It was a bright, quiet afternoon. The cold wind fluttered through the white curtains of the hospital room, carrying the faint smell of medicine and loneliness.
Matthew lay motionless on the bed, pale against the sheets. His right leg was wrapped in bandages and metal rods. He couldn't feel it,only the dull ache that came with every slow heartbeat.
But he didn't care about his leg.
All he could think about was Angela.
He reached for his phone on the side table, his fingers trembling. When he saw the empty call log and her name missing from his messages, it hit him again—she had blocked him. She had left for good.
A nurse came in, her shoes tapping softly against the tiles. She replaced the empty IV bag and set a small fruit basket by his bed.
"You're lucky, Mr. Matthew," she said gently, checking his pulse. "The doctors said it's a miracle you survived that crash. You should be dead."
Matthew stared past her, his eyes empty. "Maybe I should have been," he murmured.
The nurse sighed and gave him a sympathetic look. "Rest, sir. You need time to heal."
Time.
That word echoed through his mind like a cruel joke.
Evening came.
The hospital corridors were quiet except for the faint beeping of machines and the whisper of life and death trading places. It felt like a place where souls wandered some leaving, some returning.
Matthew's breath grew uneven. His chest tightened as panic swallowed him whole. He screamed, thrashing weakly, his voice breaking into sobs.
"Angela! Angela!"
The nurses rushed in. They pinned him down gently, injected a clear fluid into his arm, and soon his cries faded into heavy sleep.
By morning, the wind had died. The room was still.
For the first time in days, Matthew opened his eyes to the soft warmth of a hand resting on his arm.
He turned his head—and froze.
"Angela?" he whispered.
She sat beside him, her eyes red and tired. Her voice trembled. "Why did you do this to yourself?"
Matthew's lips quivered. "My… my love… I was thinking about you. I can't live without you. Please," he gasped, fighting the pain in his chest, "marry me, Angela. Please say yes."
Angela looked away, tears falling silently down her cheeks. "Matthew, I didn't come here to say yes. I came because I care. Because I can't watch you destroy yourself. But… I have to go now."
As she stood, he reached for her hand, desperate. "Please, don't go!" he shouted, his voice breaking into madness.
Nurses rushed in again. One tried to calm him, but Matthew's grief erupted into fury. He ripped the IV line from his arm, the needle tearing his skin. "I wish I could change time!" he screamed. "I can't live without her! She's my life—she's all I know!"
The nurses backed away, uncertain, whispering to one another.
Then the door creaked open.
A woman stepped inside.
Her skin was dark as midnight, her eyes sharp and knowing. She wore a long, flowing shawl that shimmered like smoke.
"Did I hear you say you wish to change time?" she asked softly, her voice low and strange.
Matthew froze, staring at her.
She smiled faintly. "Be careful what you wish for. I know things about time… and how to turn it back."
The nurses turned to speak to her, but when they did she was gone.
Only the faint scent of burning candles lingered in the air.