I sold everything I had and bought a one-way ticket to see my first love again. But fate had other plans. A mid-flight heart attack landed me in a city where I had to choose: give up or take the longest road to love.
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At 78, I sold everything I owned. My apartment, my old pickup truck, even my record collection—which I’d been collecting for years. Those things were no longer important.
Elizabeth wrote to me first. The letter came unexpectedly, tucked away among bills and advertisements, as if she had no idea how much power she wielded.
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“I was thinking of you.”
That was all it said. A single sentence that set me back decades. I read it three times before I could even catch my breath.
A letter. From Elizabeth. My fingers trembled as I unfolded the rest of the page.
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“I wonder if you ever think about those days. About how we laughed, how you held my hand that night by the lake. I do. I always have.”
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“James, you’re a damn fool,” I muttered to myself.
The past was the past. But for the first time in years, it didn’t feel so far away.
We started writing back and forth. At first, it was just short notes. Then, longer letters followed, pushing back time further and further. She told me about her garden, how she still played the piano and how much she missed it, how I teased her about her terrible coffee.
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Then, one day, she sent me her address. So I sold everything and bought a one-way ticket.
Finally the plane took off into the sky and I closed my eyes, imagining her waiting for me.
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Will she still have that same radiant laugh? Will she still tilt her head when she listens?
But then a strange pressure in my chest froze me. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my arm. My breath came in gasps. A flight attendant rushed over.
“Sir, are you okay?”
I tried to answer, but words failed me. The lights above me blurred. Voices swirled. Then everything went black.
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***
When I woke up, the world had changed. A hospital. Pale yellow walls. A beeping machine next to me.
A woman sat next to the bed and held my hand.
“You scared us. I’m Lauren, your nurse,” she said gently.
I swallowed, my throat dry. “Where am I?”
“At Bozeman General Hospital. Your plane had to make an unscheduled landing. You had a mild heart attack, but you’re stable now. The doctors say you can’t fly for now.”
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I let my head fall back onto the pillow. “My dreams had to wait.”
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***
“Your heart isn’t as strong as it used to be, Mr. Carter,” said the cardiologist.
“That’s what I thought when I woke up in a hospital,” I murmured.
He gave me a tired smile. “I understand you didn’t plan this, but you have to take it easy. No flying. No unnecessary stress.”
I didn’t answer. He sighed, scribbled something on his clipboard, and left. Lauren remained standing in the doorway.
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“You don’t strike me as someone who listens to doctors.”
“I don’t feel like someone just waiting to die either,” I shot back.
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She didn’t flinch, didn’t tell me I was being careless. She just tilted her head slightly and studied me.
“You wanted to meet someone,” she said after a pause.
“Elizabeth. We… wrote letters to each other. After forty years of silence. She asked me to come.”
Lauren nodded as if she already knew. Maybe she did. In my semi-lucid moments, I’d talked a lot about Elizabeth.
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“Forty years is a long time.”
“Too long.”
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I expected her to ask me more questions, to delve into my past, as doctors tend to do when symptoms occur. But she didn’t. She simply sat down next to my bed and rested her hands on her lap.
“You remind me of someone,” I said, more to myself than to her.
“Yes? To whom?”
“To myself. A long time ago.”
She looked away, as if that had made a deeper impression than I intended.
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***
Over the next few days, I learned more about Lauren’s past. She grew up in an orphanage after losing her parents, who had dreamed of becoming doctors. In their honor, she chose the same path.
One evening, as we were drinking tea, she recounted a painful memory: She had once fallen in love, but when she became pregnant, her husband left her. Shortly thereafter, she lost the child.
Since then, she buried herself in her work, admitting that being busy was the only way to escape the burden of her thoughts. I could understand that feeling all too well.
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***
On my last morning in the hospital, she came into my room with a set of car keys.
I frowned. “What is this?”
“A way out.”
“Lauren, are you…”
“You’re leaving? Yes.” She exhaled and shifted her weight. “I’ve been stuck too long. You’re not the only one who wants to find something, James.”
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I searched her face for hesitation or doubt. I found none.
“You don’t even know me,” I said.
She grinned. “I know enough. And I want to help you.”
We drove for hours. The road stretched out before us like an unspoken promise. The dry air whipped past the open windows, carrying dust and the smell of asphalt.
“How far is it?” she asked after a while.
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“Just a few more hours.”
“Good.”
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“Are you in a hurry?”
“No,” she said, looking at me. “I just want to make sure you don’t faint.”
I chuckled. Lauren had suddenly appeared in my life and become someone I felt deeply connected to. In that moment, I realized the true joy of my trip. I didn’t regret that it had turned out to be much longer than just a flight.
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***
When we arrived at the address in the letter, it wasn’t a house. It was a nursing home.
Lauren turned off the engine. “That it?”
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“This is the address she gave me.”
We entered. The air smelled of fresh laundry and old books, as if someone was trying to make the house feel like home. On the terrace, elderly residents watched the swaying trees, while others simply stared into space. A few nurses moved among them, offering gentle words and warm blankets.
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That wasn’t right. Elizabeth had always hated the idea of growing old in a place like this. A voice at the reception desk pulled me out of my thoughts.
“Can I help you?”
I turned around, but before I could say anything, Lauren stiffened next to me. I followed her gaze to the man behind the desk. He wasn’t much older than her. Dark hair, friendly eyes.
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“Lauren,” he breathed.
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She took a step back. I didn’t even need to ask. The way her shoulders stiffened… I knew. Lauren knew him. From another life.
I gave them their moment and walked past them to go deeper into the facility.
And then I saw her.
Elizabeth sat by the window, her thin hands resting on a blanket draped over her lap. Her hair had turned silver, and her face bore the gentle wear of time. She smiled at me.
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But it wasn’t Elizabeth’s smile. It was her sister’s. I stopped as realization struck me.
“Susan.”
“James,” she murmured. “You came.”
A bitter laugh escaped me. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?”
She lowered her gaze. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
“So you lied? You let me believe…” I exhaled sharply and shook my head. “Why?”
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“I found your letters. They were hidden in Elizabeth’s things. She never stopped reading them, James. Even after all these years.”
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I swallowed hard, my throat burning.
“She died last year. I fought to keep the house, but… I lost that too.”
Silence spread between us.
“You had no right,” I finally said in a cold voice.
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“I know.”
I turned away. I couldn’t look at her anymore. “Where is she buried?”
Slowly, she gave me the answer. I nodded, not daring to say anything else. Then I walked away. Lauren was still near the front.
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“Come on,” I said to her, my voice tired.
I didn’t know what the next step would be. But I knew I couldn’t do it alone.
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***
The cemetery greeted us with a bitter wind. It howled through the trees, rustling the dead leaves at my feet. I pulled my coat tighter around me, but the cold had already settled deep within me.
Elizabeth’s name was carved into the stone. I let out a shaky breath.
“I did it,” I whispered. “I’m here.”
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But I was too late.
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I stared at the engraving, tracing the letters with my eyes, as if the repetition of her name would bring her back. Lauren stood a few feet away to make room for me. I barely noticed her. The world had shrunk to me and this tombstone.
“I sold everything,” I told her. My voice felt rough, as if I hadn’t spoken in years. “I gave up my home, my things… everything for this. And you weren’t even here to see it.”
The wind picked up and carried my words away.
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“Susan lied to me. She made me believe you were still waiting. And I was stupid enough to believe it.”
Silence. Then, somewhere deep inside me, a voice answered. Soft, warm. Not hers. But mine.
“Susan didn’t cheat on you. She was just lonely. Like you. Now what? Are you going to run away again?”
I closed my eyes and let the weight of those words sink in. My entire life had been marked by loss. I had spent years running away from it, trying to banish the ghosts.
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But what do I have to lose now?
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I exhaled slowly and turned away from the grave.
Wir kehrten in die Stadt zurück und suchten uns ein kleines Hotel. Ich habe nicht gefragt, wo Lauren abends verschwunden ist, aber ich wusste es. Jefferson. Der Mann aus dem Pflegeheim.
“Wirst du bleiben?” fragte ich sie eines Abends, als sie mit von der Kälte geröteten Wangen hereinkam.