When retired Dr. Warren revisits the abandoned hospital where he once worked, he discovers a 14-year-old letter from a former patient, a young mother who left her newborn behind due to heartbreaking circumstances. Driven to uncover the boy’s fate, Dr.
Warren embarks on an emotional journey that leads him to a drastic change in their lives. I wasn’t planning to visit St. Mercy’s that day.
The hospital was a ghost from my past, honestly, just sitting there forgotten. But somehow, nostalgia had a way of sneaking up on me. On an ordinary Tuesday, I drove down the familiar back road, my stomach twisting with every mile.
The place looked even worse than I remembered. Weeds climbed up its crumbling walls, the windows were boarded, and the faint smell of smoke still lingered in the air. A chill crept up my spine as I stepped through the entrance.
The silence was oppressive. My footsteps echoed in the empty hallways, broken tiles crunching beneath my shoes. Had I really spent decades working in this place?
Quickly, the memories rushed back.
And there were newborn cries, the hurried shouts of nurses, the metallic scent of antiseptic. My hand brushed the peeling paint on the walls as I aimlessly wandered while following a pull I couldn’t explain. The locker was tucked at the far end of the west wing, spared from the fire that had taken most of the building.
My old locker, #28, stood there like it was waiting for me. I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the latch. What could possibly be left after all these years?
When I opened the door, ash fell in a soft cloud.
A folded stethoscope and a charred lab coat lay inside, but an envelope caught my eye. My name, “Dr. Warren,” was written in shaky handwriting on the front.
The ink had faded slightly, but the words were unmistakable. I opened it carefully, wondering how I had missed this. But then again, we hadn’t been allowed in.
The smoke and fumes were too dangerous. I remembered just dashing into the on-call room to get my lucky sweater, but I couldn’t see past the thick smoke. After that, I gave up on everything I had left behind.
Dear Dr. Warren,
I don’t know how to say this to your face, so I’m leaving you this letter. By the time you read it, I’ll be gone, and so will my baby.
You’ve been so kind to me, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve done.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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