**Wait for Me**
I leaned against the rough, cool wall, closing my eyes. It felt impossible to move. But after a few minutes, I forced myself away and made my way to the doctors’ lounge.
A couple of hours later, I stepped out of the hospital gates. Two strong cups of coffee had chased away the exhaustion. Just beyond the entrance stretched a small tree-lined path, leading to the main road. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering dancing patterns on the pavement. I couldn’t recall ever walking down this alley—always arriving by car. But today, I suddenly wanted to follow those shifting patches of light, squinting against the sun. After all, no one was waiting for me at home.
Victor wandered slowly, savouring the warmth, the faded whisper of summer storms. The year had passed its midpoint, and ahead lay a much-needed holiday. Today, he’d won—wrestled a life back from the reaper’s grasp.
On one of the benches sat a young woman in a pale dress, bent over a book. A cascade of auburn hair hid her face. An inexplicable urge seized him—he needed to see her. He reached the bench and stopped.
She turned a page, oblivious to his presence.
“Good book?” Victor asked.
She read for a moment longer, then shut it, marking her place with a finger so he could see the cover. *My Dearest One*, he read upside down.
She looked up. Freckles dusted her cheeks, but they didn’t mar her—rather, lent her a playful charm. Dark, expressive eyes, full lips. Fresh-faced and lovely. *Golden*, he thought, watching the sunlight catch in her hair.
“Medical interest, or do you just like the author?” he asked.
“I’ve applied to medical school.”
“Ah, so we’re nearly colleagues.” He smiled approvingly and sat beside her.
“You’re a doctor?” Her eyes brightened.
“A surgeon.”
“You?” Her disbelief was almost comical.
“Surprised? Don’t I fit the image? Did you expect someone grey-haired and gruff?”
Her lips parted in a grin.
“What kind of surgeon?”
“Impressive you know there are distinctions. Wish I could say plastic—sounds more glamorous. Alas, general. Someone has to remove appendices and gallstones.”
She laughed, light and melodic.
For some reason, he wanted to impress her—paint himself as the seasoned veteran. So he told her about the unglamorous reality of the job. The weight of responsibility. A surgeon’s table was a battlefield, tactics and strategy playing out under sterile lights. He even embellished today’s case, musing about the patient’s family, their desperate hope as they waited.
At first, she watched him warily. Then, with open admiration. And under her gaze, he felt like a hero, a maker of fates. He knew he was showing off, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted her to like him.
“You saved a life and talk about it so casually?”
“It happens every day. Every surgery is a risk. Even the simplest case can turn tragic.” He turned the question back. “What kind of doctor do you want to be?”
“I haven’t decided yet. If I even get in.” She glanced at her wristwatch and sprang up.
“Oh, I’m late!” Panic flickered in her eyes.
“My car’s just outside. Let me take you.”
On the drive, she told him she lived with her aunt—her mother’s sister. There was an old spaniel, Whiskey, named by her late uncle. Her aunt’s legs ached, so she took Whiskey out. He was old now, couldn’t hold it long. If she didn’t walk him in time, disaster struck.
“Difficult, is she?” asked Victor.
“Aunt Maggie? No, not at all. She’s kind. Took me in despite her own troubles.”
“Where are you from, originally?”
“I’ve always lived here. My mum died when I was ten. Stomach pains, but she ignored them. I came home from school and found her unconscious. Peritonitis, after her appendix burst. My father drank himself to death—or under a bus, hard to say. So Aunt Maggie raised me.”
At her building, she hopped out, turned and waved before vanishing inside.
Alone in the car, Victor’s heroism dissolved. Just a tired, lonely surgeon again. He pitied her. A good girl, determined. So young, already shouldering so much.
A month later, back from holiday, Victor passed a young cleaner mopping the ward floor. A strand of auburn hair escaped her cap. Something tugged at his memory. A patient? A relative?
She looked up.
“You? Hello!” Recognition sparked in her dark eyes. He remembered her, even if the name escaped him.
“Hello. I thought you were starting school, not working?” He slipped into the familiar *you* without thinking. “Or is someone here sick?”
“I got in. Just earning before term starts,” she said simply.
“Smart. Learn medicine from the ground up. Might change your mind about becoming a doctor. Not a surgeon, I hope?”
“We’ll see.” She shrugged, and her name returned—Emily.
“Good to see you.” He walked on, certain her gaze followed. His stride loosened, almost jaunty.
Every shift, he hoped to spot her. And when he did, he’d stop, exchange a few idle words.
Once, he found her waiting outside the doctors’ room.
“Today’s my last day. School starts soon,” she said, blushing. Her freckles darkened, vivid against her skin.
“So you haven’t changed your mind? Let’s celebrate. Your last shift and your acceptance. Wait for me, alright?”
She nodded, smiling and reddening further.
Two hours later, Victor found her in the lobby, springing up the moment she saw him. They left together—no longer cleaner and surgeon, just a future doctor and… whatever they were.
Dinner first, then a walk along the Thames.
“Won’t your aunt worry?” he asked.
“She’s visiting a friend in York. And Whiskey… died last week. Was very old. She couldn’t bear being home without him.”
“Come to mine, then. My feet are killing me. Ever tried French wine? No? We’ll fix that.” Nervousness tightened his chest—what if she refused?
But she agreed.
“Sorry, the place is a mess,” he warned, unlocking his flat. “Make yourself at home. I’ll throw something together.”
He dug out leftovers, salad greens, a bottle of rosé.
“Where’s your wife? On holiday?” Her tone held a teasing edge as she stepped into the kitchen.
Victor rinsed vegetables. “Gone. Tired of me never being home, even on weekends. Called the ward nights, accusing me of lying. We fought—a lot. At first, I drowned myself in work. Slept at the hospital. Then… got used to it. Not divorced yet.” He laughed weakly. “Help? I’m hopeless in the kitchen.”
“The meat?” She eyed the takeaway container.
“Takeout,” he admitted, abandoning any pretense.
They chopped, set the table, brushing hands, stifling laughter over clumsy moments. Wine loosened tongues—stories spilled, pauses avoided.
Then his phone rang. Both froze. He excused himself, returned minutes later—an emergency call.
“Sleep here. Fresh sheets in the cupboard. Wait for me,” he said, hurrying out.
A multi-car collision. All surgeons summoned. He operated through the night. By morning, he rushed home—for the first time in months, someone waited.
Already, he imagined easing the door open, finding her asleep, auburn hair fanned across the pillow. Kissing her, warm, drowsy-scented… His chest tightened with anticipation.
He took the stairs two at a time, unwilling to wait for the lift. The door creaked open. The clatter of dishes came from the kitchen.
Victor toed off his shoes, heading straight for the noise, expecting breakfast. Then he stopped dead.
His wife’s back faced him, her floral dressing gown, blonde hair loose over her shoulders.
She turned, smiling.
“Hi.” Casual, as if she’d just popped out for groceries.
“Hi. What—what are you doing here?” Stupid question.
“Pancakes. You must be starving. What happened? The hospital called?”
“How—how did you know?” His gaze darted around, searching for signs of Emily.
“Looking for someone?” Innocent.
“No, but—”
“She’s gone. Don’t worry, I didn’t scare her off. Though—isn’t she a bit young for you?”
“Why are you here?” He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to shout.
“I came home. We’re married, remember? I missed you. Couldn’t do this alone. And a child should have its father.”
“A *child*?” Ice shot down his spine.
“I’m pregnant.” Her eyes searched his, gauging his reaction.
“Truth? After three months? Why now”Three days later, at the hospital, he caught a glimpse of Emily through the crowd—her back turned, her auburn hair pulled into a neat ponytail, walking away without looking back, and he knew he had lost something irreplaceable.”
