision swimming. *”Nonot this”* Her leg jutted at a grotesque angle. *”Baxy, what have you done?”* The kitten had vanished. Baxy licked her cheekthen dashed away.
Desolation gripped her. Pain, fear, thoughts of work, of being aloneall tangled into a suffocating knot. She tried to rise, failed. Tears came unbidden.
—
Meanwhile, Baxy raced down the path like a mad thing. He found the man he soughttall, athletic, a regular at the park. Skidding to a halt, the dog barked frantically.
*”Hey, mate! Wheres your mum?”* The man frowned. Baxy barked again, then bolted back, glancing to ensure he was followed.
The manOliverparted the lilacs and saw her: pale, tear-streaked, leg twisted beneath her. *”Morning,”* he said mildly, kneeling. *”Or not-so-morning, I see. Your clever lad raised the alarm.”*
Freya gritted her teeth. *”Legcant move it.”*
*”Ambulance, then,”* he said, calm as Sunday. His steadiness soothed her.
The paramedics arrived swiftly. *”Fracture, likely displaced,”* one confirmed. *”Hospital for scans and setting.”*
*”ButBaxy? Ive no one to”*
*”No dogs allowed,”* the nurse said firmly.
Oliver reached for the leash. *”Ill take him.”*
*”Weve only just metIm Freya.”*
*”Oliver. Sorted. Numbers exchanged?”* He said it like offering to carry shopping.
As the ambulance pulled away, Freya watched Baxy whine, straining toward her while Oliver held him fast, murmuring reassurance.
—
Oliver ran a garage and parts shop. Divorced a year priorhis wife had left him for a younger man. His father, shrewd, had insisted the business stay in his name. *”Lifes unpredictable, son.”* Now, he was grateful for that foresight.
That evening, his phone rang. *”Oliver? Hospital here. Your friends fractures complex. Shell need time.”*
*”Are there simple fractures?”* Oliver grinned.
*”Plenty!”* The doctor laughed. *”Visiting hours open. Shell need rides to check-ups after discharge.”*
Freya lay in her hospital bed, leg encased in plaster, staring at the window. She missed Baxy, hated her helplessness, loathed burdening a stranger. When Oliver arrived with fruit and juice, tears welled again.
*”Oi, none of that,”* he said, unloading his haul. *”Baxy sends love. Model houseguest. Misses you, though.”*
He joked, told stories, and Freyadespite herselfsmiled. Oliver noticed. Noted how her smile lit her face.
A week later, discharged, she called him. *”Oliver, could you? Ive crutches, I can manage a taxi”*
*”Already on my way,”* he interrupted.
At the hospital, he helped her into his car. From the back seat, a chocolate-brown whirlwind launched at herBaxy, ecstatic, licking her hands, her face, whining with joy. *”Baxy! Oh, my good boy!”* She hugged him, weeping openly.
Oliver carried her upstairs, then fetched groceries. *”Back in a few. Ring if you need anything.”*
Alone, Freya laughed through tears while Baxy nuzzled her, as if saying, *”Ive got you.”*
—
And so their odd trio began. Oliver came dailywalked Baxy at dawn so she could rest, returned evenings with food, cooked, cleaned. He drove her to appointments, steadied her on crutches, made her laugh. They talked endlesslybooks, old films, the quiet joys of routine.
She saw past his confidence to the loneliness beneath. He saw her strength, her quiet gratitude.
Months passed. The cast came off. A bleak autumn day, rain needling the windows, Oliver arrived with roses, groceries, champagne. *”Birthday today,”* he said, winking at Baxy, who wagged his tail.
*”You never said! Ive no giftyouve done so much”*
*”Freya,”* he said softly, taking her hands. *”Im happier than you know. When youre ready
