Elizabeth jerked against the airbag as it deployed at the last second. Her vision blurred, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from the man she had buried just a week earlier. Was this real? Or had death already taken her, spiriting her into another world where they were reunited? Memories swirled—that awful day when she’d first heard the news seemed to repeat itself, as though fate had dragged her back to relive the agony.
“NO!” A raw scream tore from her throat, echoing through the flat. “You’re lying! It can’t be! Jonathan would never leave me! He wouldn’t do this—he couldn’t just be gone!”
Her knees buckled, the floor rushing up to meet her as she fought the urge to pass out. The reality was unbearable—how could this have happened to them? To Jonathan? He had been so young, so full of life. How could he be dead? His boss had called, voice hollow, explaining a clot had broken loose. The ambulance hadn’t even arrived in time.
“There was nothing anyone could do,” the man had said. “By the time the medics got there, Jonathan was already gone.” The words rang in her skull like lines from a horror film, impossible to forget.
What now? How could she live without him? Breathing itself felt impossible. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she barely noticed. The phone stayed pressed to her ear, her lips unable to form words. She wished it were a nightmare—one she’d wake from any second, free of this crushing pain.
They hadn’t let her see him at the morgue. Only at the funeral did she finally accept it was truly him lying there. Even then, part of her hoped he’d stroll in from work, laughing, declaring it all a cruel joke. “April Fools’!” he’d say. But who joked like this? Fine, she’d forgive it—she’d forgive anything if he’d just come back.
But he didn’t.
He lay in the casket, peaceful as if sleeping. Elizabeth threw herself against it, sobbing, begging him to wake up, to return to her. She collapsed, revived by smelling salts. His mother clung to her, trembling, both women shattered. His father pulled Elizabeth away, urging her to accept the truth, but she fought—she couldn’t.
The burial passed in a haze. The thud of earth hitting the coffin tore through her. She screamed when they dragged her back—she belonged with him. How could she go on without him?
At home, the empty flat suffocated her. She tried to gather herself, but grief swallowed her whole. Curled against the wall, she remembered the day they’d met.
“Miss, I think you dropped this?” A warm voice. “Miss!” Jonathan had grinned, holding out a crimson rose.
She’d been walking near the university, reviewing lectures, when he stopped her.
“That’s not mine,” she said.
“Now it is,” he replied. “You looked so lost in thought—I wanted to cheer you up.”
Blushing, she took the flower. It had been effortless—him walking her to class, waiting afterward, their first stroll together. Love at first sight. Fair-haired, kind-eyed, with a voice like comfort itself—he’d swept her away. He spoke of family, dreams, a future brimming with love and children. He might have stepped from the pages of a romance novel.
But that future was gone.
A fleeting smile dissolved into fresh tears. Reality was unbearable—it had stolen everything she lived for.
Seven years together, three as husband and wife. A simple wedding, no extravagance—they’d needed nothing but each other. Now she was alone, missing half of herself.
She didn’t remember crawling into bed or falling asleep. The shrill ring of her phone woke her—work. Her boss had given her time, but the temp couldn’t manage the files. She had to return.
“Elizabeth, hi! It’s Michael. Got a minute? Need your help with something.”
“Go on,” she replied flatly.
“The reports for the new laminate—where do I enter the stock number?”
She felt no irritation, no frustration. Just numb instruction before hanging up. Collapsing onto the pillow, she stared at the empty space beside her. The tears had dried, but her eyes burned as if filled with grit. She remembered that feeling—childhood, a boy in the sandpit throwing a handful in her face during a fight. The sting had been just as sharp.
Forcing herself up, she shuffled to the kitchen. She hadn’t eaten in days. But the sight of food turned her stomach. A glass of water was all she could manage before retreating.
She avoided the photo albums, the videos on her phone. His voice already haunted her mind—sometimes she swore she heard him call her name. But turning, she faced only silence.
A week after the funeral, she returned to work. The paperwork drowned the pain, turned her into a machine. Feeling nothing was better than feeling this.
On Friday, she drove to her parents’ countryside cottage. They’d begged her to visit, but she’d refused—couldn’t bear their pity. Yet now, maybe it was the first step toward living again.
On the motorway, her thoughts swallowed her. Grief surged anew. She didn’t see the lorry until it was nearly upon her. The world muted—just silence, eerie and deep. Was this fate reuniting them? Or Jonathan calling her home?
A man’s shout snapped her back.
“TURN!”
Jonathan gripped the wheel, wrenching the car aside. She gasped—he was here! Alive, yet ghostly, like mist given form. Terrified but desperate, she willed him to stay.
The car swerved from collision but smashed into the barrier. The airbag punched her chest, blood trickling from her brow. She stared at Jonathan—those seconds stretched into eternity.
“Am I dead? Are we together?” she whispered.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “You’ve people who need you. Promise me—no more recklessness. Live. I can’t stay, but I’ll watch over you. Let me go. Be happy. We’ll meet again.”
Then he vanished, leaving her sobbing over the ruined steering wheel.
The door flew open.
“You alive? Can you hear me?” A middle-aged man, pale and panting, yanked her out.
Her stunned gaze flicked to the lorry parked ahead. She’d nearly died.
“Where’d you get your license, girl? Drunk, are you? And the bloke beside you—where’d he go? I saw him!”
Her breath caught. Jonathan *had* been here. He’d saved her.
“You daft woman! What were you thinking? I’ve kids at home—you could’ve killed us both!”
Shaking, she let him drape his coat over her as they waited for the ambulance.
The police came, the questions. She admitted fault—lost in grief, distracted. But she never mentioned the ghost.
Her car was towed; she was hospitalized—exhausted, dehydrated. The lorry driver got sedatives, too shaken to drive.
Her parents rushed in the next day.
“You’re coming home. No arguments!” her mother fretted. “Jonathan wouldn’t want you like this.”
Elizabeth remembered his 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. You didn’t know?”
“Pregnant?” Her hands flew to her stomach. “Mum—I’m *pregnant*! Jonathan’s gone, but he left me this…”
In that moment, she understood: for this little miracle, she *would* live. For them, she’d be strong. And one day, she’d tell their child all about the kind, loving man who’d been their father.
Softly, she whispered to Jonathan: *I promise. For them, I’ll survive.*
