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Everything has it's beginning. There are events that come before that, which others claim are the real cause, but it's important to be able to put your finger on one point, one certain moment in time and say that this, right here, is when it all really began.

London. Largest city in England, claiming more people living and working in one square mile than can be said for almost any American city. Summer graces it's urban sprawl, sunlight making the streets look cleaner than they are. A gentle breeze, enough to keep the air moving and fresh, blows through the streets. One of those rarest things in England, a perfect summer's day. Near to Hyde Park, the crowded tube train opens it's doors, sending people towards the stairs, not caring about the crush. Tourists from every corner of the planet mingle freely with office workers on their lunch breaks, desperate to be out in the sun. One such worker is not so hurried. Strolling up the steps, he offers a smile to a middle-aged man sat behind a stall, points out a bouquet of flowers, and offers over a ten-pound note. Taking both the flowers and his change, he turns and joins the crowd on the street, walking unhurriedly towards the park.

As he walks, his mind skips back, to the moment that he met her. Green eyes sparkling as she regarded him across the crowded room that held their company Christmas party. He must have been getting old not to have made a move there and then, but his time came. Two months after the party, on a crisp February morning, he had walked her home. The dark night wasn't safe for her, and the ice might make her slip and hurt herself. She'd smiled at the somewhat old-fashioned gesture, and when she smiled her whole face lit up like another sun. The next time, they'd kissed outside her front door as the last snows of the brief British winter fell around them, their noses red with cold but it didn't matter, it was too perfect to matter.

He thought back again, to the first night he had told his wife he would be working late, how he had deadlines he had to catch up on. She had accepted it without batting an eyelid, and he had smiled. That was the night that they first made love, madly, passionately blending into one another. He allowed himself a smile as he walked, it was hardly the last time, either. His wife had been accepting, believing him to be working on an important project, lots of deadlines. She would never know the real reason until it was too late, when there was nothing she could do.

A pang of worry creased in his stomach. He was doing the right thing, wasn't he? Then his mind found another warm thought, when she'd told him that she was pregnant, and in one instant he had told her that he would divorce his wife and marry her if only she'd let him. That had been the best night of his life, surely. Reassured, he walked on, the scent of the flowers lifting his spirits.

Stepping off the curb, he didn't notice the bus. The last thought he had before he blacked out was "Bloody hell, that nearly hit me!"