“Ollie, let’s not do this. I’m married, and I love my wife,” he said, the rehearsed line slipping out almost too easily.
William and Emma had been together for twenty-two years. The flames of passion had settled into a warm, steady glow—companionship more than anything else. Their daughter was in her second year at medical school, following in their footsteps. It was no surprise; she’d grown up surrounded by talk of diagnoses, treatments, and patient cases. Even as a child, she’d loved flipping through anatomy books, tracing the intricate pathways of the human body.
William and Emma had met during clinical rotations. He’d stepped in to help her with a particularly difficult patient—a smooth-talking young man who wouldn’t stop flirting with her. Two years later, just before their final exams, they married.
After graduation, they took jobs at the same hospital—Emma in cardiology, William in orthopedic surgery. Today was rare: their shifts ended at the same time, so they drove home together.
“Should we stop at the shops? We’re out of salad things.”
“Maybe skip it just this once? I can’t be bothered. Tough surgery today,” William said, navigating the clogged London streets with practised ease.
“Fine. But we’ll have to go tomorrow. Drop me off, then—I’ll grab what we need.”
“Yeah, right. Then you’ll lug all the bags, and I’ll feel rotten. We’ll go together,” he replied, turning into the supermarket car park.
William pushed the trolley while Emma piled in groceries.
“Told you,” he muttered at the overflowing cart as they queued at the till.
“Now we won’t have to shop again for a week,” Emma teased, flashing him a mischievous look. “Oh—I forgot bread!” She dashed off.
William sighed and began unloading. Space was tight, and a box of pasta toppled onto the stranger’s shopping ahead. The woman in front shot him an icy glare. He apologised, picked it up, and stood there awkwardly, unsure where to put it.
Then she turned fully—eyes locked on him. Nearly his height, brown-eyed, with lips downturned in quiet sorrow. Blonde roots peeked beneath faded dye, her hair hastily pinned up. A tan trench coat hung loose on her slight frame.
William offered a conciliatory smile and glanced away, scanning for Emma. *Where’d she go? Probably grabbing more than just bread.* He risked another look. *Why’s this woman staring? A former patient? Can’t place her.*
“Will? Is that you?” Her voice was soft, but her eyes lit up.
“Do we know each other? Were you under my care? Sorry, I—”
“You *did* become a doctor, then?” She smiled faintly. “I’m Ollie. Olivia Hart.” The spark in her eyes dimmed.
William studied her face. Something flickered in his memory—Olivia… Ollie…
“Hart?” Suddenly, he saw it: the school playing fields, her dark hair flying behind her as she sprinted ahead. Him, breathless, unable to catch up.
“That bad, huh?” Her voice was flat. “You’ve aged well. Better than before.”
Emma reappeared, eyeing them curiously. William was so thrown he didn’t even comment on her extra items. Uncharacteristic. Emma, meanwhile, juggled space as the conveyor belt lurched forward.
William recovered first.
“This is Olivia Hart—we went to school together. Emma, my wife.”
Emma gave a polite nod; Olivia barely glanced at her before busying herself with payment. She lingered by the exit, waiting.
*Is she expecting me to follow? Wants free medical advice now she knows what I do?*
“Will, got your card?” Emma pulled him back.
He tapped his card, hefted the bags, and headed out. Olivia held the door open. *Why?* The awkwardness prickled.
Outside, she ignored Emma entirely.
“You still near your parents’? In their old flat?”
“No—bought a place next door to them. Easier to pop in. You?”
She waved vaguely. The silence thickened. “Glad I ran into you. I’ll… go, then?” She hesitated, as if awaiting permission.
William said nothing. Olivia turned and walked off.
“She was in love with you, wasn’t she?” Emma asked as they loaded the car. “You never mentioned.”
“Not her. *I* was in love with *her*.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “Funny. The way she looked at you, I’d say she regrets that.”
“She picked the football captain. Nicky Ellis. Suited her.”
“Bet she regrets *that* now.” Emma smirked.
William shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. No regrets here.”
They dropped it. But that night, William lay awake, replaying his teenage self—clumsy, heartsick, nearly flunking his A-levels over unrequited love.
*She’s changed. We’re the same age, but Emma still turns heads. Life with Nicky must’ve been rough. He was headed for the national team back then. And I was just… me.*
He slept late. Emma had already left—cold coffee in the pot, sandwiches on the counter.
At a red light, he spotted Olivia’s tan coat at the bus stop. His first instinct: drive past. But she’d already seen him.
“Perfect timing!” she chirped, sliding in. “Freezing out there.” She sat hunched, hands buried in pockets. Today, her hair was neater, lips faintly glossed.
*She waited for me. Knew I’d come this way.*
“I knew we’d meet again,” she said brightly.
*How long was she out there? It’s barely past eight.*
“Never seen you here before,” he said cautiously.
“Just moved nearby.”
He cut to the chase. “Need help with something? Medical?”
“No. I just… wanted to see you. We barely talked yesterday.” Her voice wavered. “I think about it sometimes—you chasing me. How stupid I was.” She laughed, hollow.
“You wanted the star athlete.”
“Don’t.” Her face fell. “Girls dream of princes. Sometimes they pick the wrong ones.”
“Kids?”
“None. Nicky was always away—training, matches. Came home exhausted. Then he blew his knee out. No one wanted him after that. Couldn’t coach, couldn’t work… started drinking. I tried to help, but—” She looked away. “I left before he dragged me under.”
“Where am I dropping you?”
“We passed it. Just pull over.”
He turned the car around. “Address.”
“A daughter, you said? Clever like you?” She forced a smile. “Here’s fine. Will I see you again?”
A horn blared behind them. “Ollie—”
“Promise me.”
He nodded stiffly. Watched her walk away.
*Why? I love Emma. This is pointless.*
Yet days later, Olivia waited in his driveway. Rain drizzled as he trudged from his car, hood up, exhausted from a night shift.
“Ollie, don’t. I love my wife.”
“Just talk. Somewhere private.”
His flat was empty—daughter at uni. The car still carried the scent of leather and air freshener.
“I don’t want anything from you,” she said.
“Then why stalk me?”
She twisted her hands. “When I saw you… I just *knew*. I don’t want to ruin your life. But I— I need a child.”
William stiffened.
“IVF’s too expensive,” she whispered.
His voice turned sharp. “You’re joking.”
“I’m *alone*, Will. I’d never ask for anything else. Just—”
“Are you hearing yourself?”
Tears spilled over. She laughed suddenly, a broken sound. “Pathetic, right?”
He exhaled. “Ollie… no.”
She wiped her face. “You’re right. Forget it.” She left without looking back.
Emma found him frying eggs that evening.
“Since when do *you* cook?”
He told her everything.
Emma listened silently. “She’s desperate.”
“Would you have said yes?”
“No. But I understand why she asked *you*.”
They ate in silence.
Weeks later, he spotted Olivia under a tree near his building.
“You’ll make me move,” he said.
“Last time.” Her voice was small. “Goodbye, Will.”
He watched her go—shoulders slumped, utterly alone. Part of him wanted to call out. But he didn’t.
After that, she vanished. He never learned if she found someone else or gave up. And he didn’t care to know.
He had Emma. He had his daughter. Some ghosts were best left in the past.
**Life isn’t about fixing old mistakes—it’s about cherishing what you’ve built.**
