15-Minute Ghostly Hug

In the final twilight of his life, Jonathan stood at the precipice of an unknown abyss. The hospital bed felt like a cold, unwelcoming cage, the walls echoing the monotony of his last days. He had been given a diagnosis that left little hope for recovery—a terminal illness that was as relentless as it was unforgiving.

The phone rang, a stark contrast to the quiet hospital room. It was an old number, one he hadn't seen in years. His heart skipped a beat, and he answered with a trembling voice.

"Hello?" he said, trying to keep the anxiety from his tone.

"Jonathan? It's me," a voice replied, familiar yet foreign, as if it belonged to a stranger who knew his deepest secrets.

"Who is this?" Jonathan's voice was a mix of curiosity and caution.

"This is you," the voice said, a hint of amusement in it. "Or rather, the you you should have been."

Confusion clouded Jonathan's mind. "What do you mean? Who are you?"

"You're not the man who walked out of my house twenty years ago," the voice stated flatly. "You're the man who's going to die tomorrow."

The words were a punch to the gut. Jonathan sat up in his bed, his heart racing. "What do you want from me?"

"You're coming home," the voice replied, its tone as final as a death sentence.

Jonathan's home was a distant memory, a place he had not visited in decades. The house he was being called to was where he had spent his childhood, the walls echoing with laughter and the scent of home-cooked meals.

The next morning, Jonathan was discharged from the hospital against his doctor's wishes, a small bag in hand. The drive to his childhood home was a blur of emotions, fear, and a stubborn refusal to accept his impending fate.

The house was just as he remembered it—ramshackle and welcoming. The paint was peeling, but the scent of lavender from the garden outside was as strong as ever. He rang the doorbell, his hands trembling.

The door creaked open, and there stood a woman, her eyes hollow and her hair as white as snow. She looked at him, and her eyes filled with sorrow.

"Jonathan?" she whispered, her voice breaking.

He nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. "Yes, it's me. I'm back."

She stepped back, allowing him to enter. The house was filled with dust and cobwebs, but the living room was as he remembered it. The sofa was where he and his sister would often argue, and the fireplace where they would gather to roast marshmallows.

"You should have stayed," she said, her voice a whisper.

"Why?" Jonathan asked, his voice barely above a murmur.

"Because I needed you," she replied, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Jonathan's heart ached as he realized the weight of his absence. He had left her behind, driven by the fear of a future that never came. He had run away, never to return, and now, as his own future slipped away, he was left with the weight of his regrets.

"You need to talk to her," the woman said, leading him to the back of the house.

There, in the small study, was a photograph of a little girl with eyes just like Jonathan's. He knew then that this woman was his mother.

"You never knew," she said, her voice filled with pain. "You never knew that I was the one who raised you. I loved you, Jonathan, even when you were a boy who thought the world was against you."

Jonathan's mind raced. He had been so certain that he had lost his mother, that she had died long ago. But here she was, alive, and she was his mother.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking.

"I know," she said, a small, sad smile crossing her face. "I know."

Just then, a soft breeze entered the room, and a figure emerged from the shadows. It was a woman, her hair long and flowing, her eyes full of sadness. Jonathan's heart leapt into his throat. It was her—a ghost, the woman who had raised him, his mother.

She approached him, her hands outstretched. "I've been waiting for you," she said, her voice like a distant memory.

Jonathan stepped forward, his heart pounding. "I'm here now," he whispered.

She enveloped him in a hug, her arms wrapping around him in a tender embrace. Time seemed to stand still, the world outside melting away as they shared a ghostly hug that lasted exactly 15 minutes.

When it ended, Jonathan felt a profound sense of peace wash over him. His mother stepped back, her eyes filled with tears.

"I love you, Jonathan," she said, her voice a whisper.

"I love you too, Mom," Jonathan replied, his voice filled with emotion.

As the final moments of his life ticked by, Jonathan realized that it wasn't just his own life he had been living, but the lives of others. He had missed out on so much, but now, with his mother's love, he felt whole for the first time in years.

In the quiet of the study, surrounded by memories, Jonathan's eyes closed for the last time. His mother's ghost remained, a silent sentinel, watching over the man she had raised, the son she had loved, and the man he had become.

And in that final, ghostly hug, Jonathan found a profound understanding of love, forgiveness, and the unbreakable bond between mother and son.

The end.