**Wait For Me**
He leaned against the rough, cool wall, closing his eyes. For a moment, it felt impossible to move. But after a few minutes, he forced himself away and walked to the doctors’ lounge.
Hours later, he stepped out of the hospital gates. Two strong coffees had finally chased away the fatigue. A narrow tree-lined path stretched from the entrance, leading to a quiet road. Sunlight flickered through the leaves, casting shifting patterns on the pavement. He couldn’t recall ever walking this way—he always drove to the hospital. But today, the dappled light drew him in, blinking against the brightness. There was no one waiting at home anyway.
Adam ambled slowly, savouring the warmth and the silence after the summer storms. July had passed its peak, and soon, his holiday would begin. Today, he had won—snatched another life back from the reaper’s grasp.
On one of the benches sat a young woman in a pale dress, hunched over a book. Copper-red strands obscured her face from view. Suddenly, he wanted—needed—to see her properly. He stopped beside her.
She turned a page, absorbed, unaware of him.
“Enjoying the book?” Adam asked.
She read a moment longer, then closed it, finger marking her place, tilting the cover for him to see.
*My Dear Human*, he read upside down.
She lifted her head. Freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks, but they didn’t spoil her—if anything, they made her livelier. Expressive dark eyes, full lips. Fresh-faced, lovely. “Golden,” he thought, watching the sunlight catch in her hair.
“Are you into medicine, or just the author?” he asked.
“I’ve applied to medical school.”
“Then we’re almost colleagues.” Adam smiled approvingly and sat beside her.
“You’re a doctor?” Her gaze sharpened.
“A surgeon.”
“*You?*” Disbelief coloured her voice.
“What’s so surprising? Don’t I look the part? Or did you expect all surgeons to be silver-haired and stern?”
Her lips curved. “What kind of surgeon?”
“Impressive you know there are nuances. I wish I could say plastic—it sounds more glamorous. Alas, just a general surgeon. Someone has to remove appendices and gallstones.”
She laughed, the sound sweet and bright.
For some reason, he wanted to impress her, to play the seasoned professional. So he told her the truth—no glamour, just responsibility. A life in their hands, the operating table a battlefield of strategy and precision. He even mentioned today’s case, embellishing with thoughts of the patient’s wife and children, waiting, praying.
Her expression shifted—first wary, then openly admiring. Under her gaze, he felt like a hero, a saviour. He knew he was showing off but couldn’t stop. He wanted her to like him.
“You saved someone’s life and talk about it so casually?”
“It’s routine. Every surgery is a risk. Even the simplest can end badly.” He turned the question. “What kind of doctor do you want to be?”
“Undecided. I have to get in first.” She checked her watch and jolted up. “Oh—I’m late.” Panic flitted across her face.
“My car’s just outside. I’ll drive you,” Adam offered, rising.
On the way, she told him she lived with her aunt, her mother’s sister. Her aunt had an old spaniel named Whiskey—named by her late uncle. Her aunt’s legs ached, so walking Whiskey fell to her, Emily. The dog was old, couldn’t hold it long. If she didn’t take him out in time, accidents happened. She’d be the one cleaning.
“Your aunt—strict?” Adam asked.
“Aunt Mary? No, she’s kind. She took me in despite her bad knees and blood pressure.”
“Where are you from?”
“Here, always. My mum died when I was eleven. Stomach pain for days—she ignored it. I came home from school and found her on the floor. Called an ambulance. Ruptured appendix, peritonitis. Dad drank himself to death after. Then—under a bus. So Aunt Mary raised me.”
Emily leapt from the car and dashed inside. At the door, she glanced back. Adam waved. Then she vanished.
Alone, the heroism faded. Just a tired, lonely surgeon again. He pitied her. A good girl. Young, but life had already been cruel.
A month later, post-holiday, Adam walked the ward corridor. A young cleaner mopped the floor. A strand of red hair escaped her cap. Something familiar about her—a patient? A relative?
She looked up.
“It’s you. Hello.” Joy sparked in her dark eyes. He remembered her, though the name eluded him.
“Hello. I thought you were starting school, not working?” he asked, slipping into familiarity. “Or is someone here sick?”
“Got in. Just earning before term starts,” she said simply.
“Smart. Medicine’s best learned from the ground up. Might change your mind. Not a surgeon, I hope?”
She shrugged. “We’ll see.”
And he remembered—*Emily*.
“Glad to see you.” He walked off, sure her gaze followed. His step felt lighter.
From then on, he looked for her in the halls. Always stopping, always chatting.
One day, she waited near the doctors’ lounge.
“Today’s my last shift. School starts soon,” she said, blushing. The freckles darkened.
“Still set on medicine? Let’s celebrate. Your last day, your new start. Wait for me, okay?”
She nodded, smiling, redder still.
Two hours later, Adam found her in the lobby. She jumped up, flushed again. They left together—who’d care? She wasn’t staff now, just a student.
Dinner at a café, then a walk along the Thames.
“No rush? What about your aunt?” Adam asked.
“Gone to visit a friend in York. Whiskey died last week. Old age. Aunt Mary left—couldn’t stand the silence. Kept hearing his bark.” Emily sighed.
“Come to mine, then. My feet are killing me. Ever tried French wine? No? Let’s fix that.” Nervous suddenly—what if she refused?
But she agreed.
“Forgive the mess. Make yourself at home,” Adam said, heading to the kitchen.
“Where’s your wife? On holiday?” Emily asked, half-teasing, appearing in the doorway.
He rinsed vegetables. “Gone. Sick of me never being home, even on weekends. Called the ward at night, never believed I was on duty. We fought. At first, I mourned. Slept at the hospital. Then… got used to it.” He paused. “Still married, technically. Help? I’m useless in the kitchen.”
“The meat?” She nodded at the takeaway container.
“Takeout,” he admitted, though he’d nearly lied.
They chopped salad, set the table, brushing close, hiding nerves behind laughter. Drank wine, ate, talked over each other, fearing silence.
Then his phone rang. Both froze. Adam stepped away to answer. Returned minutes later—emergency call.
“Sleep here. Linens in the cupboard. Wait for me,” he told her, leaving.
A crash. Multiple casualties. He operated all night. At dawn, he hurried home—for the first time in months. Emily would be there.
He imagined easing the door open, finding her asleep, fiery hair fanned across the pillow. Kissing her warm skin, breathing in her scent… His chest tightened with longing.
He took the stairs two at a time, too impatient for the lift. The door creaked open. The clatter of dishes echoed from the kitchen.
Kicking off his shoes, he strode in, expecting Emily. Then froze—his wife’s back faced him, blonde hair loose, pink robe.
She turned, smiling. “Hello.” Casual, as though she’d left hours ago, not months.
“Hello. What are you doing here?” Stupid question.
“Pancakes. You must be starving. What happened? The hospital called?”
“How did you—?” He scanned the room for signs of Emily.
“Looking for someone?” she asked lightly.
“She’s gone,” Sarah said, meeting his eyes. “Don’t worry—I wasn’t cruel. She’s a bit young for you, no?”
“Why are you here?” He bit back a shout.
“I’ve come home. We’re married. I missed you. There’s been no one else. And now—a baby needs its father. Let’s try again.”
“*What baby?*” Ice trailed his spine.
“I’m pregnant.” She watched him, gauging.
“You’re serious? Why now? You’ve been gone *months*. No morning sickness?”
“Early on. Better now.” Almost apologetic. “I couldn’t wait to tell you… I rang the ward. They said you weren’t on duty.”
“Nothing’s changed, Sarah. I’m still a surgeon. Still married toHe stood there, staring at his wife’s hopeful face, realizing that some choices were never really his to make, and the life he’d imagined would remain just out of reach—forever.
