**Diary Entry**
“Olly, this isn’t necessary. I’m married and I love my wife,” he recited the well-worn line.
William and Margaret had been together for twenty-two years. The fiery passion had mellowed into something calmer, steadier—a deep companionship. Their daughter was in her second year at medical school, following in their footsteps. Hardly surprising, given she’d grown up surrounded by talk of diagnoses, prescriptions, and patients’ complaints. Even as a child, she’d loved poring over anatomy books, fascinated by the intricacies of the human body.
William and Margaret first noticed each other during their clinical rotations. He’d stepped in the first time she had to examine a patient—a smug young man who’d been blatantly flirting with her. They married two years later, just before their final exams.
After graduating, they ended up at the same hospital—Margaret in cardiology, William as an orthopaedic surgeon. Today was rare; their shifts ended at the same time, so they drove home together.
“Should we stop at the supermarket? We’re out of salad stuff.”
“Honestly, can’t we skip it for one night? I’m shattered. That last surgery was brutal,” William said, navigating the congested streets of London with practised ease.
“Fine, but we’ll have to go tomorrow. Drop me here—I’ll walk home after.”
“And then you’ll lug heavy bags while I sit guiltily at home? No, let’s just get it over with,” he replied, swinging into the car park.
William steered the trolley while Margaret piled it high.
“Called it,” he muttered at the overflowing contents as they queued for the till.
“But we won’t need to shop again all week,” she said, flashing him a playful look before gasping. “Blast, I forgot the bread!” She dashed off.
William sighed and began unloading. Cramped for space, a box of pasta tumbled onto the pile of groceries in front of them. The woman ahead shot him a reproachful glare. He apologised, clutching the box awkwardly.
Then she turned fully—same height as him, hazel eyes, lips downturned. Bleached hair, dark roots, haphazardly tied back. A tan trench coat hung loose on her thin frame.
William offered a placating smile and looked away, searching for Margaret. *Where is she? Probably grabbing half the bakery while she’s at it.* His gaze flicked back to the woman. *Why’s she staring? A former patient? Doesn’t ring a bell.*
“Will? Is that you?” Her voice was tinged with sudden recognition, her eyes brightening.
“Do I… know you? Were you a patient? Sorry, I can’t place you.”
“So you *did* become a doctor, then?” She smiled faintly. “I’m Olly. Olivia Whitmore.” The joy in her eyes dimmed.
William studied her. Now that she’d said her name, something clicked. *Olivia…*
“Whitmore?!” The memory surfaced—the field behind their old school, her dark hair streaming behind her as she ran ahead. Him, breathless just watching her, never quite catching up.
“Changed much, have I?” she asked dryly. “You’ve aged better. More distinguished.”
Margaret returned, eyeing them curiously. William was so flustered he barely registered the extra items she’d added. Uncharacteristic. Margaret frowned at the packed conveyor belt just as the cashier sent it moving.
William recovered first. “This is Olivia Whitmore—we were at school together. Margaret, my wife.”
Margaret offered a polite nod; Olivia barely acknowledged her, turning back to pay. She lingered, gripping her bags by the exit.
*Waiting for me? Perfect. Probably wants free medical advice.*
“Will, your card?” Margaret nudged him.
He tapped his card, grabbed the bags, and headed out. Olivia held the door open for him. *Awkward. Why is she doing this?*
Outside, Olivia turned to him, ignoring Margaret. “Do you still live near your parents?”
“No, but close—we bought a flat nearby to make visiting easier. You?”
“Ah, I’m…” She waved vaguely. The conversation stalled. “Good seeing you. Shall I… go?” She searched his face, as if seeking permission.
He said nothing. She turned and walked away.
“Was she in love with you?” Margaret asked once they were in the car. “You never mentioned her.”
“No, she wasn’t.”
“Really? The way she looked at you—like she still regrets it.”
“If anyone was in love, it was me,” William admitted. “She picked the school’s football star, Nicky Ellis, instead.”
“Seeing you now, she might regret that. I’m jealous,” Margaret teased.
“Don’t be. Regret or not, it doesn’t matter. I’ve no complaints.”
They dropped it. But that night, William lay awake, replaying his teenage self—heartbroken, nearly failing his A-levels over her. *She’s changed. We’re the same age, yet Margaret still gets carded. Life with Nicky couldn’t have been easy. He was tipped for the national team, and I was just the swot with glasses.*
He slept late. Margaret had already left; a plate of sandwiches and cold coffee waited on the table.
Showered and dressed, he drove to work. At a red light, he spotted Olivia’s tan trench coat at the bus stop. *Drive past, pretend you didn’t see her.* But she’d already noticed his car and was waving. He pulled over.
“Thank God! I’ve been freezing out here.” She climbed in, shivering, hands buried in her pockets. Today she’d made an effort—light makeup, neater hair.
*She waited for me on purpose. Stalker much?*
“I knew we’d meet again,” she laughed.
“How long were you out there?”
“Just moved to the area,” she deflected.
“Need something? Medical help for family?”
“No. I just… wanted to see you,” she admitted. “We didn’t get to talk properly. I can’t sleep. Remember how you used to chase me? And I—”
“Picked Nicky Ellis.”
“Cruel,” she said, serious now. “Girls dream of princes. Sometimes they mistake the wrong men for them.”
“Kids?”
“No. Nicky was always away—training, matches. Came home exhausted. Then he got injured. Couldn’t adjust. Drank. I tried to help, but… I had to leave before he dragged me under.”
William gripped the wheel. “Where am I taking you?”
“We passed it. Just drop me, I’ll get the bus.”
“Don’t be absurd. Address.” He turned the car around.
“You have kids?”
“A daughter. Studying medicine.”
“Smart, like you? Pull over here. Will I see you again?”
“Liv—” A horn blared behind them. “Bloody hell, I can’t stop here.”
“Promise me.”
He nodded stiffly. She got out.
*Why is this happening? I love Margaret. I don’t need these games.*
But he saw Olivia again days later—waiting in his building’s courtyard in the rain after his night shift. He hadn’t spotted her until she called out.
“Liv, stop this. I’m married—”
“Where can we talk?” she cut in.
He glanced around. “My daughter’s home. The car, then.”
Inside, the residual warmth carried the scent of leather and air freshener.
“Don’t misunderstand—I don’t want anything from you,” she said.
“Then why stalk me?”
“Seeing you made me realise… I don’t want to wreck your life. Just hear me out. After Nicky, I swore off men. But I regretted pushing you away. I thought you’d left London.”
“Not quite.”
“Right, you said.” Her voice was small.
“Is this about Nicky? Because I don’t need the details.”
“When I saw you, I thought… I want a child. A son.”
“Liv, I told you—I’m not leaving Margaret.”
“I can’t afford IVF.”
He stared. “Are you *serious*? This is insane.”
“I’m alone. I could still have a baby. I’d never contact you again—”
“Bloody hell, listen to yourself! One minute you rejected me, now you’re offering—what, a sperm donation? Are you *well*?”
She laughed suddenly, a harsh, broken sound. Then she was crying.
“Not at you—at myself. You’re right. Sorry.” She opened the door and left.
He watched her hunched figure disappear.
When Margaret came home, William was frying potatoes—something he never did.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, studying him.
“I saw Olivia.” He told her everything.
Margaret listened silently.
“I refused. I doubt she’ll bother me again. You’reShe never appeared again, and the quiet rhythm of their lives resumed, undisturbed by the ghost of what might have been.
