The Empty Bench: A Story About Second Chances

The Empty Bench:

The bench had been empty for years.

Tucked beneath an old elm tree, it faced the lake where the sunsets lingered a little longer, as if the water didn’t want to let go of the light. The wood was weathered now, the green paint chipped and faded. But it still remembered.

It remembered the boy who played guitar there every Thursday afternoon and the girl who always stopped to listen—never speaking, just smiling as she passed.

That was fifteen years ago.

Now the bench sat in silence, watching couples pass, children race by, and geese glide across the water. Until one October morning, a woman in her thirties sat down, holding a coffee and a small book. Her hair had more auburn now. Her eyes held the same quiet depth.

She looked around, sighed, and opened the book. A note slipped out. She hadn’t seen it before.

It read, in familiar handwriting: “I still come here. Thursdays. Same time. I never stopped waiting.”

Her breath caught.

And suddenly, she wasn’t alone anymore.