O Canada

1 — The Fall

Dr. Emily Hayes had been in the cardiac wing for nearly twelve hours when it happened.

A code blue on a patient she knew by name, by history, by every lab result for the past six months. She was at his bedside in seconds, barking orders, running compressions, calling for epi. She thought she’d brought him back—until the monitors told her otherwise.

The autopsy called it a pulmonary embolism. The family called it negligence. The hospital called it a “failure of protocol.” The press dubbed it The Hayes Disaster and ran her photo—hair frizzed from the night shift, eyes hollow from sleeplessness—above headlines that made her sound like she’d left him to die.

The legal team at West Chicago Medical moved fast, settling with the family in exchange for her resignation. They promised it was “for optics,” told her she was “still a fine physician.” But the unsigned Christmas card from the Chief of Medicine and the way her colleagues stopped meeting her gaze in the halls told the real story: she was done.

Two months later, with her license suspended pending review, Emily sold her condo, put her few remaining belongings in a U-Haul, and pointed north. She didn’t stop until she crossed into Alberta, the flat sweep of prairie unfolding beneath a dome of winter sky.

2 — Hudson

Hudson wasn’t big enough for a stoplight. The sign on the edge of town read Population: 2,013 and had been painted over twice in Emily’s lifetime. It sat between wheat fields and the slow, curling McTavish River, with a Main Street of brick façades that looked like they belonged in an old photograph.

The hardware store still smelled of engine oil and cedar. Noreen’s Café still put a cinnamon roll on every saucer whether you wanted one or not. The library still had a squeaky front door and a woodstove in winter.

The only difference was her father’s absence—he’d passed five years earlier. Coming up the gravel drive to her mother’s house without expecting his wave from the porch felt like walking into a painting with the central figure missing.

Her mother opened the door before Emily knocked. “Oh, my girl.” She hugged her so tightly Emily thought she might disappear into the smell of cedar and baking bread.

“Still cold as ever,” Emily said, stomping snow off her boots.

“You’ve been gone too long,” her mother replied, looking her over. “You’ve got that tired look again. The one you had during residency.”

Emily glanced away. “It’s… been a year.”

3 — The First Week

In Hudson, you could count on the town knowing your business before you’d finished your grocery run. Emily tried to keep a low profile—hood pulled up, errands done in quick bursts—but by day three, someone at the post office had already asked, “So, you’re back for good?”

She mumbled something about “taking a break” and left with her heart thudding. Back for good. She didn’t even know if she was here for good lunch.

On Friday, she ducked into Noreen’s Café to avoid running into an old classmate on the sidewalk. That’s when she saw Ethan Ward.

4 — Ethan

He’d been a year ahead of her in school, all sawdust hair and flannel shirts, the kind of guy who drove a beat-up Chevy and knew how to fix anything. Now, behind the café counter in a worn blue plaid, he looked older—broader shoulders, a beard, the same half-smile that had made half the senior girls swoon.

“Emily Hayes,” he said, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Haven’t seen you since your brother’s wedding.”

“That’s… about right.”

“You back visiting family?”

She hesitated, then lied by omission. “Something like that.”

“Well,” he said, “your coffee’s on me. Welcome home.”

It was the first thing anyone had said to her that didn’t sound like they were stepping around a grave.

5 — The Community Center

Her mother, noticing the restless pacing in the kitchen, suggested she volunteer at the community center. “They’re desperate for help with the after-school program.”

The building was small, with two classrooms, a game room, and a gym that smelled faintly of old sneakers. The first afternoon, Emily found herself at a table of third graders with construction paper and safety scissors.

“Can you make a snowflake with six points?” Tyler, a wiry boy with a cowlick, asked. She folded and cut, her muscle memory from years of suturing translating seamlessly into crisp folds and clean cuts.

By the end of the session, her cheeks ached from smiling.

6 — Sawdust & Stars

Ethan was there too, teaching a carpentry workshop to teenagers. He stopped by the craft room one afternoon, leaning in the doorway. “You’re a natural.”

“At paper snowflakes?” she laughed.

“At talking to kids without making them feel like you’re talking down to them.”

“Better than talking to lawyers,” she muttered, then wished she hadn’t.

He didn’t press. “You ever try working with wood?”

“I work with… worked with… people,” she said.

“Wood’s quieter,” he replied with a wink.

7 — Winter in Hudson

Christmas in Hudson meant the whole town in the square, hot chocolate steaming, mittened hands waving to neighbors. The mayor flipped the switch on the giant spruce, bathing the square in gold light. Emily found herself standing beside Ethan.

“You planning to stay?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Staying feels like giving up.”

“Or maybe it’s choosing something better.”

She didn’t answer, but the words followed her home like the scent of woodsmoke.

8 — Shadows of Chicago

January brought long nights and memories she couldn’t fully shut out. She read the court transcripts once, just to be sure she wasn’t remembering it wrong. She wasn’t. She had followed procedure, documented everything, made every call in the right order. And yet, a man had died, and she’d been the one holding the chart.

Some nights she dreamed she was back in the ER, hearing the monitor flatline, but when she turned to the bed, it was empty.

9 — A Birdhouse & A Moment

In February, Ethan waved her into his workshop. “We’re building birdhouses. Grab a hammer.”

“I’ve never—”

“First time for everything.”

She found herself measuring, holding nails steady, driving them in with slow, careful taps. When she was done, Ethan lifted the little house and grinned. “Sturdy. The chickadees will love it.”

For a moment, she saw the appeal—building something small and solid, something that wouldn’t shatter under the wrong set of circumstances.

10 — Letters

A thick envelope arrived from Chicago in March: the official notice that her license was revoked. No appeal. No return.

Her mother found her at the kitchen table that night, the letter in front of her, her hands wrapped around a cold mug of tea.

“Emily,” she said gently, “you were a doctor. That doesn’t mean that’s all you are.”

Emily wanted to believe her. She wasn’t sure she could.

11 — Spring Thaw

By April, the ice broke on the McTavish, sending chunks downstream like miniature icebergs. The kids at the center shed their parkas and raced each other in the yard.

Ethan caught her in the hall. “Heard you’re sticking around.”

“I… think so. They offered me the program coordinator job.”

He grinned. “See? Told you you’d find something better.”

12 — O Canada

On Canada Day, the whole town turned out for the parade—tractors decked in flags, kids with faces painted red and white, the smell of grilled burgers drifting down Main Street. Emily walked beside Ethan in the procession, waving at familiar faces.

For the first time since Chicago, she didn’t feel like she was running from something. She felt like she was standing on solid ground.

Ethan leaned toward her as the crowd cheered for the high school marching band. “Second chances look good on you.”

She smiled. “Feels good too.”

13 — The Truth Spills Out

It happened in May, at Noreen’s Café. The lunch rush had ended, and the place was quiet except for the clink of mugs being stacked. Emily sat at the corner table, laptop open, working on the summer program calendar for the community center.

Ethan slid into the seat across from her with two steaming mugs. “Thought you could use a refill,” he said, pushing one toward her.

“Thanks,” she murmured, eyes still on the screen.

“You’ve been in that same spot for two hours,” he said. “And your brow does that furrow thing when you’re overthinking.”

Emily closed the laptop. “You’re observant.”

“Occupational hazard,” he said with a shrug. “Working with wood, you learn to notice the grain before you start cutting.”

She smiled faintly. “You’re comparing me to a two-by-four now?”

“Not quite. But I’ve been wondering…” He hesitated. “Why did you really come back?”

For a moment she considered brushing it off again—some vague answer about “needing a break” or “wanting to see family.” But something in Ethan’s gaze told her she wouldn’t get pity or judgment if she told him the truth.

So she did. All of it. The night in Chicago. The patient who didn’t make it. The lawsuit, the headlines, the license revocation.

When she finished, the silence stretched. Ethan leaned back, eyes steady. “Sounds like you did everything you could.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “He’s still dead, and I’m still the one they blamed.”

“Maybe. But you’re not the sum of your worst day.”

The words landed like a stone in a still pond, rippling through her. She didn’t realize until later that she’d stopped holding her shoulders so tight.

14 — Summer Program

June brought long daylight hours and the start of the summer program at the center. Emily had organized everything—craft days, sports afternoons, reading clubs under the maple trees by the river.

One afternoon, she sat on the grass helping Tyler and two other kids glue popsicle sticks into a model fort. She caught Ethan watching from across the field, leaning on a baseball bat while a group of teenagers practiced batting drills.

Later, he joined her on the grass. “You’re good at this,” he said.

“At gluing my fingers together?”

“At making people feel like they matter,” he corrected.

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway.

15 — River Nights

The first truly warm night of summer, Ethan invited her to a bonfire by the McTavish. Half the town seemed to be there—folding chairs in the sand, guitars, the smell of woodsmoke drifting on the breeze.

Ethan found her a seat and handed her a marshmallow skewer. “It’s tradition,” he said. “First summer fire, first roasted marshmallow.”

They sat side by side, talking about everything from high school memories to his woodworking shop. At one point, she glanced up and caught him looking at her—not with curiosity, not with pity, but like someone memorizing a scene they didn’t want to forget.

16 — The Storm

In July, a sudden storm swept through Hudson. The river swelled, and the basement of the community center took on water. Emily and Ethan spent hours hauling boxes upstairs, both of them soaked to the skin.

At one point, she slipped on the wet floor, and Ethan caught her, his hands steady at her waist. For a moment, neither moved.

“You’re shivering,” he said.

“It’s just cold,” she replied, but her pulse was hammering for reasons that had nothing to do with temperature.

17 — The Kiss

It was late August before it happened. They’d just finished setting up the fall program schedule and were walking home through the warm dusk, fireflies winking in the grass.

At her mother’s gate, Ethan paused. “So… we’ve been doing this thing where we spend every other day together and pretend we’re just friends.”

Emily’s laugh was half-nervous. “And?”

“And I’m wondering if you want to stop pretending.”

The answer rose in her like a tide. She stepped closer, the scent of cedar and summer air between them, and kissed him.

It wasn’t fireworks or orchestral swells—it was steadier, like the sound of a heart monitor that meant everything was working exactly as it should.

18 — A Year Later

By the next Canada Day, Emily had been running the community center for almost a year. She knew every kid’s name, every parent’s story, and which drawer in the supply closet always jammed. She and Ethan had fallen into a rhythm—her mornings at the center, his in the workshop, dinners together more often than not.

She still thought about Chicago sometimes. She still missed the weight of a stethoscope around her neck. But she didn’t wake up every day feeling like she’d lost everything.

Because she hadn’t.

As the parade wound down Main Street, Emily stood beside Ethan, waving at the crowd. A group of kids from the center spotted her and came running, their paper flags flapping. She crouched to hug them, their laughter wrapping around her like the warm July air.

Ethan leaned in and murmured, “Happy Canada Day, Doc.”

She smiled. “Happy Canada Day.”

And for the first time in a long time, the words didn’t feel like she was saying them from the outside looking in.