I married my patient knowing she had only three days left to live — but after her funeral, her sister approached me with a small box and whispered, “She made me promise not to give you this until she was gone.

I stared at her.

“No. That’s impossible.”

“Her full name was Alicia Eleanor. When she was little, everyone called her Ellie.”

I couldn’t breathe.

Rebecca explained that after Alicia’s childhood illness, their family had moved to another state. My parents had mistakenly believed she hadn’t survived.

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“But why didn’t she tell me?” I asked.

Rebecca wiped her eyes.

“She was going to. Then she found out how little time she had.”

I remembered Alicia’s endless questions about my childhood.

The way she smiled when I mentioned my hometown.

The strange sadness in her eyes when I talked about being seven.

She had recognized me.

All along.

“But why marry me?” I whispered.

Rebecca reached into the box and took out a small recording device.

“She wanted you to hear this.”

My hands shook as I pressed play.

Alicia’s familiar voice filled the silence.