Rebecca lay in bed, her eyes locked on the clock as it changed from 6:29 to 6:30. In one smooth motion, she silenced her alarm, threw off the covers, and rose from bed, moving with the practiced precision that had become her daily ritual. She made her bed, smoothed every corner, and walked into the meticulously organized bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror, her calm expression belying the scars of experience and resilience.
Seven years had passed since her divorce, and in that time, Rebecca had learned to cope by imposing order and routine on her life. It was her armor against the world, a way to stay afloat through heartache and solitude. At exactly seven o’clock, she laced up her running shoes and stepped outside, ready for her morning jog. These runs, with her headphones and audiobooks, had become her escape—a way to keep her mind busy and keep sadness at bay.
But her carefully crafted routine had recently found a cheerful, persistent interruption: a neighbor named Charlie. He lived right across the street, and each morning he came bounding out of his house, determined to catch up with her no matter how fast she tried to go. Just as Rebecca hit her pace that morning, she spotted him fumbling down the steps, his shoelaces untied, grinning like a kid on his way to recess.
She sighed and picked up her pace, hoping he’d take the hint this time. But, true to form, Charlie was undeterred. “Rebecca! Wait, it’s me!” he called, waving an arm and holding his side as he jogged to catch up.
Rebecca kept her eyes straight ahead, pretending not to hear him. But soon enough, he was at her side, panting and smiling. She sighed, pulled out one of her earbuds, and looked at him with feigned surprise. “Oh, hi. Didn’t see you there.”
Charlie grinned, unfazed by her lack of enthusiasm. “Hey! Want to hear a joke?”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “You’d save more breath if you talked less while running.”
But Charlie went on. “Why did the scarecrow get a promotion?” he asked, looking at her expectantly. She sighed, knowing better but still indulging him. “Why?”
“Because he was outstanding in his field!” he crowed, eyes bright with amusement. She tried to stifle a chuckle but couldn’t hold it back. Charlie saw and pumped a fist in the air. “See? Progress!” he cheered, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.
Over the next few weeks, she found herself looking forward to his morning antics. His silly jokes and cheerful grin had grown on her, making her smile and even laugh out loud—something she hadn’t done in a long time. Her pace slowed just enough to let him keep up, and his light-hearted presence softened the walls she’d built around herself.
One morning, Rebecca found herself glancing out the window at Charlie’s house, waiting for him to appear. But his door remained shut, the house silent. She checked her watch, waited a few more minutes, and felt a strange worry growing inside her. He was always excited to join her—this wasn’t like him.
Finally, she crossed the street and knocked on his door, calling his name. She hoped he’d just overslept, but when she peeked inside, everything was quiet. Just then, Mrs. Lewis, an elderly neighbor, called out from her yard.
“Looking for Charlie, dear? He was taken to the hospital last night,” she said, her face concerned. Rebecca’s heart skipped a beat.
“The hospital?” she asked, a note of alarm in her voice.
“Yes,” Mrs. Lewis said, shaking her head. “It’s such a shame. He lives alone, you know.”
Rebecca thanked her and hurried home, grabbing her purse and heading to the hospital. She was determined to find him.
At the reception desk, she realized she only knew him as “Charlie.” She blushed, trying to explain her predicament to the receptionist, who finally relented, giving her a knowing smile. “Charlie Sanders, Room 113,” she said with a wink.
Before she even reached the room, she heard Charlie’s familiar laugh. She knocked gently, and the receptionist called, “Charlie, your girlfriend’s here!”
Charlie’s eyes lit up as she walked in. “Rebecca! They let you in?” he asked, looking amused and surprised.
“Well,” she said, mock-scolding him, “I may have had to fib a little.” She looked at him with both relief and irritation. “You missed our jog, Charlie! What happened?”
Charlie looked sheepish. “Turns out, the runs weren’t the best for my heart,” he admitted, glancing away.
Rebecca’s heart sank. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged, giving her that familiar, lopsided smile. “If I didn’t go, I wouldn’t have seen you. You’re… you’re someone special, Rebecca.”
His words struck her deeply. She reached over, took his hand, and squeezed it. “You don’t need to run to spend time with me. How about dinner at my place instead?”
His face lit up. “That sounds much better for my heart,” he replied, his eyes warm. She laughed, feeling the tension in her chest ease, and they shared a quiet, meaningful look, both understanding that this was the beginning of something neither of them had planned for but had both come to need.
