It was early spring, and a cold wind swept stinging snowflakes against the windowpane with a faint rustle. It had been dark for a long time, but Mrs. Gable couldn't sleep. She was thinking of her only son, her heart tight with an aching dread. The moment dawn broke the next morning, the anxious woman headed straight to her neighbor's house.
"Jane, hi—I'm sorry to bother you so early. But I'm heading out to see Mark right now. Could you keep an eye on the house for me?"
"Of course I will, Mrs. Gable. But maybe you should wait for the weather to clear up? Is it really that urgent?"
"I have a bad feeling, Jane. I feel like I need to be with him. So, I'll see you later—I'm leaving now."
Pulling up the collar of her coat, the elderly woman walked out into the wind, while Jane watched her go with a heavy heart. A mother's intuition is rarely wrong; something was surely the matter.
Mrs. Gable spent the entire day traveling, reaching the city late in the evening. The buses had stopped running, forcing her to stay at the station until morning. She took the first streetcar across town and got off at the end of the line. The old five-story apartment building where Mark lived sat right by the road.
She struggled up to the top floor and, catching her breath, began to ring the bell. But it seemed Mark wasn't home. Feeling a wave of exhaustion, she sank slowly onto the stairs and put her head in her hands.
"The neighbors are probably still sleeping; I shouldn't wake them," she thought sadly. "I'll just wait a little while and then ask them what's going on."
Soon, fatigue took over, and she fell into a restless doze. She was startled awake by a woman's voice.
"Ma'am? Are you alright? Can you hear me?"
"I'm sorry, I just fell asleep. I came to see my son, Mark, but he isn't home."
"Oh, he's in the hospital. He just had surgery a few days ago."
\*\*\*
Mark's bed was near the window, and whenever he woke, he found himself staring at the sky. He remembered being wheeled down endless hospital corridors, then the suffocating fog of the anesthesia, and the world cutting to black. He remembered the nurses waking him after the operation, and how stubbornly he hadn't wanted to return. He heard loud voices, opened his eyes for a second, and then slipped back into oblivion. He couldn't say how long that lasted. But when he finally woke for good, the pain was agonizing. Exhausted, he began to cry out until they gave him a sedative. The injections brought relief, dulling the sharp edge of his anxiety, but they left him in a haze—he mostly just lay there, drifting.
Feeling the warmth of his mother's hand, he stirred from his sleep.
"Mom... you're here. How did you know? I didn't write to you; I didn't want to worry you."
"When a child is in trouble, a mother always knows," she said softly, squeezing his thin hand. "Don't talk too much. Just rest and get your strength back. You'll see, you'll be better soon, and we'll go home."
They returned a month later. The beautiful April weather seemed to give Mark strength. He gazed with fascination at the familiar farmhouses, basking in the gentle sun and breathing in the scent of young spring grass. Nature was waking up, and with it, he felt a flicker of hope. Seeing a smile on his face, his mother encouraged him.
"Everything is going to be fine, Mark. The fresh air out here in the country will do you good. Look, there's Jane coming to meet us. She's missed you."
"Hello! You're finally back!" Jane called out, breathless from running.
As she reached them, she suddenly went quiet. Her old friend looked terrible. He was haggard, pale, and thin, his hair turned completely white. It was a different person standing before her. All that remained of the Mark she loved were his eyes—calm, deep, and clear.
After a short chat, Jane headed off to work. She was a nurse at the local clinic in the next town over. She usually walked there, and the commute often left her alone with her thoughts. Today, seeing Mark again triggered a flood of memories.
\*\*\*
As children, they had run along this very road in a noisy, happy group. Mark had been the oldest. At first, young Jane had simply admired the boy with the bright smile and blue eyes. As she grew older, that admiration turned into love. Who knows—given time, she might have had a chance. But then a bold girl named Nora arrived in town with a sharp green gaze and long, thick hair. She had moved from the city with her parents. After meeting her, Mark changed, and poor Jane realized her love would go unrequited.
Nora ended up in the same class as Jane. They talked and even became friends. One winter break, they went cross-country skiing. The weather was perfect—sunny and crisp. Caught up in the fun, the girls didn't notice how far they had wandered from the village. It started to get dark, and the temperature dropped sharply. They decided to take a shortcut across a field. Jane made a clumsy move and snapped a ski.
"You go on ahead," she told Nora sadly. "Tell my dad to come out and meet me."
Nora nodded silently and skated away. Exhausted, Jane trudged along the trail, sinking into the powdery, crunching snow. Bright stars came out in the dark sky, but Jane barely noticed. She looked desperately at her feet, every step a struggle. Her body, numb from the cold, stopped obeying her. If only her father would come...
But Jane's house was further away, and Nora didn't feel like going the extra distance. The frozen girl hurried into her own warm house to thaw out, and she didn't want to leave again. Lying in a heated room was too comfortable. She didn't tell anyone.
Fortunately, everything turned out alright. Worried by his daughter's long absence, Jane's father ran over to Nora's house himself.
"Hey, where's Jane? I thought you two went out together."
Nora told him the truth then, and he ran out to save his daughter. Break ended soon after, and the girls met again in class. Nora acted as if nothing had happened. Jane just watched her, thinking about how cruel a person you consider a friend can be.
Then, she remembered the scent of blooming cherry blossoms. On that beautiful day, Mark, who was working in the city at the time, came back to propose to Nora. Dressed in his best suit, he walked through the village toward Nora's parents, and a desperate Jane tried to block his path.
"Please, Mark, I'm begging you. Don't marry Nora. She isn't the kind of person you can build a life with. She'll let you down, Mark, she really will. You'll regret it."
Mark looked at the frantic girl with confusion. Then he pushed her aside and kept walking. He likely assumed it was just jealousy toward a more successful friend. Jane stood alone on the side of the road and sobbed. But there was nothing left to be done.
Time passed, but she never forgot him. He and his beautiful wife would come back for vacations, enjoying the fresh air and helping his aging parents around the house. Sometimes he would run into Jane and catch her staring, but he never gave her much thought.
When Jane moved away to Montana for a few years, he didn't even ask where she had gone. He had no idea the poor girl had fled her home because of him, hoping that in a new place a different life would begin and her unhappy love would eventually be forgotten. But it was a vain hope. There is a kind of love you can never run away from.
In her new town, she found work as a paramedic and quickly bonded with the locals, which dulled the pain for a while. A few years later, a handsome man named Andrew moved to the area and started visiting her at the clinic. Eventually, he proposed. Jane didn't have feelings for him, but after much persistence from her neighbors, she agreed. A person shouldn't be alone forever, after all.
But she found no happiness there. It turned out her husband had a drinking problem, and Jane couldn't tolerate it. One morning, she packed her bags and asked him to walk her to the station. "Suit yourself," Andrew said, surprised, but he didn't try to stop her.
When she returned home, Jane realized she was pregnant. Her son was born that winter. However, her parents didn't get to enjoy their grandson for long. Her mother passed away first, followed by her father. Jane was left all alone with a small child. Mrs. Gable was alone too; her husband had died years ago, and Mark visited from the city less and less. Jane felt for the old woman and tried to support her however she could. Mrs. Gable, in turn, watched the little boy when Jane needed help.
And now, after all these years, Mark was back. Jane tried to help him too. She visited, engaged him in long talks, tried to offer comfort, and came by every day to give him his medication.
At the sight of the kind, attentive Jane, a spark would light up in the sick man's eyes. She would catch his gaze, and her heart would soar. Mark began to visit her as well, teaching her son, Billy, how to play checkers and chess. The restless boy grew very attached to Mark and would clap his hands with joy whenever he saw him.
"You have such a wonderful son," he told Jane one day.
"Billy is my world," Jane replied softly. Then, blushing, she added, "I just wish he were yours."
Mark flinched and looked at her intently.
"Mark, please don't look at me like that. It's awkward, but it's the truth. I'm just sorry things never worked out for us."
Not knowing what to say, Mark lowered his head. He gently touched her hand and then left. Once in the yard, he sat on the bench to catch his breath before wandering out toward the fields. Lost in thought, he didn't notice he had walked all the way to his favorite birch tree, standing alone on the side of a hill.
Admiring the view from the height, Mark leaned against the old tree and began an internal monologue.
"Hello, old friend. It's been a long time. I'm so sorry I made such a mistake, but I can't change the past. Fate was kind to me; it wanted to give me so much happiness. But I didn't see it. I walked right past it and made the wrong choice. My wife left me for someone else a long time ago. Maybe that bitterness is why I got sick. My only son is away in the army; I don't even know if I'll live to see him again. I want love and happiness so badly, but my life wasn't what it should have been. It all feels like it wasn't real."
After his "talk" with the tree, he felt a little better. He began going there almost every day. He would sit with his back against the warm, rough bark and watch the fields turn gold. Jane would join him there after work. She would sit on the grass beside him and watch him closely, trying to memorize every line of his tired face. She dreamed of touching his hair, of holding him and kissing him. But, of course, she didn't dare. In early September, she noticed the round brown buds on the branches, and a terrifying thought struck her: "Spring will come, and these buds will bloom. But Mark won't be here." When she got home, she stood silently at the window, hugging a worried Billy. The boy knew his mother was hurting and didn't ask any questions.
The next day, Jane was delayed at work and was heading home much later than usual. On the way, she ran into Mrs. Gable.
"Hello. I'm late getting back today. How is Mark?"
The old woman looked at her with a long, sad gaze, sighed, and spoke softly.
"He's out there, under the tree, Jane. Go to him now. He's still waiting."
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