Emily slammed into the airbags, which deployed at the last possible second. Her vision blurred as she struggled to stay conscious, her eyes locked on the man she had buried only a week earlier. Was this real? Or had she crossed into some other world—one where they could be together again? Memories spun violently in her mind, that dreadful day replaying as though some cruel hand had dragged her back to the pain, forcing her to relive every wound.
“No!” The word tore from her throat, a ragged scream that filled the empty flat. “You’re lying! It’s not possible! My husband would never leave me! He wouldn’t do this! He couldn’t just be… gone!”
Her knees buckled, the floor rushing up to meet her as she nearly fainted. She couldn’t accept it—how could this happen to them, to James? He had been so young, so full of life. How could he be dead? His manager had called, voice stiff with regret, saying a blood clot had broken loose without warning. The paramedics hadn’t even arrived in time.
“There was nothing anyone could do,” the man had said. “By the time help got there, James was already gone.” The words rang in her skull like lines from a horror film, impossible to unhear.
What now? How could she live without him? Breathing felt wrong, as if the air itself had turned thick and heavy. Tears streaked her cheeks, but Emily barely noticed. The phone was still pressed to her ear, her mouth dry and useless. She wished—desperately—that this was just a nightmare, that she would wake any second and forget this crushing weight.
They hadn’t let her see him in the morgue. Only at the funeral did she finally face the truth—that the man in the casket was really him. Even then, some foolish part of her had waited, hoping James would stroll in from work laughing, telling her it was all some awful joke. Wasn’t it April Fools’? But who jokes like that? Fine, no matter—she’d forgive anything, if only he’d come back. But he didn’t. He lay there, too still, too pale, like a wax figure of himself.
Emily had lunged forward, sobbing, begging him to wake up, to come home. She had fainted more than once, revived each time by smelling salts. His mother barely stood, grief hollowing her out, but she still tried to console her daughter-in-law. Only James’s father held firm, gently pulling Emily away, urging her to accept it. But she had fought, breaking free again and again, screaming his name as if sheer will could reverse death.
The funeral passed in a haze. She had watched the casket close, screamed as they dragged her back, pleaded to be buried with him. Life without James was unthinkable. Impossible. She had hesitated before tossing dirt onto the coffin—that final, irreversible act of letting go. Accepting it felt like betrayal.
At home, in the silent flat, Emily tried to gather herself, but exhaustion overtook her within minutes. Slumped against the wall, she remembered the day they met.
“Excuse me, I think you dropped this?” His voice was warm, teasing. “Miss!” James had grinned, making her turn.
She had been walking near the university, revising lectures in her head, when he held out a crimson rose.
“That’s not mine,” she had said, shaking her head.
“Now it is.” His smile was effortless. “You looked so lost in thought—I wanted to make you smile.”
Emily had taken the flower, flustered. She hadn’t even noticed how easily they fell into conversation, how he walked her to class, waited for her after, asked to stroll a little longer. Love at first sight. Blond, handsome, with kind eyes and a gentle laugh—James had seemed plucked from the pages of a romance novel. He spoke of family, dreams, of wanting love and children someday. It had all felt like fate.
But now… none of that would ever happen.
The fleeting warmth of memory dissolved, and Emily shattered all over again. Returning to this reality—one that had stolen everything—was unbearable.
Seven years together, three married. A small wedding, nothing extravagant—they hadn’t needed anything but each other. And now Emily was alone, without him, without the piece of her soul he had taken.
She didn’t remember crawling into bed or falling asleep. The next morning, her phone rang—work. Her boss had given her time, but the temp couldn’t manage the files without her.
“Emily, hi! It’s Oliver. Got a quick question?”
“Go ahead,” she answered flatly, no emotion left in her voice.
“Right, so these laminate reports—where exactly do we input the product codes?”
She felt neither anger nor irritation. Just numb. She explained mechanically, then ended the call. Collapsing onto the pillows, she stared at the empty space beside her. The tears had dried up, but her eyes burned as if filled with sand. She remembered that feeling too well—the neighbourhood boy who’d once flung sand in her face during an argument. The sting had been just as sharp.
Forcing herself up, she shuffled to the kitchen. She needed to eat—she’d barely managed a bite in three days. But the sight of food turned her stomach. All she could do was sip water before retreating.
She couldn’t bring herself to open the photo albums or watch videos of his voice. It already echoed in her mind, tricking her into thinking he was just in the next room. But each time she turned, the truth crashed down—he wasn’t there. And never would be again.
A week after the funeral, Emily returned to work. The paperwork, the tasks—they dulled the pain, if only for hours. She moved like a machine, feeling nothing. That was easier. Better to feel nothing than this unending agony.
By Friday, she agreed to visit her parents at their countryside home. They’d begged her to come, but she hadn’t wanted their pity, their hushed voices. Now, maybe it was time.
The motorway blurred as she drove, lost in thought. Grief swallowed her whole, and tears fell unchecked. She didn’t see the lorry swerve into her lane until it was nearly on top of her. The world went silent, everything distant, as if she were already slipping away. Was this fate reuniting them? Or was James calling her to him?
A sharp shout shattered the quiet.
“Turn the wheel!” A man’s voice—James’s voice. Tires screeched.
He grabbed the wheel, yanking the car aside. Emily couldn’t breathe—he was here. Alive? No, not quite. Like a ghost made of mist. Terrified, she willed him to stay.
They missed the lorry, but the sharp turn sent the car skidding into the barrier. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. Blood trickled down her temple as she stared at her husband beside her. These seconds stretched into eternity, a moment she never wanted to end.
“Am I dead? Are we together again?” she whispered.
“Not yet,” he said softly. “You still have people who need you. You’re not alone. Promise me you won’t throw your life away. You have to live. I can’t stay, but I’ll watch over you. Let me go. Promise me you’ll be happy. Don’t let grief take everything. We’ll meet again.”
And then he vanished. Gone, leaving Emily sobbing over the ruined steering wheel.
The car door flew open.
“Are you hurt? Can you hear me?” A man in his forties—sweaty, pale as death—yelled down at her.
Emily blinked up at him. His eyelid twitched, his hair seemed greyer, as if he’d aged years in seconds.
“Where the hell did you get your license, girl? Were you drunk? And the bloke beside you—where’d he go? I saw him!”
The words struck her. So James had really been there. It wasn’t just her. He’d saved her.
Glancing at the lorry now parked on the hard shoulder, Emily realized she’d nearly caused a head-on collision.
“Brainless idiot!” the driver roared. “What were you thinking? I’ve got kids, a wife—you could’ve killed us all! Do you even care?”
Emily shook her head mutely, trying to climb out. Her whole body trembled. The man tossed her his jumper while they waited for the ambulance and police.
The medics checked her over—dehydration, exhaustion. The lorry driver needed calming down too. He couldn’t drive on like this.
The next day, her parents rushed into the hospital.
“You’re coming home with us! No arguments! You scared me half to death!” Her mother fussed, tearful. “James wouldn’t want this—you know he wouldn’t.”
Emily remembered his last words. He’d meant their child.
As her mother spoon-fed her broth, the doctor entered.
“You’ll need another week or two to recover. And you must rest—you’re pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” Emily gasped.
“Seven weeks. You didn’t know?”
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered, clinging to her mother, crying with somethingShe closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her stomach, and for the first time since James had left, she felt the faintest glimmer of hope.
