Elizabeth jolted against the airbags that deployed at the last second. Her vision blurred, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from the man she had buried just a week before. Was this real? Had death carried her into another world where they could be together again? Memories twisted through her mind—that dreadful day when the news had shattered her. It felt as though someone had dragged her back into the past, forcing her to relive the agony.
“No!” The scream tore from her throat, echoing through the flat. “You’re lying! It can’t be true! My husband would never leave me! He wouldn’t—he couldn’t just go!”
She sank to the floor, her legs giving way beneath her. The weight of the truth crushed her. How could this have happened to them, to Thomas? He was so young, so full of life. How could he be gone? His boss had called—no warning, just the cold words: a blood clot, sudden and fatal. The ambulance hadn’t even arrived in time.
“Nothing could be done,” the voice had said. “By the time the medics arrived, Thomas was already gone.” The words rang in her ears like a horror film line she couldn’t unhear.
What now? How could she breathe without him? Tears streaked her cheeks, but she barely felt them. The phone still pressed to her ear, she stared blankly ahead, unable to speak. She prayed this was a nightmare—that she’d wake any moment and forget the pain.
They hadn’t let her see him at the morgue. Only at the funeral did she lay eyes on him, and even then, part of her clung to hope. Maybe Thomas would walk in, laughing, declaring it all an awful joke. But this was no April Fool’s prank. He lay there, too still, too pale, like a wax figure of the man she loved.
Elizabeth had thrown herself at the casket, weeping, begging him to wake up. She’d fainted twice, revived by smelling salts. His mother swayed on unsteady feet, grief-stricken but trying to comfort her. Only his father remained composed, gently pulling her away, urging her to accept the truth. But she’d fought, screamed, refused to let go.
The funeral passed in a haze. She watched the casket close, shrieking as they dragged her back. She couldn’t bear to toss dirt onto it—that would mean letting him go for good. And she couldn’t. Not yet.
Alone in the empty flat, she tried to gather herself, but the effort lasted mere minutes. Curled against the wall, she remembered the day they’d met.
“Miss, I think you dropped this?” A warm voice. “Miss!” Thomas grinned, holding out a crimson rose.
She’d been walking near the university, reviewing lectures, when he’d stopped her.
“It’s not mine,” she’d said, shaking her head.
“It is now.” His smile was bright. “You looked so lost in thought—I wanted to cheer you up.”
Flustered, she’d taken the flower. She hadn’t noticed how easily they’d fallen into conversation, how he’d walked her to class, then waited afterward to stroll with her. Love at first sight. Fair-haired, kind-eyed, his voice soft as he spoke of family, dreams, a future full of love and children. He’d seemed plucked from the pages of a romance novel.
Now that was gone.
The ghost of a smile faded as fresh sobs wracked her. Reality was unbearable, a world stripped of meaning.
Seven years together, three as husband and wife. A modest wedding—no need for extravagance when they had each other. Now she was alone, half of herself missing.
She didn’t remember reaching the bed. Morning woke her with the shrill ring of her phone. Work. Her boss had granted her leave, but her temp was drowning in paperwork—she had to return.
“Elizabeth? It’s James. Got a quick question.”
“Go ahead,” she answered, voice hollow.
“I’m stuck on these laminate reports—not sure where the product code goes.”
She felt no irritation, just numb resignation as she explained. Hanging up, she collapsed into the pillows, staring at the empty space beside her. The tears had dried, but her eyes burned as if filled with grit. She knew that feeling too well—like when a neighbour’s boy had thrown sand in her face during a childhood quarrel.
With effort, she dragged herself to the kitchen. She hadn’t eaten properly in days, but the sight of food turned her stomach. A sip of water, then back to bed.
She couldn’t bear to open photo albums or watch old videos. His voice already haunted her—sometimes, she swore he called her name. But when she turned, nothing. Just silence.
A week after the funeral, she returned to work. Buried in tasks, she could almost forget. She became a machine—functioning, but feeling nothing. Feeling was too painful.
Friday came. She decided to visit her parents at their countryside home. They’d begged her to come, but she’d refused—unwilling to face pitying looks, her mother’s sighs. Now, maybe it would help.
On the motorway, her mind wandered. Grief swallowed her whole. Tears blurred her vision. She didn’t see the lorry until it was nearly upon her. The world muted—just silence. Was this fate reuniting them? Was Thomas calling her home?
A shout ripped through the quiet.
“Turn!” A man’s voice. Screeching brakes.
Thomas—alive?—grabbed the wheel, wrenching the car aside. Terror and hope warred in her chest.
They missed the lorry, but the sharp turn sent them skidding into the barrier. The car crumpled. Airbags punched her chest. Blood trickled down her forehead. She stared at her husband beside her, his form hazy, unreal.
“Am I dead? Are we together?” she whispered.
“It’s not your time,” he murmured. “You have people who need you. You must live. I can’t stay, but I’ll watch over you. Let me go. And promise me you’ll be happy. Don’t let grief steal your life. We’ll meet again.”
Then he vanished, leaving her sobbing over the ruined steering wheel.
The car door flew open. A pale, sweating man in his forties gaped at her.
“Are you hurt? Where’s the bloke who was with you? I saw him!”
Her breath caught. So Thomas had been real. He’d saved her.
The lorry driver, now parked, stormed over, face flushed with fury.
“Brainless idiot! What were you thinking? I’ve got kids at home—you nearly killed us both!”
She shook her head mutely, trembling as she climbed out. The driver shoved his jumper at her while they waited for police and medics.
The ambulance arrived. She confessed her distraction, her grief—but not the ghost. They towed the car, hospitalised her for exhaustion and dehydration. The lorry driver, too shaken, stopped at a service station.
Her parents rushed in the next morning.
“You’re coming home,” her mother insisted. “Thomas wouldn’t want this. You’re not alone.”
Elizabeth remembered his last words. He’d meant their child…
As her mother spoon-fed her broth, the doctor entered.
“You’ll need another week or two to recover. And—you’re pregnant. Seven weeks along.”
“Pregnant?”
Her mother gasped, pulling her close as fresh tears fell—happy ones this time.
“I’m pregnant… Thomas left me, but he gave me our baby.”
In that moment, she knew: for this tiny miracle, she would live. She’d be strong. And one day, she’d tell their child all about the kind, loving, wonderful man his father had been.
Silently, she whispered to Thomas:
“I promise. For our baby, I’ll survive.”
