Signs Left Behind
Chapter 13 - Eleanor
Eleanor tapped her fingers on the armrest of the chair, absentmindedly watching the liquid flow through the IV attached to her arm. It was her third week of treatment, and by now, she knew every sound in that ward by heart, every face of the regular patients and the nurses who passed by with tired smiles.
A man in a white coat sat on a bench by the large window overlooking the inner courtyard. He held an untouched sandwich in his hands, his gaze fixed beyond the glass as if searching for answers out there.
She was struck by the contrast between his young age and the exhaustion in his eyes, burdened by something that seemed to go far beyond the simple fatigue. There was a veil of melancholy in his gaze, and the curiosity to know the reason behind that sadness pushed her to break the silence.
"You know, lunch breaks usually involve eating, too."
Matthew turned abruptly, surprised by the voice that had interrupted his thoughts. He saw a woman sitting not far away, an IV in her arm and a curious smile on her lips. Her face was marked by tiredness, but her eyes had a lively, almost amused light.
He looked down at the sandwich, still untouched in his hands.
"I'm not very hungry," he admitted with a resigned smile.
Eleanor tilted her head, studying him.
“Yeah, I’m not very hungry either.”
Matthew lowered his gaze, feeling a bit foolish. But she continued.
"Too many patients or too many worries?"
Matthew hesitated. He hadn’t expected such a question from a complete stranger, yet it didn’t feel out of place. He sighed, setting the sandwich down beside him.
"A bit of both, I guess."
Eleanor nodded as if she understood more than he was saying. Then she pointed to the empty chair next to her.
"If you want a distraction, you can sit here and pretend to be an old friend visiting me. The conversation is free, and I promise not to complain too much about chemo."
Matthew chuckled, surprised by her humor. He looked at the seat she had offered, then at his abandoned sandwich, and finally stood up, moving toward her.
"Eleanor, nice to meet you, Doctor."
"I'm Matthew, just Matthew," he corrected, only now noticing the magnetic color of her eyes. Despite her pale and exhausted complexion, the blue was vivid and deep.
Eleanor observed the slightly disheveled young doctor, waiting for him to say something. But Matthew couldn't find anything worthy of that moment. Every thought seemed insensitive and foolish in front of this suffering woman.
She noticed his lost and confused look and, out of nowhere, asked a question that completely caught him off guard.
"If they tell you don’t have much time left, what would you do?"
Matthew lowered his gaze, taken aback. The question was direct, almost brutal, yet Eleanor asked it with disarming ease as if she were asking his favorite color.
Eleanor watched him with an unreadable expression, her head slightly tilted, an air of curiosity in her gaze. She already seemed to know that he wouldn’t have an immediate answer.
"I don’t know,” he said after a few seconds of silence.
It was the most honest truth he could give her.
She nodded slowly as if she had expected that answer. Then she added, with a faint smile,
"Then you're lucky."
Matthew frowned. "Lucky?" he repeated, confused.
Eleanor adjusted the pillow behind her back, never breaking eye contact. "It means you still think you have all the time in the world."
Those words hit him more than he wanted to admit. He suddenly felt uneasy, as if someone had pulled back a veil and revealed something even he wasn’t aware of.
"I’d want to fix my mistakes. Apologize to the people I’ve hurt. But some doors, once closed, don’t open again. Am I right?"
Matthew looked at her more closely, noticing the weight of regret in her gaze.
Silence settled between them. Matthew nodded and then glanced at his sandwich, set aside, without even trying to eat.
Eleanor noticed and laughed softly. "See? I’ve made you lose your appetite."
He smiled slightly, not knowing why.
They were interrupted by a nurse who came to remove Eleanor's finished IV.
Matthew looked into her eyes and said, "See you, Eleanor."
"See you soon, Matthew. Go eat something properly."
He nodded before leaving. But he already felt that this woman, a stranger until a few minutes ago, had left something inside him.
Hearing those words of regret from a woman battling cancer saddened him even more. So he started visiting that hospital ward more often, looking for her among the patients. Every time he saw her, he would sit beside her without saying a word, and little by little, he let himself open up, talking about books, politics, and religion—even profound conversations he had never had the chance to have with anyone.
Eleanor baked cakes and other treats for him. Their bond grew stronger with each hospital visit, with every walk in the park across the street to get her some fresh air.
She knew all about his sleepless nights, his drinking, and the relationship that made him feel trapped. She just listened with interest and without judgment. She would reach out, gently touching his arm, giving him hope and a few meaningful words.
"Sometimes you have to get lost to truly find yourself."
Matthew sometimes struggled to fully grasp the meaning of those words, but somehow, he trusted Eleanor. There was something in her voice, in the calm way she spoke, that made him believe that even if he didn’t understand now, one day it would all make sense. So he stayed silent, letting her words settle somewhere inside him, like a seed waiting for the right moment to grow.
As months passed, despite the illness consuming her, Eleanor always seemed to have a watchful eye on him, as if she could see beyond his detached doctor’s mask, sensing the weight he carried.
Matthew, in turn, never admitted aloud how important that bond was, but he knew: in those brief moments with her, he found an odd kind of relief, a moment where the world slowed down and his restlessness felt less suffocating.
She rarely spoke about herself or her past. Matthew had never met any of her family, only two friends who sometimes accompanied her for routine check-ups.
They were two lost souls who, by some twist of fate, had found each other in the strangest way, at the saddest moment of their lives—learning that pain could hide behind the sweetest smiles and that the brightest people often carried the deepest shadows.
And so, two years passed—chemo, radiation, palliative care—until she started declining more rapidly.
Matthew hadn’t yet realized he was about to face another loss, but maybe his subconscious knew because his nights became longer and lonelier. When he wasn’t at Eleanor’s bedside, he was drinking in some bar until he felt nothing. His relationship with his girlfriend was already at the very end, and most of the time, he wasn’t going home.
One night, he left the bar earlier than usual. Eleanor had been hospitalized for an unexpected complication. Her respiratory failure had worsened, and the doctors decided to keep her under observation.
He wasn’t on duty that night, but he had left his number as an emergency contact. So he rushed to her side and sat in the chair next to her bed.
The sterile hospital scent mixed with the soft hum of the machines monitoring her labored breathing. The room was dimly lit, only a faint glow filtering through the window and the blinking light of the monitors.
Eleanor’s breath was shallow, every word an effort. But despite her exhaustion, her eyes shone with intensity as she stared at the ceiling.
"You should go home," she whispered with a tired smile. "You look awful."
Matthew shook his head with a faint smile. "And you should sleep."
"I can’t."
A brief silence fell between them. Then, Eleanor broke it with a softer, hesitant voice.
"Matt… I think it’s time to tell you something I never had the courage to say."
His chest tightened.
Eleanor took a shaky breath. "When I was 20, I had a daughter."
Her words hit him like a punch. Not because it wasn’t possible, but because she had never mentioned it before.
“She was little… she was only four when I left her,” she continued, her voice cracking with remorse. “I was young, too young. And too… lost. After she was born, depression devoured me. I tried to fight it; I tried to love her as she deserved, but the darkness was too strong. All the traumas of my childhood had exploded with the pregnancy and the postpartum.”
A shiver ran through Matthew as Eleanor lowered her gaze, her eyes shining.
“I made the most terrible decision of my life. I left her not because I didn’t want her, but because I was incapable of being the mother she needed. So I left England, where I had lived for the last 5 years, and returned to America, where I spent the darkest years of my life between depression, addictions, and guilt.”
A long silence fell between them.
Matthew felt a lump in his throat. He had never imagined Eleanor as a mother, but in that moment, he could almost see his reflection next to a little girl with curious eyes and a sincere smile.
“Have you ever tried to look for her?” he asked, his voice as gentle as he could manage.
Eleanor shook her head. “I had no right.” Then she looked up at him, a smile tinged with sadness on her lips. “But I never stopped loving her.”
Matthew felt his heart heavy, the weight of her story intertwining with his.
He said nothing but moved to the chair next to the bed and held Eleanor’s hand in his. No words were needed.
And in that silence, between the beating of the monitors and her fragile breathing, he understood that some scars were destined to remain. That Eleanor would never have the chance to see her daughter again and make peace with herself. A tear ran down his face for the first time since life had taken the two most important people from him. He felt his friend's pain and the helplessness of not being able to do anything to free her from that burden.
He let her rest after giving her a kiss on the forehead and took refuge in her pain.
That night, he sat outside the door of the room watching the lines of the hospital floor break in the distance.
Two days after that night, Eleanor passed away, alone in that room that she could no longer stand but that for so long had become her home, with her friendly nurses and a doctor who was like a son.
Matthew did not arrive in time to say goodbye, perhaps because in some way she preferred it that way, to go away in silence without causing pain to those she loved.
It was her way of protecting him from further suffering, from another unwanted goodbye.
The only thing she had wanted to leave him was a bracelet that she always wore. It was a delicate silver chain with a heart-shaped pendant, inside of which the name "Isabel" was carefully engraved.
One of the nurses had it delivered to Matthew three days later, along with a letter addressed to him. He put the bracelet on his wrist and the letter in his jacket pocket without ever reading its contents. From that night onwards, all his discomfort exploded, and he became negligent at work and at home. That loss had marked the point of no return. And from there, it was a series of emotional meltdowns. The more he tried to disconnect from his pain, the more it intensified.
Six months later, he was brought back to that night in the hospital—to Eleanor, who had made him witness a story he thought faded with her.
Matthew sank into the wooden chair beside the bed and breathed heavily, his heart still pounding. The room of his guesthouse was immersed in darkness, lit only by the faint light filtering through the half-closed shutters. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to sort out the thoughts overwhelming him like an incessant wave.
His mind went back to that letter—the one Eleanor entrusted to him months ago, but he never read.
Suddenly, he stood up and opened the small drawer of his desk. He rummaged through his few belongings until he found it. The paper was slightly yellowed, the edges creased from all the times he held it in his hands, but never dared to open it.
Taking a deep breath, he carefully untied the ribbon holding it closed. The paper unfolded in his shaking fingers, and his eyes went straight to the letterhead.
"Dear Isabel,"
His heart stopped. The letter wasn’t for him. It never was for him. Eleanor wrote it for her daughter. The same woman he fell for deeply and unconditionally.
Matthew’s fingers tightened around the paper as Eleanor’s words came to life before him.