The garden was never busy at night.
It had always been a forgotten corner of the hospital, nestled between two buildings—just a stretch of cobblestones, potted palms, and a lone wooden bench underneath a half-bent lamp.
Tedd hadn't meant to walk there.
He was only visiting a former patient—one of the elderly women from the dialysis ward who had survived a difficult procedure. After checking her vitals and offering a few kind words, he stepped outside for air.
He thought his feet were taking him to the parking lot.
But they didn't.
They led him here.
Back to the place where she once played Moon River with her eyes closed and the IV still taped to her arm.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiPjyQv9EaX
Back to the bench where she cried and told him she was scared of dying.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhXYcqbSkZt
Back to where he promised her—
"I won't let you do this alone."
And then, he had.
The soft crunch of gravel under his shoes pulled his eyes forward—
She was there.
Jaimie.
Sitting quietly in the same spot, her fingers brushing over the chain around her neck.
She hadn't heard him yet.
She looked older than that day. Tired. Wiser. Beautiful in the way women become after they've survived something no one clapped for.
He stood frozen, one hand still in his coat pocket.
It would've been easier to turn away.
But something in his chest—something broken and yearning—told him to stay.
"Jaimie," he said softly.
She turned.
No shock.
Just stillness.
As if she knew he'd come.
He stepped forward.
"I didn't know you'd be here."
She nodded faintly. "I didn't plan to be."
"Me neither."
They both chuckled—awkward, real.
Silence passed between them, but this time, it wasn't heavy.
It was something else.
Soft.
Like unspoken forgiveness waiting to bloom.
Tedd sat slowly on the bench beside her, leaving space between them. She didn't move away.
"I heard the recording," she whispered.
He looked at her. "I meant every word."
She nodded.
"I know."
Another beat of silence. Then—
"I came here because I remembered something," she said, looking out toward the faint hospital glow. "The first time I walked again... after weeks of feeling like I wouldn't make it. You didn't clap. You didn't say 'I told you so.' You just smiled. Like you knew I'd never stay down."
Tedd swallowed. "You never were the type to."
"But I needed someone who'd wait anyway," she added, glancing at him now. "Even when I'm on the floor."
His voice cracked. "I'll never stop waiting. Not this time."
She studied his face.
The same eyes.
But something deeper now. Less fear. More truth.
And for the first time in a long time, she reached out—fingers brushing his.
He didn't grab her hand.
He let her come to him.
And when she did, he laced his fingers with hers slowly, reverently.
Like someone who knew what it meant to lose and be given a second chance.
Neither of them said "I forgive you."16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAhsRDiaadl
Because they hadn't—not fully.
But that night, in the middle of the quiet hospital garden, where broken promises used to echo...
They began again.
Not with fireworks.
But with fingers intertwined under the same lamp they once sat beneath, when love was only beginning.
16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5jVH5bF8qE
