25October2025 Manchester Royal Infirmary
The afternoon light streamed down the ward corridor, so bright it almost blinded me. I shielded my eyes for a heartbeat, and when I opened them again my pulse seemed to skip before racing back to its normal rhythm.
There, walking toward the nurses station, was Emily. The smile on her face was the one I remembered down to the tiniest crinkles at the corners of her eyes. It shouldnt have been possibleher husband, James, had been gone for three long years. Yet there he was, as vivid as a memory conjured by the sun.
Ghosts, huh? the thought flitted through my mind, and I tightened my grip on the strap of my bag, trying to pull myself back into the present.
Hewell, the man I sawmatched James in height, stride, and the set of his jaw. Only his gaze was sharper, more restrained. He stared straight at Emily, his eyes wide with the same bewildered wonder I felt, as if he too had caught a spectre.
Emilys cheeks flushed a hot pink. She averted her gaze, slipped past me, and disappeared into the ward where her Aunt Margaret lay recovering after surgery. Margaret was the only close relative she had, and the operation required roundtheclock care.
Our next encounter unfolded in the dressing room. Emily was pushing an empty trolley when I heard the soft murmur of a nurse. I glanced up, my head snapping toward the sound, and froze. My stare was as direct and analytical as it had been the day before.
Dr. Turner, the nurse called, breaking the uneasy silence. Is that everything?
Yes, thank you, I replied, nodding, though my eyes lingered on Emily.
She hurried away, her cheeks a deeper shade of rose, looking like a schoolgirl caught in a sudden breeze.
Days drifted slowly in the hospital. We crossed paths in the corridors repeatedly, each glance from Emily sparking a childlike delight deep inside me. She seemed to glow with a joy that made the sterile walls feel less cold. I would occasionally pop into Margarets room to check on the patient, always courteous and professional, yet my gaze inevitably lingered on Emily for a heartbeat longer than required.
One evening, just as my colleague Dr. Patel was about to begin his night shift, I stepped into the hallway for a glass of water. At the window, looking out over the dimming city, I saw Emily standing there, her back to the glass.
Your son? I asked quietly, turning to face her. The young man who visits Margaret?
Yes, she replied, surprised that I knew Aunt Margarets name. Tommy. Hes a bit of a rascal, but hes got a heart of gold. He looks after her.
A smile tugged at my lipsone that felt eerily familiar.
He loves you, you know, I said gently. Its obvious.
Emilys breath caught. A tremor I hadnt felt in years fluttered in her chest. She lowered her eyes, a blush spreading across her cheeks.
Dont tell him I said that, she whispered shyly, hell get a big head about it.
I laughed, the sound warm and alive.
My names Alex, I said, extending a hand. Alex Turner.
Emily, she answered, shaking my hand.
Just then, Tommy burst into the hallway, a paper bag of hot pasties in his arms.
Mum, hi! Doc! I brought you a snack, as promised. Sorry if its a bit cabbageheavy, he announced, grinning.
I took a pasty with thanks, catching the quick, assessing look that darted from Tommy to Emily and back.
The following morning the nurses chattered about my sudden illness. Id caught a nasty flu and was put on sick leave. A hollow settled in Emilys eyes; she whispered to herself that perhaps fate had a sense of humor, that nothing untoward had arisen from our brief parting. She seemed to accept that grief is fleeting, and that life would move forward.
Margaret was discharged three days later. As Emily gathered her things, she tried not to think about the emptiness that awaited her beyond the hospital walls. She was saying goodbye not only to the place but also to the phantom possibility that had never fully materialised.
While loading the car, Tommy blurted out, You know, Dr. Turner is a widower. His wife died in a crash three years ago.
Emily stopped dead in her tracks, the world narrowing to a single thought.
Where did you hear that? she asked softly.
Just chatting over the pasties, Tommy shrugged. He asked about my dad, seemed lonely. He looked at you not like a doctor, more like someone whos been waiting.
Emily sat in the passenger seat, hope stirring anew in her heart.
Back home, the house was quiet. I brewed a cup of tea, settled by the window, and watched the familiar garden. My eyes fell on an envelope on the tablesomething I didnt remember placing there. It must have been Tommys doing.
Inside lay a card, an illustration of an old hospital much like the one wed just left. With trembling fingers, Emily opened it.
Emily,
I know this may sound mad, and Im sorry I fell ill and couldnt say goodbye properly. Three years ago I lost my love, and when I saw you in the corridor, it felt as if the sun rose twice in one day.
Im not your husband. Im another man, with my own hurts and history. Yet perhaps our stories could intertwine?
If this isnt too absurd, Ill be at The Nook café opposite the park tomorrow at fivepastfour.
Hopeful, Alex
Tears rolled down Emilys cheeks, but they were tears of joy. She felt she wasnt alone in that strange, sudden happinesshe felt it too, and he had braved a step she had feared even to imagine.
The next day, at half past five, she stood before the mirror, smoothing her dress.
Mom, you look lovely! Tommy called from the kitchen. Just dont overquestion the past, okay? The future matters more.
She smiled.
The Nook was cosy, the air scented with fresh scones. Alex was already there, perched by the window, scanning the menu with a tense expression. When he saw her enter, he rose, and the same familiar yet new smile blossomed on his face.
I feared you wouldnt come, he admitted, pulling out a chair.
I feared youd regret writing that letter, Emily confessed as she sat down.
Not a second, Alex shook his head, his eyes serious. You know, the first time I saw you it felt like a miracle, a reminder that life doesnt end.
It felt the same to me, she whispered. Like a warm wind from the past, but not the past itselfsomething fresh.
He reached across the table; his hand was warm.
Lets try, Emily, he said. No rush. Just try to be happy together.
She met his gazeeyes of a man who had walked through similar pain yet never stopped hopingand nodded. For the first time in three long years, she sensed not sorrow for what was lost, but a bright, trembling anticipation of what lay ahead. That was my happy ending, which in truth was merely the start of a new story.
Lesson learned: Grief may dim the world, but it also sharpens our eyes for the light that follows, reminding us that every ending carries the seed of a fresh beginning.
