Chioma hadn't slept in twenty-two hours.
The night shifts were beginning to gnaw at her edges. Her eyes burned from staring at monitors, her back ached from standing too long over tables where flesh met steel. And yet, it wasn't the fatigue that hollowed her most. It was anticipation.
Something was unraveling. Not just Mercy's carefully constructed lie, but something deeper—like a pulse she couldn't locate, but could feel thudding beneath the surface of every sterile hallway.
Midnight Rounds
The hospital corridors always felt surreal at that hour. The fluorescent lights flickered like they couldn't make up their minds. A cleaner's cart creaked down the pediatric wing. Somewhere, a television hummed static. And Chioma moved through it like a ghost.
She was reviewing a post-op chart when Dr. Temitayo joined her. He was still in scrubs, his cap pushed back. His eyes, red-rimmed, hinted at sleeplessness too.
"You good?" he asked.
She nodded. "Barely. You?"
He shrugged. "I heard about Mercy."
Of course he had. The rumour had spread like oxygen meeting flame. Everyone had a version. Only Chioma knew the weight of the truth. Or at least, she thought she did.
"She turned in the confession," she said. "It's out of my hands now."
"Still heavy, though."
She met his eyes. "Heavier than it should be."
He sighed and leaned against the nurse station. "Want to grab food later?"
Chioma hesitated. "Not tonight."
"You keep saying that."
"I keep meaning it."
He gave a small nod and walked away. She watched him go, unsure what she wanted more: connection or distance.
3:00 AM Emergency
A call came from the ER. A teenage girl. Motorcycle accident. Open tibial fracture and suspected internal bleeding. Chioma rushed down, adrenaline cutting through her exhaustion.
The girl's name was Amara. Seventeen. Eyes wide with terror but silent with pain. Her blood pressure was crashing. They prepped for emergency surgery. Chioma scrubbed in.
As she worked, she noticed a tremor in her own hands. It wasn't exhaustion.
It was memory.
Six Years Ago
Chioma's sister, Ifeoma, had bled out on the table after a roadside accident. No ambulance. No trauma surgeon nearby. Chioma had been in medical school then, powerless. Just a girl clutching her mother's hand outside the ER as the sky cracked open with rain.
She never forgot that feeling. Or the vow she made to be the person she'd needed that night.
Present
She saved Amara.
The bleeding was contained, the fracture stabilized. But Chioma didn't feel triumphant. Just… spent. As she peeled off her gloves, her hands felt like someone else's.
Morning Rounds
By 8:00 AM, the hospital came alive again. Chioma walked the corridors like a soldier after battle—no rest, just routine. She spotted Mercy's name being removed from the duty roster on the whiteboard.
Final. Clean. Erased.
But no one could erase what Chioma still carried.
Dr. Onwudiwe approached her near the elevator. "Ethics board meeting is scheduled. They may ask for your testimony."
Chioma nodded. "Understood."
"You okay?"
"No," she replied honestly.
He respected that. "Come by my office later. Just to talk."
"Thanks, sir."
Afternoon – The Chapel
Chioma rarely entered the hospital chapel, but today she did. It was empty. Quiet. Smelled faintly of wax and wood polish. She sat in the last pew and closed her eyes.
A nurse she didn't know entered, lit a candle, and left.
Chioma whispered, "If peace is possible… I'm ready."
Evening
At the hospital cafeteria, she saw Dr. Temitayo again. This time, she sat beside him without being asked.
He slid a bottle of water toward her. "Small win?"
"Big save," she corrected.
He raised an eyebrow.
"A girl came in bleeding out. Motor accident. We saved her."
They shared a quiet moment.
"Why medicine?" he asked.
Chioma smiled bitterly. "Because I couldn't save someone once."
"That makes you strong. Not broken."
She looked at him. "I used to think the two were separate."
Late Night Reflection
In the call room, she wrote in her journal:
"Today, I chose silence where I could've screamed. And maybe that's growth. Or maybe it's exhaustion. But I also chose truth. And I chose to stay. Even when everything said run. That has to count for something."
She closed it. Outside, Lagos hummed like it always did. Indifferent. Alive.
But in Chioma's heart, a shift had begun.
The past was still sharp. But the present? It was beginning to stitch itself into something that looked like purpose.
48 Hours Later
Mercy had officially left the hospital. Her resignation, combined with her confession, had sent waves through the medical board. They promised reforms. Promised oversight.
Chioma didn't believe in promises anymore.
But she did believe in beginnings.
And she was ready for hers.
Flashback: The Day Before Ifeoma's Funeral
The house smelled like grief—something between stale sweat and untouched food. The curtains were drawn, the fan rotating slowly, clicking every third turn like it, too, had lost its will.
Chioma sat on the floor of her old room, legs crossed, staring at her sister's bracelet. The beaded thread was fraying. She remembered how Ifeoma used to say, "This bracelet has seen every version of me."
Her mother sat on the bed, head in hands, whispering prayers that shook with doubt.
"You know what's funny?" Chioma said aloud, not expecting an answer. "She hated hospitals. She used to say they smelled like endings."
Her mother didn't look up.
Chioma stood and walked to the window. "I didn't get to say goodbye. Not properly."
"She knew," her mother murmured. "She always knew how much you loved her."
Chioma nodded, but her hands clenched into fists. "I should've been there. I should've—"
"You were a student. You couldn't save her. That wasn't your fault."
But it didn't feel that way. It never had.