The hospital corridor was drenched in the harsh light of a lateafternoon sun. Mary squinted for a heartbeat, and when she opened her eyes her heart gave a sudden, wild thump.
There he was, walking toward herher husband, the very man whose smile she could still picture down to the tiniest crinkles around his eyes. It shouldnt have been possible; hed been gone three long years.
Just my imagination playing tricks, I heard her mutter, and she gripped the handle of her bag as if to pull herself back to the real world.
He drew nearer, and it was unmistakable how much he resembled her late husband: the height, the gait, the set of his features. Only his stare was a shade colder, more restrained. Yet he looked straight at Mary, eyes wide with the same startled wonder as if hed also seen a phantom.
A warm flush spread across Marys cheeks. She lowered her gaze shyly and slipped past him into the ward where her aunt lay. Shed come alone; after her aunts operation she needed extra care.
Their next encounter was in the dressing room. Mary was pushing an empty trolley when she spotted him in a white coat, murmuring something to a nurse. The squeak of the wheels caught his attention; he lifted his head and froze, his gaze as direct and probing as the day before.
Dr. Turner, the nurse called brightly, breaking the awkward silence. Anything else?
No, thank you, he replied with a nod, though his eyes never left Mary.
Embarrassed, she hurried on with the trolley, feeling like a schoolgirl caught out.
Days slipped by slowly. They kept crossing glances in the corridors, and each time Mary felt a childish thrill rise inside her. Dr. Turner would pop into the ward to check on Aunt Margaret, always courteous and professional, yet his eyes lingered on Mary a fraction longer than necessary.
One evening, just as her son Tom was about to start his night shift, Mary slipped into the lobby for a glass of water. By the window stood Dr. Turner, watching the city darken.
Your son? he asked softly, turning. The young fellow who visits Margaret?
Yes, Mary replied, surprised that he knew her aunts name. Tom. Hes a bit of a rogue, but a good lad, very caring.
He smiled, a smile that hit her like a familiar sting.
He loves you very much. You can see it.
Something leapt in Marys chesta tremor she hadnt felt in years. The body ages, but the feelings stay fresh and sharp, just as they were in youth.
Ah, right, she said, blushing. Just dont tell him I said that, hell get a big head.
He laughed, a warm, lively sound.
My names Alex Turner, he said.
Mary, she answered.
At that moment Tom burst into the lobby, waving a bag of pastries.
Mum, hi! Doctor! I brought a treat, as promisedsorry, theyre with cabbage.
Alex took a pastry gratefully, and Mary caught Toms quick, assessing glance at him.
The next day the chatty nurses mentioned that Dr. Turner had taken sick leave. Mary felt a little drop in her chest. So it wasnt meant to be, she thought, with a bittersweet resignation. Maybe its for the bestno awkward goodbyes, no whatifs, just pleasant memories. Still, it was a lot to process; she realised grief doesnt last forever, and perhaps better days lay ahead.
Aunt Margaret was discharged three days later. As Mary packed her things, she 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 ghost of a possibility that never materialised.
Tom, loading the car, suddenly said, You know, Dr. Turners a widower. His wife died in a crash three years ago.
Mary froze, as if rooted to the spot. Three years. Coincidence? Fate?
How do you know? she asked quietly.
We got chatting over the pastries, Tom shrugged. He asked about my dad, very politely. You could tell he was alone. And the way he looks at you not quite as a doctor.
Mary slipped into the car in silence, hope stirring again in her heart.
At home, the house was quiet. She brewed a cup of tea and settled by the window, watching the familiar garden. Then she spotted an envelope on the tableshe didnt remember putting it there. Tom, perhaps?
Inside was a card with an illustration of an old hospital, looking just like the one theyd just left. Trembling, Mary opened it.
Mary,
I know this may sound mad, and Im sorry I fell ill and couldnt say goodbye properly. But I cant let you simply disappear. Three years ago I lost my love, and when I saw you in the corridor it felt as if the sun rose a second time in one day.
Im not your husband. Im another man, with my own pain and story. Still, perhaps our stories could share a future?
If this isnt utterly absurd to you, Ill be at five tomorrow evening at The Edge café, opposite the park.
Hopeful, Alex
Tears sprang from Marys eyes, but they were tears of happiness. She wasnt alone in that strange feeling; he felt the same, and hed been brave enough to take a step shed been too scared even to imagine.
The next morning, half past four, she stood before the mirror, fussing with her dress.
Mum, you look lovely! Tom called from the kitchen. Just dont go overboard with the past, alright? The futures what matters.
She smiled.
The Edge was a cosy little spot, the air thick with the scent of fresh pastries. Alex was already there, sitting by the window, staring at the menu with a tense expression. When he saw her enter, he rose, and that familiar yet new smile spread across his face.
I was afraid you wouldnt come, he said, pulling out a chair.
I feared youd regret sending that letter, Mary admitted, sitting down.
Not a moment, 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.
I felt the same, Mary whispered. It was like a warm breeze from the past, but not the pastsomething new.
He reached across the table, and she took his hand. His palm was warm.
Lets give it a go, Mary, he said. No rush. Just try to be happy.
She looked into his eyesthe eyes of a man whod walked through the same pain shed known, yet hadnt lost hopeand nodded. For the first time in three long years, she felt not sorrow for what was gone, but a bright, trembling anticipation of what was to come. It was her happy ending, which in truth was just the beginning of a brandnew story.
