Alice jolted against the airbags as they exploded at the last possible moment. Her vision swam, and she couldn’t tear her gaze from the man she had buried just a week ago. Was this real? Or was she dying, slipping into some other world where they were together again? Memories twisted through her mind—the day they’d delivered the awful news looped like a nightmare, as if someone had dragged her back to the pain just to carve it deeper into her heart.
*”No!”* The scream tore from her throat, echoing through the flat. *”You’re lying! This can’t be happening! My husband wouldn’t leave me—he wouldn’t! He couldn’t just go!”*
She sank to the floor, nearly fainting. How could this be real? How could it have happened to *them*, to *James*? He was so young, so full of life. How could he be *gone*? His boss had called—something about a sudden blood clot, the paramedics arriving too late.
*”There was nothing anyone could do,”* the voice on the phone had said. *”By the time the doctors arrived, James was already gone.”* The words echoed in her skull like lines from a horror film, impossible to unhear.
What now? How could she breathe without him? Tears streamed down her cheeks, but Alice barely felt them. The phone still pressed to her ear, she stared blankly ahead, unable to speak. She wished, desperately, that this was all some terrible dream she’d wake from any second.
The morgue hadn’t let her see him. Only at the funeral did she finally accept it was really him in that casket—but part of her still hoped he’d walk in any second, laughing, calling it all a sick April Fools’ prank. Would he joke like that? Fine, she’d forgive him. She’d forgive *anything* if he’d just come back. But he didn’t. He lay there, eerily still, like he was only sleeping.
She had lunged at the coffin, sobbing, begging him to wake up, to come home. She’d fainted twice, revived each time by smelling salts. His mother had barely stayed upright herself, trying to console her daughter-in-law between her own shattered cries. Only his father had pulled Alice away, urging her to accept it. But she *couldn’t*.
The burial had been a blur. She’d screamed when they lowered the casket, begged them to bury her too. Because without James, *how could she live?* Throwing that first handful of dirt felt like betrayal—like letting him go forever.
Back in their empty flat, Alice tried to gather herself, but she only lasted minutes before crumbling against the wall. Her mind flashed to the day they’d met.
*”Excuse me—did you drop this?”* His voice had been kind, teasing. *”Hello?”* James had grinned, holding out a single red rose until she finally turned.
She’d been walking near the university, reviewing lecture notes, when he appeared. *”That’s not mine,”* she’d said.
*”It is now.”* He’d smiled. *”You looked like you needed cheering up.”*
Blushing, she’d taken the flower. She hadn’t even realized how effortlessly they’d fallen into conversation, how he’d walked her to class, waited for her after, asked her to dinner. Love at first sight. With his tousled blond hair, warm smile, and soft voice, he’d seemed plucked straight from a romance novel.
But now, *none* of that would ever happen again.
A fragile smile flickered, then died. The pain was unbearable.
Seven years together. Three years married. A small, sweet wedding—no lavish gifts needed, because they’d had each other. And now, Alice was alone.
She didn’t remember crawling into bed. She woke to her phone ringing. *Work.* Her boss had given her time off, but her temp was struggling with the files—she had to go back.
*”Alice? It’s Oliver. Quick question—where does the laminate catalogue number go in the report?”*
She answered mechanically, numb. No anger, no frustration. Just empty instructions. Hanging up, she collapsed onto the pillows, staring at the empty space beside her. The tears had dried, but her eyes burned like sand had been rubbed into them. She remembered that feeling—when a boy from the estate had thrown sand in her face during a childhood spat.
With effort, she forced herself to the kitchen. She hadn’t eaten in days. But the sight of food made her stomach turn. A glass of water was all she could manage before retreating.
She couldn’t touch photo albums. Couldn’t watch old videos. Couldn’t bear to hear his voice—though it echoed in her head anyway, phantom calls that made her spin around, only to be gutted all over again. *He wasn’t there.*
A week after the funeral, she returned to work. Paperwork was easier. She functioned like a machine, feeling nothing. Better *nothing* than this agony.
On Friday, she drove to her parents’ country house. They’d begged her to visit, but she’d refused—she couldn’t stand their pity. But maybe now it would help.
On the motorway, grief swallowed her whole. Tears blurred her vision. She didn’t notice swerving into oncoming traffic until headlights seared her vision—a lorry, barreling toward her. The world fell silent. Maybe this was fate. Maybe James was calling her home.
Then—a voice.
*”Turn!”*
James—*James*—yanked the wheel. The car lurched, skidding into the barrier. The airbags slammed her. Blood trickled from her nose. But he was *there.* Hazy, like mist given form.
*”Am I dead? Are we together?”* she whispered.
*”Not yet.”* His voice was tender. *”You have people who need you. Promise me you’ll live. I can’t stay, but I’ll watch over you. Let me go. And be happy. One day, we’ll meet again.”*
Then he vanished. Alice screamed into the wreckage.
The lorry driver wrenched her door open. *”You alive? Where’s the bloke who was with you? I *saw* him!”*
Alice trembled. So it *was* real. James had saved her.
The driver swore, shaking. *”What the hell were you thinking? I’ve got kids! You could’ve *killed* us!”*
She said nothing. Just shivered in his jacket as they waited for the ambulance.
At the hospital, her parents rushed in. *”You’re coming home—no arguments!”* her mother sobbed. *”James wouldn’t want this!”*
Alice remembered his last words. *People who need you.*
Then the doctor entered. *”You’ll need to stay a while longer. And rest—you’re pregnant.”*
Alice froze. *”Pregnant?”*
*”Seven weeks. You didn’t know?”*
She clutched her mother, weeping. *”James left me our baby.”*
In that moment, she understood. For this little miracle, she *would* live. She’d be strong. And one day, she’d tell their child how wonderful their father had been.
Silently, she whispered to James:
*”I promise. For them, I’ll survive.”*
