The girl stood on the other side of the railing. There was no doubt about her intention to jump from the bridge…
At the very start of the night shift, the ambulance brought in a young man. His car had collided with an SUV at a crossroads. After hours of surgery, the patient was wheeled into intensive care, and the surgeon, Eleanor Williams, sat in the doctors’ office, jotting down the details of the operation.
“Coffee, Eleanor,” said Maria Thompson, an experienced nurse, placing a mug on the edge of the desk.
“Thanks. Call me when the patient wakes up,” Eleanor replied without looking up from her notes.
“Rest while you can. It’s quiet for now.”
“You know as well as I do—a start like this doesn’t bode well,” Eleanor countered.
And she was right. Before she could finish her coffee, another patient was wheeled in. By dawn, Eleanor was dead on her feet and fell asleep at the desk, her head resting on the paperwork. Maria shook her awake, informing her that the accident victim had regained consciousness.
Eleanor could’ve said her shift was over, that another doctor would check on him, that everything would be fine—but she stood and walked to intensive care. It wasn’t in her nature to leave without knowing how her patient was doing.
The linoleum in the hallway gleamed under the fluorescent lights like the surface of water. Eleanor quietly entered the ward. She hadn’t gotten a proper look at him the night before, but now she saw a rather attractive man tangled in wires and sensors. She checked the monitor’s readings, and when she glanced back at him, she found him studying her.
Even lying in a hospital bed, the man oozed arrogance, looking down at her as if from a height. She wished she had even a fraction of his confidence. It took effort not to avert her gaze.
“How are you feeling, Alexander Reynolds? We had to remove your spleen. You lost a lot of blood. Two ribs are broken, but your lung wasn’t punctured. You’re out of danger—got off lightly, really. The police have already called; they want to speak with you. I asked them to come later, to give you time to recover.”
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“My shift’s over. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Eleanor left the ward.
The ambulance dropping off another patient gave her a lift home. Her ginger cat met her in the hallway, weaving between her legs before trotting to the kitchen, tail high. She was desperate for sleep, but first, she had to feed Marmalade—he’d never let her rest otherwise. Eleanor was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
The next day, the patient looked much better. He even smiled when Eleanor walked in.
“Good morning. You seem well. Today, you’ll be moved to a regular ward, and we’ll return your phone so you can call family.”
“No one’s waiting for me in this city. Did I cause you much trouble yesterday?” He still looked down at her. How did he manage that?
“When will I be discharged?” he asked.
“You’ve just had surgery, and your ribs are broken… You’ll be here at least a week, then we’ll see. Excuse me—other patients are waiting.” She left before he could reply.
Before heading home, she checked on him one last time, monitoring his vitals and IV. When she finally met his gaze, she caught that same intrigued smirk. A shiver ran down her spine. Ellie had seen that smirk before. She had a good memory for faces—she didn’t recognise him, but that smile was familiar.
All evening, she racked her brain, trying to recall where she’d seen it. Nothing came to mind. The next morning, he was sitting up in bed when she arrived. Someone had brought him a fresh shirt.
“The nurse did. My clothes were covered in blood,” he said, catching her surprised look. “I get the feeling… Eleanor,”—he glanced at her badge—“that there’s something you want to ask me.”
“No—I mean, yes. Have we met before?”
“I don’t remember you. I never forget a beautiful woman.” He smirked again, then winced—his ribs still hurt. “You’re free to move around, but take it easy.”
“Will you come back?” he asked suddenly.
“If the shift’s quiet.” *What’s wrong with me? Why does he act like I owe him something?*
The next day, he asked, “So, Doctor, remember where we’ve met?”
“I must’ve been mistaken,” she said.
“I think we have. I definitely remember your eyes.”
“What’s wrong with them?” She didn’t want to ask, but curiosity got the better of her.
“The first day, I thought you were just tired. But the next day, you looked rested—yet your eyes stayed the same. Wary, like you’re bracing for something, ready to run at the first sign of danger.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not running anywhere. You’re recovering well—I’ll discharge you in three days.”
“Thanks for that—” he began, but Eleanor walked out.
Three days later, the nurse handed him his discharge papers and X-rays.
“Where’s Eleanor?”
“She’s in surgery.”
Alexander gathered his things but didn’t leave. Instead, he sat in the corridor, watching the office door. When he saw her, he stood.
“You were desperate to leave, yet here you are,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Am I imagining things, or are you avoiding me?” he asked bluntly. “I couldn’t go without thanking you. You saved my life.”
“That’s a bit dramatic.”
“If you hadn’t operated in time, I could’ve died. So, yes—you saved me. I’d like to repay you. Your shift ends soon, doesn’t it? Have dinner with me. Maybe spending an hour together will jog your memory. Just a meal and a chat—no strings.”
“You’re awfully sure of yourself.” She sighed. “Fine. I need time to freshen up.”
“Of course. The Old Winchester—it’s near your place. I’ll book a table for seven.”
“You know where I live?”
“Is that a secret?”
“You’re terrifying. Easier to agree than argue.” *Insufferable man.*
After her shift, Eleanor showered, styled her hair, and applied subtle makeup. She debated over her wardrobe—usually, she wore black; it was slimming, made her feel confident. But she couldn’t wear black forever. She held up a pink dress, then a blue one—no. Finally, she chose a fitted emerald green one. It matched her eyes. Perfect.
At seven sharp, she entered the restaurant. Live music played softly. Alexander waved from a corner table. Clean-shaven and in a sharp suit, he looked different.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he admitted, eyes lingering on her. For once, he didn’t seem arrogant.
They ordered—Caesar salad and coffee for her, the same plus steak for him.
“Your name—rare. Father a fan of *The Wizard of Oz*?”
“Got it in one.”
“Mine’s a mouthful—always annoys people.”
She laughed.
“First time I’ve seen you laugh.”
After a pause, he said, “That dress suits you. You wear dark colours to look slimmer?”
She shot him a sharp glance but stayed silent.
“Years ago, when I was a student, I was walking back to halls one evening. Rain, bitter wind—June felt like November. I was hurrying across a bridge when I saw a girl on the wrong side of the railing. No doubt what she meant to do. I stopped and said the weather was rubbish for a swim—too cold, no audience, no point jumping if no one saw. That no problem at her age was insurmountable.
She listened. Couldn’t tell if she was crying or just wet from the rain. Oddly, it worked. I helped her back over—she nearly slipped twice. We went to a café; I bought her coffee. Couldn’t afford another for myself…”
Eleanor pushed lettuce around her plate.
“I asked what happened, and she—”
“Told you why she wanted to die,” Eleanor finished, setting her fork down. “You forgot to mention she was fat. The whole class mocked her. *‘Even a tornado couldn’t lift the house with Ellie inside…’* *‘Ellie, did you eat an elephant for breakfast?’* They butchered my name. At home, I screamed at my mother—why did she make me like this?” Tears glistened in her eyes.
“After year nine, we went camping. Most had paired off—except me. No one wanted the fat girl. One boy *did* ask me to walk by the river. I was so happy… We left the group, and then he ‘accidentally’ pushed me. I reached for his hand, but he stepped back. I slid down the bank.
I thought it was a joke—any second, he’d pull me up. SoShe looked into Alexander’s eyes and finally understood—some bridges weren’t meant to be crossed alone, and some wounds could only heal when faced together.
