My best friend set me up on a date I didn’t want three years after my wife died in a car accident. However, as soon as I met her, something about her felt… eerie.
The three years she was gone felt like a long, flat, gray Missouri winter road that never ended. The kind where your radio crackles, and your heater only blows on one foot.
When I woke up, I would wash the same coffee mug, make sure the stove was off twice, and then drive to the garage to hide behind the smell of oil and someone else’s broken stories.
It felt like three years had passed since Emma was last seen.
I could still hear the sound of tires screaming. The way the sky turned black and white. I made it through, and that word kept me up at night. I made it. It wasn’t her. Every “if only” stuck in my throat.
I should have driven more slowly.
Should have slowed down more quickly.
I should not have looked down at the radio.
Barb from the nearby diner snapped her fingers in front of me and said, “Jack.” “You look at that coffee like it’s going to talk back.” It’s been ten minutes since it last worked.
“That’s okay.” “Cold is honest.”
“Are you becoming a poet now?” She smiled and slid a cherry pie slice toward me. “You sweetheart, eat something.” “You look like a ghost that forgot to haunt.”
“You look like a ghost that forgot to haunt.”
Then Mike came along. Mike was loud, dirty, and smiling. He sat down on the stool next to me and stretched his legs out.
“Guy, do you hear me?” He pushed me and said. “I know this is a touchy subject, but three years is three years.” “You need to start living again.”
“Mike, don’t start.” “I’m fine.”
“Come on, buddy,” he told Barb as he waved for another coffee. “When you come in, you pay, look at your reflection, and leave.” The machine broke because you laughed so loudly. Where did that guy go?”
Then Mike came along. Mike was loud, dirty, and smiling.
“She was sitting next to him.”
The air stopped moving. Barb even turned down the music and pretended to wipe down the bar. Mike took a smoother sip of his beer.
He said in a low voice, “Listen.” “I’m not going to forget her.” Just letting you know that she wouldn’t want you to be like this. And… I want you to meet someone.
“I want you to meet someone.”
“No.”
“Let go. She’s not a wild child. She is a vet and runs the small animal hospital on Maple. Really nice, sweet, and a little shy. “You like her.”
“Mike—”
“She also lost someone.” It’s a different story, but the heartache is still the same. Jack, just coffee. “No one is talking about marriage.”
“Let go. “She’s not a party girl.”
I scratched my neck. Something about the way he said it, the quiet in his voice, stuck with me. The thought of sitting next to another woman made my stomach turn.
“What is her name?” I finally asked.
The name hit me hard, making me feel warm in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
Mike smiled. “So?” At six tomorrow. I already told her you were going to call.
He held up his mug. I like second chances, buddy. They don’t always look like you expect them to.
I let out a sigh, half-laughing and half-dreading what was going to happen. That coffee date (that one “yes”) was going to turn my whole world upside down, but I didn’t know it yet.
“So?” At six tomorrow. I already told her you were going to call.
Mike was right about one thing: Claire was different from other people I’d met.
She was already in the diner when I got there. She was sitting by the window with a cup of tea instead of coffee and tapping her spoon like she was singing along with a song in her head.
It was the perfect amount of light for her—soft and almost too calm for this busy town.
Claire was different from other people I’d met.
She stood up and asked, “Jack?” The kind of smile that doesn’t try too hard, it was small but warm.
I scratched my neck and said, “That’s me.” “You must be the brave person Mike talked into this mess.”
She laughed. A low musical sound hit me like a memory I couldn’t put my finger on.
“He told me you’d say that.”
I pulled out a chair and said, “Well, he knows me too damn well.” “I have a lot of awkward silences… I hope you like them.”
“All day I work with dogs.” “Quiet is a treat.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I hadn’t done that in a while. She chose apple pie with vanilla ice cream, so that’s what we got. That was very careful cutting, like she didn’t want to break anything.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
I hadn’t done that in a while.
She had soft hands, and there was a small scar across one finger. She saw me looking at her and smiled.
“Cat bite.” Occupational risk.”
“Oh, so you like what you do?”
“I love it. That’s it for animals. “They don’t hide how hurt they are.”
I took a look at my food. “People do.”
“It’s easy with animals.
“They don’t hide how hurt they are.”
She agreed and took a sip of her tea. “Someone you knew has died.”
It wasn’t a question, she said it more like she knew.
I finally said, “Yeah.” “That was three years ago.” “My wife.”
Claire didn’t rush to talk to break the quiet. She just looked at me and knew what I meant.
“I’m sorry.” Loss never goes away. “It only changes shape.”
I stared at her. Those calm eyes made it easier for me to breathe. “It sounds like you’ve been through it too.”
“Yes, I have.” I got a second chance, though. A very direct one.”
I wasn’t even going to ask when her napkin fell. As she reached to pick it up, her shirt moved just enough for me to see a thin pink scar running down the middle of her chest.
Just a little, her blouse moved.
I could just barely make out a thin pink scar
that went down the middle of her chest.
I opened my eyes. “Is that—?”
With a slight blush, she stood up straight. “Oh.” That. Surgery on the heart. “Three years ago.”
I lost the fork in my hand. “Thirty years?”
She tried to smile and say, “Almost to the day.” “I got a new organ.” Some unknown giver. I guess I owe them my life.
“Oh.” That. Surgery on the heart. “Three years ago.”
“Do you know who that is?”
“No.” They warned us not to tell anyone. But there are times when I wish I could thank my family. Tell them they lost something important to you.
The words were like smoke between us. It was three years ago. The same month.
“Jack?” she asked with a frown. “Are you okay?” “You look very pale.”
“Are you okay?” “You look very pale.”
“I—yeah.” “Just… dizzy,” I stuttered as I grabbed my coat. “I feel like I need some air.”
“What did I say wrong?”
“No.” “No, you did not.”
But my heart was beating so fast that I could hear it in my ears. It sounded like it was going to say something. I said sorry in a low voice, threw some money on the table, and stumbled out into the cold night.
The lamps made a buzzing sound. I gasped and leaned against my truck.
It wasn’t possible. It’s not possible. Could it?
That night, I didn’t sleep. When I closed my eyes, I saw that thin pink line across her chest and heard her voice saying, “Three years ago.” “Almost the day.”
I tried to tell myself it was just a stroke of luck. It’s the same year, month, and maybe even hospital. But something in my gut told me not to.
I tried to tell myself it was just a stroke of luck.
You have to pay attention when your gut is louder than your brain. Most of all in Missouri.
I had red eyes and hair that stuck up like bad hay by morning. I looked like I had been hit by a truck. Mike came up to my door with two coffees and a mean look on his face.
He walked in without being asked and said, “Jesus, Jack.” “You look like a raccoon that was smashed by a lawnmower.”
Mike came up to my door with two coffees and a mean look on his face.
I said, “Good morning to you too,” and took the cup.
“How was the date?” Claire texted me to say that you ran out of cake in the middle. How the hell did that happen?”
I find everything about you hard. Jack, I put you in touch with a nice woman. Nice and sweet. Man, she liked you. The call from her made me cry.
“Man, she liked you.
The call from her made me cry.
That scared me. “Being sad?”
“Okay.” She said she thought she said something wrong, and you ran off. “What did you do?”
“She told me she got a new heart for Christmas.”
“All right… and that’s the main reason you ghosted her?”
“Mike, it was three years ago.” Three. In the same month that Emma died.
“In the same month that Emma died.”
“You believe—”
“I don’t think so.” “I understand.” I hit the cup hard. Emma gave her organs to people who needed them. They told me that she felt sorry for someone in the state. Claire had surgery here last week at the same hospital. Does that seem like a coincidence to you?”
While he thought about it, Mike walked around the room.
“Now what?” Are you going to tell her, “Hey, you got my dead wife’s heart?” Do you hear how crazy that sounds?”
“Hey, do you have the heart of my dead wife?”
“I want to be sure.” There is a record in the hospital. The donation file will be with them.
“You can’t just walk in and ask for it.” There are rules about privacy, man.
I grabbed my jacket and said, “I don’t care.” “I have to know something.”
Mike stood in the way of the door. “Stop, Jack.” Last night, you finally smiled. For God’s sake, you laughed. “Don’t mess this up because you’re thinking about ghosts.”
“I have to know something.”
“I’m not after ghosts.” “I’m after her.”
“What do you know? Do what needs to be done. That girl is the only person who brought you back to life. If you hurt her, I swear I’ll hit you over the head with something.
He moved out of the way, and I left.
“I’m not after ghosts.” “I’m after her.”
Twenty minutes later, I was sweating badly as I stood at the front desk.
“Sir,” the nurse said, “we can’t give out information about donors.”
The picture of Emma was slid across the bar. “Please.” She was my wife. She gave the blood.
After some thought, the nurse said, “Wait here for a moment.”
“We can’t share information about donors.”
She was last seen behind a door. It felt like hours were minutes. After that, she came back, but she wasn’t by herself. A woman in her middle years with kind, wise eyes followed her out. She had a small white package in her hand.
“I was in charge of transplants three years ago.” This letter was written by your wife. It was lost.
“Are you sure she meant me?”
“She was sure.”
I took the letter. The weight was less than what I had been carrying for three years, but it felt light.
“This letter was written by your wife. It was lost.
I sat on the couch at home with the envelope in my hands. I couldn’t open it for a long time. When I finally did, the paper had a light lavender scent to it. Lines that looked like loops were written all over the page.
I’m so glad you made it, Jack. If you’re reading this, it means you did. I may fall in love with someone else, but please don’t let your heart stop beating. Let it learn to love again if it does. Do not worry. It’s not the end of love, Jack; it just moves.
Emma has signed.
“Jack, if you’re reading this, it means you made it.”
As I sat there, crying, the ink became blurry.
It wasn’t even about her in the letter. It was about me.
It had been a month since I read Emma’s letter, but the words were still like a pulse in my skin. “Let it learn to love again if it can.”
That’s why I called Claire.
“Let it learn to love again if it can.”
There was a field where everything ended and something else started. That’s where we met on the country road. Standing by her truck, she looked tense.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d show up.”
“Not sure if I should. I need to do something, though.
From the back of my truck, I took out a small tree whose roots were wrapped in cloth.
Standing by her truck, she looked tense.
“A tree?”
It was always Emma’s plan to plant one. Something that could grow from what was broken.
We got on our knees in the muddy ground. We didn’t talk much. They dug until the ground gave way. Claire brushed the mud off her hands when we were done. The wind had made her cheeks red.
She said in a whisper, “It’s beautiful.”
We didn’t talk much.
They dug until the ground gave way.
We stood there and watched it for a long time. It was thin and fragile, and it shook in the wind as if it wasn’t sure where it belonged. After that, Claire looked at me.
It’s been a while since we talked, but I’ve felt… linked ever since that night. It’s like I knew you before I did.
“Claire.” I need to tell you something.
“You don’t need to.” “I already know.”
“You don’t need to.” “I already know.”
“You do?”
She gave a small smile and touched her chest. “I do not understand how, but I do.” What if this heart loved you before? I think it’s beginning to love you again, this time on its own.
I reached out and grabbed her hand. “All right, let’s give it a reason to keep beating.”
We stood there under the gray Missouri sky and watched a new life begin. We were connected by more than just death.
“All right, let’s give it a reason to keep beating.”
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