“Olly, you don’t need any of this. I’m married and I love my wife,” he said, repeating the rehearsed line.
William and Margaret had been together for twenty-two years. The fiery passion had faded, leaving behind a steady, quiet affection. Their daughter was in her second year at medical school, following in her parents’ footsteps. It was hardly a surprise—ever since she was little, she’d been surrounded by talk of medicine, treatments, and patients’ complaints. She used to love flipping through anatomy books as a child, fascinated by the human body.
William and Margaret first noticed each other during clinical rotations. He helped her examine her first patient, a cocky young man who’d been making inappropriate advances. Two years later, just before their final exams, they married.
After graduation, they both worked at the same hospital—Margaret in cardiology, William as an orthopedic surgeon. Today was rare—their shifts ended at the same time, and they drove home together.
“Should we stop by the shop? We’re out of veg for salad,” Margaret suggested.
“Maybe just skip it tonight. I’m knackered. It was a long surgery,” William said, navigating the busy London streets.
“Fine, but we’ll have to go tomorrow. Drop me off, then—I’ll grab what we need.”
“No way. You’ll lug heavy bags, and I’ll feel guilty. We’ll go together,” he replied, pulling into the supermarket car park.
William pushed the trolley while Margaret loaded it.
“Told you,” he muttered, eyeing the overflowing cart as they queued at the till.
“But now we won’t have to shop all week.” She flashed him a teasing smile. “Oh, I forgot the bread.” She darted off.
William sighed and began loading the conveyor. Space was tight, and a pasta box tumbled onto the stranger’s groceries ahead.
The woman in front shot him a scathing look. He apologised, picking it up awkwardly, unsure where to put it.
Then she turned fully, studying him. Almost his height, with brown eyes and downturned lips, her bleached hair—dark roots showing—was pulled into a messy bun. A tan trench coat hung loosely over her thin frame.
William gave a placating smile and glanced away, scanning for Margaret. *Where is she? Knowing her, she’ll come back with more than just bread.* He caught the woman staring again. *A patient? I don’t remember her.*
“Will? Is that you?” Her voice lit up suddenly, eyes bright.
“Do we know each other? Were you my patient? Sorry, I don’t recall…” he fumbled.
“So you did become a doctor, like you dreamed?” Her smile faltered. “I’m Olly. Olivia Hart.”
William studied her. Something familiar flickered—Olly… Olivia…
“Hart?” Memories surfaced: the field behind the school, her running ahead, dark hair swaying. Him, breathless, chasing but never catching up…
“That bad, huh?” She gave a hollow laugh. “You’ve aged well. Even better.”
Margaret returned, eyeing them curiously. William was so flustered he didn’t even check her extra purchases—uncharacteristic for him. The till belt moved forward.
He recovered first. “This is Olivia Hart—an old classmate. My wife, Margaret.”
Margaret smiled politely, but Olivia turned away abruptly, paying for her items. She lingered near the exit, not leaving.
*Waiting for me? Now she’ll start complaining about some ailment.* It always happened when people learned he was a doctor.
“Will, your card?” Margaret nudged him.
He tapped to pay, grabbed the bags, and headed out. Olivia held the door open. *Why is she doing this?* It was unbearably awkward.
Outside, she ignored Margaret, asking William, “Do you still live near your parents?”
“No, the next street over. Easier to check on them. You?”
She waved vaguely. “I…” The conversation stalled. “It was nice seeing you. Should I go?” She waited, as if for permission.
He said nothing. Olivia turned and left.
“Was she in love with you?” Margaret asked in the car. “You never mentioned her.”
“No, she wasn’t.”
“Really? The way she looked at you—like she still regrets it.”
“It was the other way around. I was in love with her. But she chose the football star, Nicky Owens.”
Margaret smirked. “Seeing you now, she probably regrets it. I’m jealous.”
“Don’t be. Regret or not, I don’t care. I’m happy.”
They dropped it. But that night, William lay awake, remembering his younger self—heartbroken, nearly failing exams. Before GCSEs, before university.
*She’s changed. We’re the same age, but Margaret still looks young. Life with Nicky must’ve been rough. Serves her right. Rumour was he’d make the national team. And I was just the nerd…*
He woke late. Margaret had left sandwiches and cold coffee. After a slow start, he drove to work. At a red light, he spotted Olivia’s tan coat at the bus stop.
*Drive past. Pretend I didn’t see her.* But she’d already noticed his car and waved. Reluctantly, he pulled over.
“Hi. So glad I saw you. Been waiting forever—no bus.” She huddled in the passenger seat, hands tucked in her coat pockets. Today, she’d made an effort—light makeup, neat hair.
*She planned this. Came to this stop instead of the closer one. Is she stalking me now?*
“I knew we’d meet again,” she laughed.
*How long has she been waiting? Since half-eight? It’s freezing.*
“I’ve never seen you here before,” he said.
“Just moved nearby.”
“Is something wrong? Do you need medical help?”
“No. I just… wanted to see you. We didn’t get to talk properly. I think you didn’t want to, with your wife there.” She hesitated. “I can’t sleep. Remember how you used to chase me? And I—” She laughed again.
“You chose the football star.”
“That’s cruel,” she said quietly. “Girls dream of princes. Sometimes they pick the wrong ones.”
“Kids?”
“No. Nicky was always training, competing. Came home exhausted. Then he got injured. No one wanted him—all he knew was football. Couldn’t even coach kids.”
She paused. “Started drinking. I tried to help, then… I had to leave. He’d have dragged me down.”
“Where am I taking you?”
“We passed it. Just drop me, I’ll get the bus.”
“Don’t be daft. Address.” He turned the car.
“You have kids?”
“A daughter. In med school.”
“Smart and beautiful, like you? Stop here.” She hesitated. “Will we meet again?”
“Liv—” A honk cut him off. *Bloody hell, no stopping here.* “I’ll pull ahead.”
“No, I’ll go. Promise me we’ll meet again.”
He nodded. Waited till she left, then drove off.
*Why is this happening? I love Margaret. These games—’promise,’ ‘see you again’—I don’t need this.*
But he saw Olivia days later. She was waiting in the rain near his building after his night shift. Exhausted, he didn’t spot her until she called out.
“Olly, stop this. I’m married. I love my wife,” he said firmly.
“Where can we talk?” she pressed, ignoring him.
He glanced around. “Daughter’s home. The car, then.”
The interior still warm, smelling of air freshener and leather.
“Don’t get the wrong idea—I don’t want anything from you,” she said.
“Then why follow me?”
“When I saw you again, I just… I’m not here to break up your family. Just listen.” She exhaled. “I’m so tired of Nicky, of his drinking. I can’t even look at men now. I regretted pushing you away. Thought you’d left town, but you were here all along.”
“Other side of London,” he corrected.
“Right, you said.”
“Is this what you wanted to tell me? About your marriage?” His patience wore thin.
“When I recognised you, I realised… I want a child. A son.”
“Liv, I told you—I’m not leaving Margaret.”
“I can’t afford IVF.”
He stiffened. *Is she serious?* “That’s insane.”
“I’m alone. I can still have a baby. I’d never bother you after. Just once—”
“Listen to yourself! First you rejected me, now this? Are you mental?”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“Don’t cry. You were always so proud, so bright.”
“Was,” she muttered. “Now look at me.”
She reached for him, but he pulled back.
“Liv, I’m tired. You wantOlivia turned and walked away into the rain, leaving William standing by his car, relieved yet haunted by the ghost of what might have been.
