Thomas and Sophie lived in the same building, on the fifth floor of a red-brick terrace in Manchester. Thomas, now in Year 5, was considered responsible enough to look after five-year-old Sophie, who lived across the landing. Her mother, a busy surgeon, often got emergency calls even on weekends.
Thomas took his role seriously—feeding Sophie, scolding her when needed, always watching out for her. And Sophie, with her wide hazel eyes, followed him everywhere, hanging on his every word.
One June day, Sophie caught tonsillitis. How she managed it in summer, Thomas couldn’t fathom. He spent days by her side. His friends knew where to find him—knocking on Sophie’s door to ask him to play football.
“Can’t. Looking after Sophie,” Thomas said firmly.
“Bring her along! She can cheer,” suggested Alfie.
“She’s got a fever. You lot play without me.”
“Who’ll keep goal then?” grumbled Patrick.
“Take turns,” Thomas shrugged, watching his friends’ disappointed faces.
“Nah, that’s rubbish. We won’t go either.”
“Fine, come in then,” Thomas sighed, letting them inside.
Sophie, wrapped in a woollen scarf, sat on the sofa flipping through a picture book. Her face lit up when she saw the boys.
“These are my mates, Patrick and Alfie,” Thomas introduced them. “Mind if they stay awhile?”
“Read to me?” Sophie pushed the book toward them.
“Let’s build a den instead,” Patrick said, eyeing the living room table.
“How? We’d need sticks and straw,” Sophie giggled, her eyes bright despite her fever.
“Nah, just this.” Patrick tugged at the sofa throw. “We’ll drape it over the table—instant hideout.”
One blanket wasn’t enough, so Sophie directed Thomas to fetch another. Soon, all four were crammed under the table—hot, stuffy, and thrillingly dark.
“Let’s tell scary stories,” Alfie said. “My grandad fought in the war.”
“Boring,” Patrick groaned.
“He had loads of medals. Delivered bread during the Blitz.”
“So?” Patrick yawned.
“People ate rats. Even… each other,” Alfie whispered.
“Ew!” Sophie shuddered, pressing closer to Thomas.
“I know scarier ones,” Patrick cut in. “About the Shadow Man. At camp last year, we told them at night. Proper terrifying.”
Sophie froze. Just the name *Shadow Man* made her spine tingle. In the darkness, the word *terrifying* sent a tremor through her.
“He wears all black. If you’re not careful, he snatches you away. Gone forever. Loves kids most—especially naughty ones who wander off…”
“Enough!” Thomas snapped, feeling Sophie tremble. “Now she’ll have nightmares!”
“I’m *not* little,” Sophie pouted, though her voice wavered. “But I don’t like the Shadow Man. It’s too scary.”
The front door clicked open. The children froze. Slow footsteps paused nearby. Patrick fidgeted; Alfie’s breath quickened. Sophie buried her face in Thomas’s chest, his heartbeat loud in her ear.
Then—the blanket lifted. Sophie squealed.
“There you are!” Her mum’s voice cut through the tension.
“Mummy!” Sophie scrambled out and flung herself into her arms.
“Why’s the table covered? What were you doing?” Her mum eyed the dishevelled boys.
“It was a den! We told scary stories,” Sophie babbled.
“Did they frighten you?”
“Yes! When we heard footsteps, I thought it was the Shadow Man!”
Her mum shot the boys a stern look. Thomas ducked his head guiltily.
“Right. Tidy up, then wash your hands. Lunch is ready.”
After lunch, the boys finally escaped to football. Her mum tucked Sophie in, but every time she closed her eyes, the Shadow Man loomed in the dark.
Years passed. Thomas started secondary school; Sophie began Year 1. He rarely babysat now—she was old enough to be alone. Still, she followed him like a shadow, especially during thunderstorms.
When Thomas and his mates went skating or to the cinema, Sophie tagged along, deploying tears if they refused. Thomas, soft-hearted, always gave in. He taught her to skate, reheat soup, and love adventure books. By sixth form, Thomas took dates to the cinema—once, Sophie spied him kissing a girl named Emily behind the bike sheds. Her childish heart ached with jealousy.
After graduation, Thomas left for military academy, visiting rarely. Sophie was relieved—no girls around—but missed him terribly.
Once, he returned to find his parents out. He knocked next door. Seeing him in uniform, Sophie blushed. Thomas, too, noticed how she’d grown—soft curls, freckled cheeks—as if seeing her anew. Over lunch, his gaze kept drifting to her. Her lashes fluttered under his attention.
His parents returned, and Thomas left without another word.
Posted to the southern border after training, Thomas was gone for years. Sophie studied medicine. When he finally visited, she waited breathlessly by the window, jumping at every footstep.
“He’s grown. Probably marrying soon. You’re just a little sister to him,” her mum said. Sophie knew it was true, yet her heart refused to listen.
Then, one afternoon, a taxi pulled up. Thomas emerged—then opened the door for a heavily pregnant woman. Sophie’s heart shattered. *He’s married. A father soon.*
Locked in her room, she sobbed. *Forget him*, she told herself. But how, when he haunted every thought? She fled to London with a friend to clear her head.
Returning, she found Thomas gone. Grief faded to numb acceptance. After uni, she joined her mum’s hospital but couldn’t bear losing patients. She switched to rehabilitation, specialising in spinal injuries.
Years later, she was *Dr. Alexandra Carter*—respected, admired by colleagues and patients alike. Yet none stirred her heart.
Then a new patient arrived—a wounded officer. “Handsome bloke,” murmured the nurses. “Shame if he’s left disabled.”
Sophie recognised him instantly. But Thomas, half his face bandaged, didn’t know her behind her mask.
The nurses flirted shamelessly, dubbing him *The Brooding Captain*.
One stormy afternoon, Thomas limped into her office early. This time, no mask hid her face. He studied her, frowning. Something nagged at him, but still, no recognition came.
Thunder cracked overhead. Sophie flinched.
“Still afraid of storms?” he teased.
“Yes. The boys loved scaring me with stories… about the Shadow Man.”
Thomas stiffened. “*Sophie*?” His voice was rough. “I heard your name, but… You work here? I’ve thought of you often. Are you… married?”
“Are *you*?” she countered.
“No. Never found anyone like you.”
“But… I saw you with a pregnant woman.”
Thomas laughed. “An officer’s wife! Her husband was deployed. I just gave her a lift to her parents’. They named their son after me.”
Sophie’s breath caught. All these years, she’d misread everything. Pride had kept her silent, fear had driven her away—and time had slipped through her fingers.
Another thunderclap made her jump.
“Remember our den?” Thomas asked softly. “How you screamed when your mum lifted the blanket?”
His gaze was tender now, unlike before. She longed to lean into him as she had as a child, but only smiled.
“My happiest memory,” she admitted. “But I’ve patients to see.”
“Of course.” He left.
Next day, he returned with roses. “Never gave you flowers. Better late than never.” His smile was bittersweet. “I leave in an hour.”
“What? Your treatment—your post—”
“Medical discharge. My father’s ill. Sophie, I need to tell you—”
“Dr. Carter, the consultant needs you,” a nurse interrupted, eyeing Thomas coyly.
By the time Sophie returned, he was gone.
Two weeks later, he barged into her office mid-consultation.
“Before you vanish again—” His voice wavered. “I’m staying. I can’t live without you. Marry me.” He held out a velvet ring box.
The tactful patient slipped out unnoticed.
“I’ve spoken to the director. He’ll help me find work here.” Thomas searched her face. “You’re quiet. Too late?”
“Half a lifetime too late,” she whispered, resting her cheek against his chest. His heartbeat was just as she remembered.
Love. We chase it, define it, mistake gratitude or habit for it. Often, we only recognise it when it’s gone—realising too late that life without it is hollow. And if we’re lucky, we get a second chance to hold on tight.
