The Village Doctor
Emily returned to her hometown after twenty-two years, following her divorce. Six years had passed since the split, and she decided to come back home.
«Mother and Father are getting older, Mum’s often ill, and they can’t manage the farm anymore,» she explained to friends and colleagues in the city. «I’m their only child—who else will help them? They’ve built a new clinic in the village, so there’s always work for a GP. My son’s grown, independent, married now—he’s got his own life. If he misses me, he’ll visit.»
Back in school, Emily had been close to Michael. In their final years, they’d fallen into a love so dramatic it could’ve been straight out of a telenovela. Fights were frequent and explosive, tears often shed, but they always made up quickly—usually, Michael caved first. After their arguments, they’d lie by the rushing river and dream together.
Her parents never liked him, but despite their warnings, she clung to him—until she realised his love was suffocating. A single step out of line, and his jealousy would flare. He resented her friends, her choices. She nearly lost her closest mates before she understood: a life with him, let alone a marriage, would never be peaceful.
«I’m leaving for medical school after graduation,» she told him one day. His eyes bulged.
«Oh, so you can flirt with city boys while I rot here in the village?»
«You could study too,» she shot back.
«You know I barely scraped through school—the teachers crossed themselves when I got my diploma.»
Leaving the village—and Michael—was a relief. His love would’ve smothered her. She went to university, married, and now, decades later, she was back.
Michael had married Natalie, a nurse who’d moved to the village after college. He’d fancied the young medic, courted her, and they’d wed. Two kids, a house in the nearest town—their daughter married a city boy, their son had no intention of returning. Now it was just the two of them.
Their marriage was turbulent, all because of Michael’s jealousy. Natalie endured it—what else could she do after so many years? Divorce seemed pointless now; they’d grow old together, like it or not.
One autumn afternoon, Michael lay on the sofa, the telly droning, curtains drawn tight. The room was dark, damp air seeping through the windows. Natalie marched in, yanked the curtains open, and rummaged through the wardrobe.
«What’re you digging for?» he grumbled.
«My passport.»
«What d’you need that for?»
«The new GP suggested I apply for a spa retreat—my nerves are shot.»
Michael sat bolt upright. «Who put that idea in your head? Old Dr. Thompson wouldn’t say that—he’s rarely sober enough to prescribe aspirin!»
«It’s not Thompson. He got transferred. We’ve got a new doctor—a woman. Kind, thorough. She actually listened to me.» Natalie tucked the passport into her bag.
Michael grabbed her wrist. «Hold on. Who’s this clever little GP filling your head with nonsense? A spa retreat—as if!»
«She’s new. Never seen her before—not at the clinic, not in the village. I’ve worked in the treatment room for years; I’d know.»
Michael’s eyes narrowed. Natalie knew that look—nothing good ever followed.
*I’ll put that city quack in her place,* he thought. *Sending wives off to spas while husbands stay home? Next thing, half the village’ll be divorced. She needs to learn not to meddle.*
«Natalie, you’re not going anywhere. And don’t listen to that doctor. They send these incompetent types out here, patch folks up—or don’t—then vanish back to the city. We’re left to deal with the mess.» His words were sharp, laced with curses.
Natalie was pliable, easily swayed—likely why Michael had chosen her. Now, fuming, he stormed to the clinic, bypassing reception, and barged into Room Seven without knocking.
The doctor glanced up from her computer—and Michael nearly fell off his chair.
«Emily?» he croaked.
«Hello, Michael,» she said evenly.
The nurse in the corner might as well have been invisible. He blinked, shook his head, but there she was—Emily. Beautiful. Time hadn’t dulled her.
«Walk-in appointment?» She checked her watch. «I’ve got fifteen minutes. What’s the issue?»
«No issue. Bloody hell, Em—how are you? Why’d you come back? Married? Staying long? Christ, it’s good to see you.»
«For good. Divorced six years ago. My son’s grown, lives in London. The village needed a doctor, and my parents need me. Any other questions?» She arched a brow. «Why are you here?»
«Oh—just passing by.» His gaze didn’t waver. «You’re even prettier now. Doesn’t look like time’s touched you.»
«Thanks.» The door creaked open—an elderly patient shuffled in. Emily checked the clock.
«Right.» He stood. «Good seeing you.»
She nodded, turning to her patient. Michael walked home in a daze. Old feelings surged—he’d never felt this way about Natalie.
«Talk to the doctor?» Natalie asked. «Where’s she from?»
«Yeah. She’s local—you wouldn’t know her. We were in school together.»
Restless, Michael couldn’t stop thinking about Emily—slim, long-legged, untouched by time. Not like Natalie, who’d let herself go.
*Should’ve asked for sleeping pills,* he thought. *No chance of rest tonight.*
Weeks passed. Michael dreamed of rekindling their love. Natalie was in the way, but that hardly mattered—if Emily agreed, he’d divorce in a heartbeat.
But Emily wanted no part of him. She’d returned to work and care for her parents. Romance wasn’t on her mind—what decent man was left in the village? All her peers were married, and she wasn’t interested anyway.
Or so she thought—until Daniel walked into her clinic.
When she’d left twenty-two years ago, he’d been in primary school. That fact nagged at her. But the boy had grown into a handsome man—dark-haired, brown-eyed, adored by half the village girls.
Daniel had never considered marriage—until Emily. They couldn’t resist each other. The village buzzed with gossip. Emily felt the stares—she’d forgotten how small towns loved to talk.
«Her son’s barely younger than him,» the women whispered. «Poor lad—could’ve had a fresh start with a young wife.»
«Daniel, I worry for you,» his mother fretted over breakfast. «Why tie yourself to Emily? She’s too old for you.»
«What does that matter? I love her.»
His father backed him. «I’ve known Emily since she was a girl. She’s solid. Young wives aren’t always the answer. Daniel’ll be in good hands.»
«I want grandchildren,» his mother moaned. «What can she give you at her age? I respect her as a doctor, but not as my daughter-in-law.»
But love had struck—Emily, past forty, felt like a girl again. Daniel adored her.
«Think I was waiting for you,» he mused. «Parents nagged, but I wouldn’t settle. Fate brought us together. Why else would I fall ill and land in your clinic?»
She laughed, basking in his devotion. One autumn evening, he knelt—right in a puddle—and held out a ring.
«Marry me, Emily. Please.»
She giggled. «Yes—but get out of that puddle!» He spun her, her laughter ringing over the village.
Michael heard the rumors. He watched them together, seething. One evening, he ambushed Emily alone.
«Let’s talk, Em. It’s been years.» He gripped her arms—hard.
She wrenched free, slapped him. «You disgust me. We’ve nothing to say.»
«Oh, but you chat with Daniel, eh? He’s young enough to be your—»
«I talk to him about everything.» She fled.
Daniel saw the bruises. She told him the truth. He stormed to Michael’s house, fists clenched, and—without a word—yanked Michael’s cap down over his eyes. From then on, Michael kept his distance.
Emily and Daniel married. The gossip faded. A year later, they welcomed a daughter. Now, they live in harmony—happy, at last.