Bound to You

The credits rolled up the big screen and the cinema lights came on.

"I enjoyed that," Heather said, gathering up her coat and bag.

"Me too, I like period dramas," I said.

We waited until the rest of the audience thinned out before we stood up.

Heather checked her phone. "Three o'clock. Shall we go to the coffee shop for a panini and coffee before you head off?"

"I'm up for that. It'll set me up for the long drive home."

We made our way through the cinema and stepped out into the late afternoon air.

Heather slipped her arm through mine and we walked down the road.

"There's the coffee shop," she pointed across the road. "Hope they're still doing hot food at this time of day."

"If they haven't got paninis I'll be gutted," I said, pushing the door open.

We stepped into the warmth of the shop and found a small table near the back.

Heather dropped her coat on a spare chair.

"I'll go up," Heather said. "Chicken and pesto or cheese and tomato?"

"Chicken and pesto, please. And a flat white with oat milk if they have it."

She came back a while later carrying a tray with two mugs and two paper-wrapped paninis on small plates.

"They had oat milk," Heather said, sliding a mug across the table. "But they only had one chicken and pesto left, so I grabbed it. I got mozzarella and tomato."

"I'm happy to swap."

"It's fine, honestly."

"Ok, thanks, Sis." I wrapped my hands around the warm mug and took a sip.

Heather unwrapped her panini.

"So," she said, taking a bite. "How are Tom and the girls?"

"Good. Busy as usual. Tom's got them obsessed with learning the violin, which is as noisy as it sounds."

"Poor you. Can you play?"

"Not a note. I just nod and look impressed from the kitchen." I took a bite of my panini. "How's work treating you?"

"Same old. Though my boss is on annual leave next week, so peace at last."

"That's something."

Heather stared down at her plate for a second, pushing a stray bit of tomato around with her finger. "Speaking of peace, I had a text from Dave from the office on Tuesday."

I raised an eyebrow over my mug. "Dave? The one with the gelled hair?"

"No, that's Dan. Dave is the quiet one in accounts. He asked if I fancied a drink after work."

"And?"

"And I said no." Heather sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "I don't know why I bother. Every time someone normal pops up on the radar, I manage to find a reason why it won't work, or they turn out to be completely dull. It's getting ridiculous."

"You're too picky," I said gently.

"I'm not picky. I just don't want to spend my Friday nights staring across a pub table wondering if watching paint dry would be more stimulating."

"Fair point."

"I'm just tired of the whole dating roundabout," she muttered, taking a sip of her coffee. "Maybe I'll just get a cat."

"You're thirty-two, Heather, not eighty. Don't resign yourself to the cat lady life just yet."

She gave a small, reluctant smile. "Ask me again after another six months of single life."

We finished eating in comfortable silence while the evening traffic hummed outside the window.

"Right," I said, checking my watch. "I better hit the road. It's getting dark and I'd like to get home before the girls go to bed."

Heather walked with me to my car. She turned and hugged me.

"Thanks for the weekend," I said, wrapping my arms around her.

"Safe journey, Sis. Text me when you get through the front door."

"I will. I'll give you a call about half term."

I got in the car and sent a text.

Me:

Just leaving now x

After a few moments:

Tom:

Ok love. Have a safe journey x

I pulled out of the car park and started my journey home.

After driving through town, the roads eventually gave way to dark, narrow country lanes.

Suddenly, headlights filled my car in a bright light, blinding me. Something hit the side of my car, sending me spinning off the road into a horrific crash of grinding metal--and then sudden silence.

+++++++++

Tom checked his phone for the umpteenth time. Where was she?

He phoned her again. It went straight to voicemail, as it had the last three times.

Elsie sat at the kitchen table with her violin across her lap, picking idly at a string, while Gracie was colouring in her latest sketchbook at the table.

"Is Mum nearly here?" Gracie asked.

"Any minute now," Tom said, checking his phone again.

By eight o'clock, the meal he had cooked for them all was sitting covered on the counter, going cold. The girls had picked at it, but even they couldn't settle because she wasn't here.

He waited another twenty minutes, standing by the kitchen window with a mug of coffee in his hand.

He phoned again, but her voicemail message came through.

"Hi, you've reached Claire. Leave a message."

"Hey, love," Tom said, keeping his voice quiet for the girls. "I'm getting worried. Just wondering where you've got to. Please call me when you get this."

He called Heather. It picked up on the second ring. "Tom? Is everything alright?"

"Is she still there with you?" Tom asked, his voice tight.

"What? No, she left around four. Why, what's going on?"

"She's not home yet. Her phone's going straight to voicemail."

"What do you mean she's not home? It's a two and a half hour drive. She should have been back by six-thirty, give or take the traffic."

"I know that," he said, sharper than he intended. He glanced at the table where Elsie had stopped picking at her violin strings, watching him.

"Daddy, who's on the phone?" Gracie asked, looking up from her colouring in. "Is that Mummy?"

"No, sweetheart, it's Auntie Heather. Go back to your picture." He pressed the phone to his ear and turned away. "Sorry, Heather. I'm just worried."

"Me too. Look, I'll try her and give you a call back."

"Ok."

She called back five minutes later.

"Straight through to voicemail for me, too."

"I'm going to phone the police. Something's not right."

"Ok," Heather said without hesitation.

"Stay by your phone, Heather. I'll call you as soon as I've spoken to them."

"I'm not moving. Call me the second you know anything."

He ended the call, took a breath, then dialled 101.

He went through the automated options and waited, but after a couple of minutes on hold, the line rang through to an operator. He explained the situation and gave Claire's name, her registration, and the route she was driving. The operator logged the details, promised to flag it with the local force, and told him to sit tight.

Ten minutes later, his phone rang. He snatched it up, seeing a number he didn't recognise.

"Hello?" he said, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Is this Tom Davies?" a voice asked.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"My name is Sergeant Miller, Dorset Police. I'm calling in regards to Claire Davies."

He went completely still. Elsie looked up from the table, her eyes wide, sensing the shift in the room.

"What's happened?" Tom's voice cracked. "Is she alright?"

"There's been a road traffic collision," the officer said, the professional detachment in his voice doing little to soften the blow. "Her vehicle left the carriageway. Paramedics have transported her to the nearest hospital. I'll text you the details. You need to get down here as soon as possible, Mr. Davies."

"Is she... is she alive?"

"The medical staff are with her now. I'm sorry, but I can't give you further details over the phone. Myself or another officer will meet you when you arrive."

He stood frozen for a second, the phone glued to his ear, before reality crashed down. "Right. Yeah. I'm on my way as soon as I get your text."

He ended the call, his hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped the phone. He looked at Elsie and Gracie, their small faces staring up at him with sudden fear.

"Dad? What's wrong?" Elsie asked.

He went and knelt down by the table. He took a deep breath, looking between them.

"Mum's been in an accident. We need to go and meet her at the hospital."

"Is she ok, Dad?" Gracie asked, tears running down her cheek.

He pulled them both to him. "Get your coats on, we've got a long journey."

As Tom grabbed his coat and car keys, a message came through with the hospital details.

He phoned Heather.

"Tom, what's happening?"

"She's been in an accident. She's in hospital."

"What? Where?"

"I don't know any more than that. I've got to go. I'll text you the hospital details I've just received."

Gracie hurried into the living room. She came back clutching Claire's favourite cardigan from the sofa, holding it tightly to her body before climbing silently into the back seat of the car.

The hospital was over a hundred miles away. He kept his foot down, watching the speedometer climb as the dark roads stretched out ahead of him. In the back seat, the girls were completely silent, both staring out of their windows. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, silently praying she was going to be ok.

+++++++++

I woke to warm sunshine on my body. I was disoriented. I was confused.

The ground was cold and every part of my body screamed in agony. I couldn't feel anything else, just my pain and a desperate need to get back to my family.

I went to stand up. My knees buckled and I fell back on the damp grass, inhaling air which seemed impossibly warm on my skin.

A wave of panic flooded through me. A hundred miles of open countryside, hills, motorways, and winding lanes separated me from Tom and the girls.

I tried to scream, but nothing came out.

My heart pounded frantically against my ribs--the sheer unadulterated fear of a mother stranded a hundred miles away from her family.

No. I wasn't ready to be dead. I wasn't done

I stood up, and every instinct in me pointed in one direction--towards home.

I just kept moving, driven by a relentless need to get back to my family and let them see that I was ok.

My body felt wrong. Every time I tried to run across the open fields, the wind caught me, lifting my feet off the ground in strange bounding leaps.

I felt hollow and lightheaded, like the impact of the crash had broken something very deep inside my body.

I blamed the concussion. Severe head trauma messes with your balance, making the ground feel unsteady, turning a normal stride into a chaotic scramble.

I stayed low, slipping through the tangled hedgerows by the side of the road.

Whenever a vehicle went past, I dropped flat into the scrub, breathless and rigid, every frantic twitch of my body entirely out of my control.

I told myself it was the shock. That my brain was fried and my exhaustion was distorting everything.

I walked until my legs went numb, then crawled when my knees gave out.

I skirted the edges of sleeping villages in the dark, too desperate to ask for help.

I hid in the shadow of dense blackberry bushes when the afternoon sun grew too bright. I plucked ripe berries from the branches to stave off the hunger, wrapping my arms around myself and whispering their names into the air.

Tom. Elsie. Gracie.

Every time I left one field, there was another ahead of me. It felt never-ending.

My eyes stung, deprived of sleep. I heard the scurry of field mice rustling deep within the grasses and the kestrels overhead calling sharp, high whistles.

I told myself the trembling lightness in my bones was just the crash and the hunger playing tricks on my nerves.

I just kept going. They were waiting for me to come home.

For a long time, there was only the heavy clouds above the hills and the relentless drizzle soaking through my clothes.

My trainers were soaked through, dragging heavily in the chalky mud.

My fingers were stiff inside woollen gloves and had lost their warmth hours ago.

Keep moving. It was a mother's pure instinct.

I was thirty-four when my world tilted on its axis and went black.

+++++++++

The hospital signs came into view just ahead of him on his left. He turned into the hospital entrance, made his way to the car park, and pulled into the nearest available bay.

"Come on, girls," he said, his voice quiet. "Let's go inside."

He took hold of their hands and they made their way to the A&E department. They walked through the automatic doors and up to the reception desk.

"How can I help you?" the man from behind the screen asked.

"My wife is here. Claire Davies."

The man checked his screen. "Can you give me her date of birth?"

"Five ten ninety-two."

"She's in the intensive care department. If you give me a moment, I'll get someone to come and take you through."

He picked up the phone and talked quietly to someone on the other end.

A few minutes later, a man walked over to them.

"Mr. Davies?"

"Yes."

"I'm Sergeant Miller. We spoke on the phone."

The officer glanced down at the girls, a flicker of genuine sympathy crossing his face.

"And these are your daughters?"

"Yes. Where is she?"

"If you follow me, I'll take you to the intensive care department."

They followed him down a maze of corridors, the girls' gaze drawn to each room they passed, quietly searching for their mum.

Finally, Sergeant Miller led them through a set of double swing doors into a quieter, restricted corridor, stopping outside a brightly lit room with a large glass window.

Standing just outside the doorway was a middle-aged woman in pale blue scrubs.

"Mr. Davies, this is Dr. Hayes," the officer said, stepping aside.

Dr. Hayes stepped forward. "Mr. Davies. I'm Dr. Hayes, the attending consultant on duty tonight."

"How is she?" Tom asked, his hand gripping hers tightly. "Is she awake? Can we see her?"

She looked down at the two girls holding onto Tom's jacket before meeting Tom's eyes.

"Why don't we step inside a side room," she said gently. "I need you to understand what you're walking into."

She closed the door behind them. "Your sister-in-law is already in there with her."

"How's Claire doing?"

"Her vehicle took the brunt of the collision on the driver's side. The paramedics managed to revive her at the scene and got a pulse back during transport, but the head trauma and internal injuries were... severe."

He felt the floor drop out from under him and he gripped the girls' hands tighter.

"Are you ready to go in?"

He nodded.

She pushed the door open. He ushered the girls inside, pulling them close to his side. Heather was sitting by the bed holding Claire's hand. She looked up and came over to the three of them.

She hugged him. "Oh, Tom."

She held onto him tightly for a few seconds before letting go and bending down to wrap her arms around Elsie and Gracie.

"Auntie Heather, is Mummy asleep?" Gracie whispered into her neck.

Heather swallowed hard, pulling back to look at them. "She's resting, sweetheart. The doctors are taking care of her."

Tom stared past her toward the bed. Claire lay completely still beneath a heavy white blanket, a bank of monitors hummed quietly beside her, and a clear plastic tube ran into her mouth. Her face was pale, almost unrecognisable under a dark purple bruise that stretched across her temple.

"I'll leave you all to spend some time together," the doctor said. She stepped back out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

He sat down by the bed. He reached out, his hand trembling, and took Claire's limp hand into his own.

"I'm here, love," he whispered, a tear finally breaking free and tracking down his cheek. "We're all here."

+++++++++

I remembered the sterile white of the hospital room. The beep of a monitor slowing down to a flat, endless tone, and the tearing sensation of being taken away from everything that I loved.

I remembered Tom's face, pale and wet with tears, his forehead pressing against my hand. I remembered Heather and the girls. Elsie with her serious ten-year-old eyes, and Gracie, only eight, clutching my favourite cardigan.

I wasn't supposed to be here. But a soul pulled taut by a love so fierce can't just disappear into the soil. It finds a way back.

My legs moved with a frantic rhythm over the top of the hill. The wind whipped my hair across my face, stinging my cheeks, but I barely felt the cold.

Every step took me closer to home.

By the third day, the exhaustion had stripped my humanity down to raw nerve endings.

I didn't stop for food. I didn't take cover when the afternoon rain came in off the sea. I just walked, my eyes set ahead, guided by an internal compass. I didn't care about my torn jeans, bleeding heels, or the mud caked deep beneath my fingernails.

My senses grew sharper as the days passed. I could hear the field voles deep in the grass before I saw them. I could track the flight of a blue tit darting through the blackthorn bushes.

My eyes caught every movement, every reflection from the rain water in the tractor ruts. It was as if every nerve ending in my body had been peeled raw and stretched to breaking point.

Tom, I whispered as I climbed the final hill. I'm coming home to you.

Down in the valley, I could see my village in the distance. My heart hammered against my ribs.

I picked up my pace, stumbling down the steep chalk path, sliding through the wet bracken, desperate to reach them.

It was dark by the time I reached the edge of the village.

My breath came in ragged gasps. My fingers were raw, every step jolting up through my feet. The frantic beat of my heart inside me only grew louder, a pull drawing me closer to home.

The lane was quiet when I finally got there. The streetlights were on.

I walked up the lane towards my house and slipped through the gap in the hedge at the bottom of the garden.

My trainers sank into the damp bark chips in the flowerbed. The thorny branches of the old rosebush tore at my coat, snagging the fabric, but I barely felt it.

I looked at the house. It was a house holding its breath, waiting for me to come home.

Inside, the house was dark. Upstairs they would be asleep, tucked beneath duvets in rooms we'd decorated together. Elsie would have kicked her duvet off. Gracie would be curled into a tight ball clutching her rag doll. Tom would be lying on his side of our bed, staring at the empty space beside him, waiting for me.

I pulled myself up onto the wooden bench where we sit on summer evenings, drinking a glass of wine and watching the girls play.

My knees trembled under the weight of my exhaustion. I was tired. I would sleep now and be ready for them in the morning.

A violent shiver racked my body. My limbs felt impossibly light.

Just leave, a cold, quiet voice drifted through the exhaustion. Go to the graveyard

Rest where it's quiet

No. I'm not going anywhere

How could I leave when they were right there? How could any amount of cold or rain outweigh the agony of being this close and yet so impossibly far away? I was a mother tied to a stake, waiting for her family to see me.

When the sky finally began to lighten, a light came on upstairs. Tom was up. He was always the first up.

I waited for what seemed ages before the kitchen light came on. I saw him at the kitchen sink, filling the kettle for his morning coffee as he did every day. His face looked drawn, sad.

You don't have to be sad anymore, darling. I'm home now

I heard voices. It was Gracie and Elsie coming into the kitchen.

I ran to the window and put my hand on the glass.

I'm here

Elsie looked at the window.

"There's someone outside, Dad."

I stepped back.

I heard the key unlocking the door. I stepped back a little bit further.

The door opened and Tom stepped out into the garden, a mug of coffee in his hand.

Elsie followed him out.

He looked around. "There's no one out here, darling."

"I'm sure I saw something."

They couldn't see me. Why couldn't they see me?

"Come on, it's cold out here, let's go back inside."

They turned around and stepped back into the kitchen.

Wait for me, I called out.

They didn't hear me. The door closed and I heard the key in the lock.

A tear ran down my face and my head dropped.

I looked at my arms. They weren't arms anymore. They were slender, grey-brown wings.

The truth, long denied and fiercely suppressed by the sheer, desperate willpower of a mother's ghost, crashed over me. I hadn't walked across the downs in muddy trainers. I hadn't pressed my palms against the glass or huddled in the mud.

I was a robin. A tiny, twenty-gram bird with a rust-orange breast and a heart beating five hundred times a minute, driven across counties by an instinct so ancient and fierce it had tricked even my own mind into wearing a human face.

+++++++++

"Go and get ready for school, girls, and I'll get breakfast sorted."

They quietly went up to their bedroom and got changed before going back downstairs to the kitchen.

The cereal and toast were already laid ready for them.

After eating their breakfast and putting the dishes in the dishwasher, Gracie wandered over to the back door. She looked out into the garden.

"Mummy," she whispered.

"She's not there, Gracie," Elsie said.

"She is. Look."

Elsie got up from the table and went to the back door.

"Where?"

Gracie pointed to the tiny robin perched on the balustrade in front of them, looking right back at them.

"There."

+++++++++

They could see me. They knew I was home.

I launched myself upwards with a sudden, effortless lightness. I soared, climbing high above the garden.

I didn't fly far. Just high enough to wait for the front door to open, to see my girls step out onto the path with their school bags, ready to face the world.

As they walked down the path, I dipped my head and ruffled my feathers.

Go on, I whispered in the wind. I'm right here. I'm home