đ§When the emergency doctor arrived at the scene, she saw the patient clutching a crumpled piece of paper tightly in his trembling handsâŠ
đź Marina had been working in emergency medicine for over 20 years and thought sheâd seen it all. Night shifts, filthy stairwells, panicked people â it was all part of the job. But this call⊠felt different. The address seemed vaguely familiar, but in the rush and the dark, she didnât think much of it.
A neighbor opened the door.
â Heâs in the bedroom. Said his heart hurts.
Marina stepped in. Sitting at the edge of the bed was a man in his sixties â pale, messy hair, visibly shaken. In his hands, a wrinkled sheet of paper. His hands were trembling. He held onto it like it was the last thing keeping him groundedâŠ
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â My name is Marina. And yours? â she asked as she sat down beside him, pulling out her blood pressure monitor.
He looked up. Time seemed to pause.
â Louis, â he whispered softly.
Marina went pale. Could it really be him? Fifteen years had passed. He hadnât changed much. A few more wrinkles, more tired eyes â but that gaze⊠it was the same. Lost. Just like the last day she saw him.
â Your heart hurts?
He nodded, still holding the paper. Marina glanced at it.
â Is that a diagnosis?
He shook his head and silently handed it to her. She unfolded it. It was a letter⊠in her own handwriting.
âLouis, if you ever find this letter â it means I still think of you. I tried to live without you, but something inside me never let go. Forgive me. If fate gives us another chance â I wonât turn away.â
She remembered it clearly. She had written it the night he left. But she never sent it. She tucked it away in one of his books. Apparently, heâd only just found it.
Louis said nothing.
â Why did you call emergency services? â she asked gently.
â Sometimes, when your heart hurts⊠itâs not because of illness.
Marina smiled through her tears.
â Then I guess⊠I came to the right address after all.
