Elizabeth was the love of my life. Forty years ago, I lost her. My stupid, biggest mistake. I spent every day after that alone, never forgiving myself for letting her go. Then, out of nowhere, she wrote to me. One short letter turned into dozens. God, she made me feel alive again! And then… she sent me her address! At seventy-eight years old, I sold everything I had. I bought a one-way ticket to be with her.

On the plane, my hands would not stop shaking. I could not stop crying. My chest felt so tight, like a large weight was pressing on it. I tried to breathe, but each breath felt smaller than the last. Voices around me blurred together. Flight attendants, doctors, strangers—I could hear them calling my name, but it sounded far away. The last thing I remember was the plane’s ceiling spinning above me, a swirl of bright lights. Then, darkness.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. My limbs felt heavy, and the noise of beeping machines rang in my ears. Suddenly, a soft voice spoke to me. I opened my eyes—it was a nurse, a young woman with kind eyes and gentle hands. She asked how I felt and told me they had done emergency tests. “You’re going to be okay,” she said with a smile. “You had a heart scare, but we got you here in time.”

I tried to speak, but my throat was dry, and my words came out as whispers. “Thank you,” I managed to say, taking small sips of water from the cup she offered. My thoughts raced. Where was I? Which hospital was this? How long had I been unconscious?

The nurse explained that the plane had made an emergency landing in the nearest city. Paramedics rushed me to this hospital. I started to panic. This was not the destination where Elizabeth was waiting for me. I was miles—maybe hundreds of miles—away from her. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of the letters she had written and the address I kept close to my heart. Would I ever make it to her?

The nurse must have seen the worry on my face. She touched my hand and spoke softly. “Is there someone you want me to call?” she asked.

At first, I could not answer. I thought of Elizabeth’s new phone number that I had scribbled on the back of an envelope. Did I still have it with me? My carry-on bag was on the plane, or maybe somewhere in my hospital room. My mind felt fuzzy and unsure. Finally, I nodded. “My… fiancée,” I said, feeling a mix of hope and embarrassment at using that word at my age. “Her name is Elizabeth.”

The nurse smiled. “That’s a beautiful name,” she said. “Let’s see if we can find your belongings.”

While she went to talk to the staff, I sat there in bed, tubes and wires attached to me, my heart racing. I closed my eyes and remembered the day I first met Elizabeth. We were only young adults then. Her laugh was the sweetest sound I had ever heard. She wore a blue dress, and she had a way of tilting her head when she listened. But life got complicated, and I was foolish. I let her slip away.

The years that followed were lonely. I worked, I came home to an empty house, I ate dinner alone at a small kitchen table. I told myself this was my punishment for pushing her away. I never married, never had children. Whenever I thought of love, I pictured Elizabeth’s face.

Then, after so many years, her letter came in the mail. I could not believe it at first. She wrote about her life: traveling, learning new hobbies, spending time with friends. She said she often thought of me, too. One letter became ten, then twenty, then more. In each, she sounded so full of life. She wrote about a little cottage in a quiet coastal town. She said she would love to see me, to talk face to face, to remember the sweet moments we once had.

I was so excited. I had nothing holding me back. So I sold my house, my car, and most of my possessions. I wanted no excuses, no delays. I bought a one-way ticket. Elizabeth deserved a grand gesture, even if I was an old man now. I still wanted to show her how much she meant to me.

But now, here I was in a hospital, far from her, with my body reminding me that I was no longer young. A slight cough made my chest ache. My eyes felt heavy, yet my mind would not stop spinning with worry.

The nurse returned, smiling. “We found your bag,” she said, placing a small suitcase by my bed. Inside, I found my personal items. At the very bottom, a sealed envelope with Elizabeth’s new phone number written on it. Relief washed over me. I handed it to the nurse, who carefully dialed the number for me.

My heart pounded as the phone rang. After three rings, I heard that warm voice I had missed for so many years. “Hello?” she said. Just one word, and I could feel every barrier in my heart breaking down.

I tried to speak, but emotion choked me. Finally, I managed, “Elizabeth… it’s me.”

I heard her gasp. “You’re here! I was worried sick when you didn’t arrive. Are you okay?” she asked. Her voice shook with concern.

I explained what happened as best I could, my words trembling with both fear and joy. She was quiet for a long moment. Then she spoke, firm and clear. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll come to you.”

I blinked back tears. Could she really drop everything and travel to this city just to see me? My life was changed in an instant. One minute, I was on a plane, sure I was about to die. The next minute, I was on the phone with the love of my life, hearing her promise to find me.

The nurse helped me give Elizabeth the hospital’s address. After we hung up, I pressed the phone to my chest, feeling like a teenager again, my heart fluttering with hope. I looked around the sterile hospital room. The beep of the heart monitor seemed to play a gentle lullaby now, reminding me I was still alive. I was still breathing. And soon, I would see her face again.

Days passed as I regained my strength. The doctors said I had experienced a mild heart attack, but they were amazed at my will to recover. I kept telling them, “I have a reason to get better.” Each day, I waited, staring at the door, yearning for Elizabeth to walk in. My breath caught whenever a visitor arrived, but it was always a nurse or a doctor coming to check my vitals.

On the fourth day, I woke up to find a beautiful bouquet of lilies on the side table. My eyes filled with tears because I knew, without looking at the card, they were from her. Then, I heard a quiet knock at the door. My heart raced so fast I thought it would burst. The door opened, and there she stood. Elizabeth. Her hair had turned silver, but her eyes still shone the same bright way they did forty years ago. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then, she crossed the room, and I took her hand in mine.

I felt all those years of loneliness fall away. It was like coming home. We talked until the afternoon sun turned to dusk, laughing and crying over stories old and new. Elizabeth told me she had never stopped loving me, even though life took us in separate ways. I confessed all my regret over letting her go. We made a promise: we would cherish the time we had left, no matter how short or long.

Now, as I lay here, holding Elizabeth’s hand in this hospital room, I feel more grateful than ever before. I realize I might not have much time left in this world, but I do not want to waste another second.

So, here’s my question: If you suddenly got a second chance with the love of your life, would you find the courage to take it?