The hospital corridor was drenched in the blinding afternoon sun. Emily squinted for a heartbeat, and when she opened her eyes her heart seemed to stop, then race like a stallion.
There he was, walking toward herher husband, the one whose smile she could picture down to the tiniest crowfeet. It couldnt be real; he had been dead for three long years.
Just ghosts playing tricks, I heard her think, and she clenched her handbag handle as if that would yank her back to reality.
The man drew nearer, and it was unmistakable that he looked exactly like her late husband: the same height, the same gait, the same features. Only his gaze was sharper, more restrained. He stared at her without blinking, awestruck as if he, too, had seen a spectre.
Emilys cheeks flushed hotly. She lowered her eyes shyly and slipped past him into the ward where her aunt was staying. She had no family left but her aunt, and after the operation she needed special care.
The next encounter with the ghost happened in the dressing room.
Emily was wheeling an empty trolley when she spotted him in a white coat, murmuring to a nurse. The squeak of wheels made him look up, and he froze, his stare as direct and probing as it had been the day before.
Dr. Turner, the nurse called brightly, breaking the awkward silence. Anything else?
No, thank you, he replied, nodding, though his eyes remained fixed on Emily.
She, cheeks still pink, hurried away with the trolley, feeling like an embarrassed schoolgirl.
Days in the hospital drummed slowly on. Their eyes met repeatedly in the hallways, and each time Emily felt a childlike thrill, a burst of joy in her chest. The doctor would sometimes visit the ward to check on her aunt, always courteous and professional, yet his gaze invariably lingered on Emily a fraction longer than necessary.
One evening, just as Emilys son Tommy was about to start his night shift, she stepped into the lobby for a drink of water. By the window stood Dr. Turner, watching the city dim as twilight fell.
Your son? he asked quietly, turning. The young man who looks after Mrs. Anne Phillips?
Yes, Emily replied, surprised that he knew her aunts name. Tommy. Hes a bit of a jokester, but a golden one. Very caring.
He smiled, and that smile was painfully familiar.
He loves you very much. You can see it.
Something stirred in Emilys chesta tremor she hadnt felt in years. The body ages, but the sensations stay fresh and sharp as they were in youth.
Indeed, she said, looking away, embarrassed. Just dont tell him, hell get a big head about it.
He laughed, a warm, lively sound.
My name is Alex Turner, he said.
Emily, she answered.
At that moment Tommy burst into the lobby, brandishing a bag of pastries.
Mum, hello! Doctor! As promised, a little treat! Sorry about the cabbagestill there.
Alex took a pastry gratefully, and Emily caught his quick, assessing glance at Tommy.
The next day, chatty nurses mentioned that Dr. Turner had fallen ill and was on sick leave. A hollow feeling dropped in Emilys gut. So it wasnt meant to be, she thought with a bitter sort of resignation. Everything is as it should be. Maybe its for the bestno awkward goodbyes, no whatifs, just pleasant memories. Still, that was a lot to swallow: she realised grief doesnt last forever, and the days ahead could be brighter.
Her aunt was discharged three days later. While packing, Emily tried not to dwell on the emptiness that awaited her beyond the hospital walls. She was saying farewell not only to the place but also to the phantom possibility that never came to life.
Tommy, loading the car, suddenly said, You know, Dr. Turners a widower. His wife died in a crash about three years ago.
Emily froze, as if rooted to the spot. Three years. Coincidence? Fate?
How do you know? she whispered.
We were chatting over the pastries, Tommy shrugged. He asked about his dad, very politely. You could tell he was alone. And the way he looks at you not like a doctor.
Emily sat silently in the car, hope flickering again in her heart.
At home, silence greeted her. She brewed tea and sat by the window, watching the familiar garden. Then her eyes fell on an envelope on the tableshe hadnt placed it there. Tommy, perhaps.
Inside was a card depicting an old hospital, looking just like the one theyd just left. With trembling fingers, Emily opened it.
Emily,
I know this may sound insane, and Im sorry I fell ill and couldnt say goodbye properly. But I cant let you just vanish. Three years ago I lost my love. When I saw you in the corridor, it felt as if the sun rose a second time in one day.
I am not your husband. I am another man, with my own pain and story. Yet perhaps our stories could share a future?
If this doesnt seem utterly absurd, Ill be at five oclock tomorrow at the café The Edge, opposite the park.
With hope, Alex
Tears sprang from Emilys eyes, but they were tears of happiness. She wasnt alone in that strange feeling; he felt the same, and he had the courage to take the step that had once seemed impossible.
The following morning, at half past four, she stood before the mirror, nervously smoothing her dress.
Mom, you look lovely! Tommy shouted from the kitchen. Just dont overquestion the past, alright? The future matters more.
She smiled.
The Edge was cozy, the air scented with fresh pastries. Alex was already there, seated by the window, scanning the menu with a tense expression. When he saw her enter, he rose, and the familiar, yet new, smile blossomed on his face.
I was afraid you wouldnt come, he said, pulling out a chair.
I feared youd regret sending that letter, Emily admitted as she sat down.
Not a second, Alex shook his head, his eyes serious. You know, the first time I saw you it was like a miracle, a reminder that life doesnt end.
I felt the same, Emily whispered. It was as if a warm breeze from the past brushed me, but it wasnt the past. It was something new.
He reached across the table, and she took his hand. His palm was warm.
Lets try, Emily, he said gently. No rush. Just lets try to be happy.
She looked into his eyesthe eyes of a man who had walked through the same kind of pain as she had, yet still clung to hopeand she nodded. For the first time in three long years she felt not sorrow for what was lost, but a bright, trembling anticipation for what was coming. That was her happy ending, which was really just the beginning of a new story.
