Chapter 16
The morning sun had barely kissed the sky when I stepped into the hospital, the place that had become my second home. The air was abuzz with Dr. Patric's speech, a welcome meant to soothe the sting of recent policy changes. I slipped away to my office, a refuge of sorts, where the white coat awaited me like an old friend.
As I draped the coat over my shoulders, a knock at the door punctuated the silence. "Come in," I called out, louder than intended. Henok entered, his presence stirring a sea of emotions within me. I greeted him with a smile, though it was more a mask than a reflection of my heart.
"Hey, Heni, how are you doing?" I asked, my voice betraying none of the turmoil inside.
"I am good, thanks to you," he replied, his words laced with an admiration I wished I could return.
"Do you know what, Liya? I knew you would bring the staff back." His faith in me was misplaced, and I felt a pang of guilt for the role he imagined I played.
"Heni, calm down. I'm not the savior you seek. I'm just a staff representative," I said, my tone colder than I intended. "Patric is the one who deserves your thanks." I wanted to keep him at arm's length, to maintain the boundaries that society—and my own heart—demanded.
The truth was, I harbored feelings for Heni, but they were tangled in a web of societal expectations and personal desires. I longed for a perfect marriage, a flawless life with a husband who could be my protector and provider. And Heni, dear Heni, couldn't offer that. He was too young, too much like a brother, and our society would never accept us.
"What about us?" he asked, his bluntness catching me off guard. I feigned confusion, hoping to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters. "I mean, us… the two of us. Now I am back…" he stammered, but I cut him off before he could finish.
"Look, we closed that topic. There's no need to reopen it," I said firmly. "I don't have anything for you. I see you as a friend, a younger brother. We are done!" My words were a shield, protecting me from the possibility of yielding to a forbidden love.
His anger was palpable, and in a moment of madness, he brandished a sharp object against his wrist. I was frozen, shocked by the desperation in his eyes. "No… Henok… Give me that… Okay, fine, I'll tell you!" I cried out, my voice a mix of fear and frustration.
Patric's sudden entrance was like a deus ex machina, disarming Henok and restoring a semblance of order.
"Fine, tell me," Henok said, his anger replaced by a calm that was even more unsettling. The confession tore through me, raw and unfiltered.
"I can't be with you. Your perfect match is Rahel, not me. I am in love with Patric," I admitted, my tears a testament to the truth of my words. The shock on their faces mirrored the chaos in my heart.
Patric, ever the gentleman, offered me comfort, his presence a balm to my wounded spirit. I didn't believe in drawn-out courtships; when the right person comes along, time is inconsequential. And Patric, with his intellect, his understanding, and his maturity, was everything I desired.
Our moment was interrupted by an urgent knock, a reminder that life, with all its unpredictability, waits for no one. I left my office, my sanctuary, to face another challenge, my heart heavy yet hopeful.
The clock's hands were racing, and so was my heart as I stood in the operating theater, the sterile smell of antiseptic hanging heavy in the air. Makki, a little soul of just five years, lay before me, her life hanging by a thread after a cruel twist of fate left her battered by a car accident. No guardian accompanied her, no hand to hold hers.
My colleagues, Dr. Matios and Nurse Aron, were the bearers of grim tidings, their words a refrain of helplessness. But surrender was not a word in my lexicon. With a resolve steeled by years of healing and helping, I took the plunge, signing the consent that no one else would. It was a gambit that put my career, my very freedom, at stake.
As the operation commenced, everything proceeded like a well-rehearsed symphony. But then, dissonance struck—a grave oversight by the anesthetist. The failure to check for allergies was a blunder that could cost a life, a mistake that sent a wave of panic through my veins.
Makki's body rebelled against the anesthesia, her vital signs becoming traitors to her survival. I scrambled for the epinephrine, the antidote to this unforeseen betrayal, but it was missing, as if swallowed by the void. Rage and fear warred within me, the anesthetist's negligence a noose around my neck.
And then, the ECG's steady rhythm faltered, the line flattening, the oxygen levels plummeting. Despair gripped me, its cold fingers a vice around my heart. I thought we had lost her, the battle, the war, everything. But fate, it seems, had other plans. A nurse, an angel in scrubs, appeared with the life-saving epinephrine. With a precision born of desperation, she injected the drug. And like a flicker of light in the darkest night, Makki's heart found its beat again.