The Bridge Between Us

Every evening at six o’clock, Emma crossed the old stone bridge at Riverside Park. The bridge wasn’t particularly grand—it sagged slightly in the middle, its stones cracked and weathered by decades of rain—but to Emma, it was a place of quiet.

That’s why it surprised her when she first noticed the old man sitting at the far end of the bridge. He wasn’t doing much, just staring at the water below, his hands folded on his lap. At first, she thought nothing of it. But then, he was there the next evening. And the one after that.

Curiosity eventually pulled her closer.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” she said one evening, her voice soft.

The man glanced up, his eyes gray but sharp. “It is,” he replied. “Though it looks different depending on what you’re carrying.”

Emma frowned. “What do you mean?”

He tapped his chest lightly. “The weight inside you changes the way you see the world. Heavy heart, heavy sky.”

The words stuck with her. She hadn’t told anyone, not even her closest friends, how heavy her own heart had become. She was still grieving her younger brother, Liam, who had passed away the year before in an accident that never should have happened. She crossed the bridge every evening to feel close to him—because he had loved this park, this river, this view.

The man must have seen something in her eyes because he added, “I come here to remember someone too.”

From then on, Emma began to look forward to their brief conversations. His name was Daniel. He spoke slowly, thoughtfully, as though every word was measured. Some evenings they sat in silence, watching the sunset paint the river orange. Other nights, Daniel told her stories—about mistakes he regretted, about his daughter he hadn’t spoken to in years, about how bridges, both literal and emotional, were easier to burn than rebuild.

One night, after a long silence, Emma finally admitted, “I can’t forgive myself. Liam asked me to pick him up that night, and I said no. I was tired. If I had gone, maybe…” Her voice broke.

Daniel didn’t look at her right away. Instead, he watched the ripples on the water. Then he said, “Do you think he would want you to live the rest of your life carrying that weight? Or do you think he’d want you to let it go and keep walking?”

Tears filled her eyes. She had thought about that countless times but hearing someone else say it out loud pierced her heart differently.

“And what about you?” she asked quietly. “Do you ever wish you could go back?”

Daniel’s face tightened. “Every day. My daughter tried to reach out years ago, but I was too proud. Too angry. And now she doesn’t call anymore.” His voice trembled. “The bridge between us collapsed, and I never rebuilt it.”

Emma reached out, placing her hand gently over his. “Maybe it’s not too late. Bridges can be repaired.”

The next evening, when Emma crossed the bridge, Daniel wasn’t there. Nor the night after. She worried something had happened. Then, a week later, she found a note tucked between the stones where he usually sat.

“Emma, thank you. I called my daughter. We talked for the first time in ten years. I don’t know if the bridge will ever look the same, but I’m walking across it anyway. Keep walking yours too. – Daniel.”

Emma pressed the note to her chest, her heart lighter than it had been in months. That evening, she stood at the center of the bridge and whispered into the wind, “I miss you, Liam. But I’m still walking.”

For the first time in a long while, the sky above the river didn’t look heavy. It looked like hope.