Chapter 8

Liya, feeling like a leaf caught in a storm, stepped into her office. The hospital's fate hung in the balance, teetering on the edge of crisis due to Dr. Patric's reckless decision to cut staff. How could she make her boss see reason? Her mind raced as she pondered her next move.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. "Come in," she called, and Henok entered. His presence stirred memories of last night—their shared vulnerability, the unspoken connection. But now, formality masked their emotions.

"Liya," Henok began, "I apologize for last night."

"It's fine," she replied coolly. "Let's pretend it never happened. It's best for both of us."

Henok's eyes betrayed his brokenness. "Thank you," he said. "Aron is devastated too. That crazy Chairman's actions..."

Liya's sincerity surfaced. "I'll fight for you, Heni." She knew it is not just for friendship, but for the love that ignited last night.

"Liya," he whispered, "you're a true friend. Aron and I are lucky."

Determined, Liya faced the nurses' dressing room. Marta's sadness was palpable. Liya approached, promising, "This suspension won't last beyond a week. You'll be back."

But Marta's heart remained unmoved, like a stone in the river of Liya's assurances.

Liya stood at the crossroads, her heart echoing the chaos of the hospital corridors. Marta's anger reverberated: "You promised Aron the same thing, but what have you done? Useless!" Aron, the peacemaker, intervened, reminding her that the new chairman wasn't the old Prof. Enrique. Liya's efforts deserved recognition.

"Thank you, Liya," Aron said. "You've battled the new chairman."

Liya sighed. Dr. Patric was a different breed—stubborn, personal vendettas. Monday's board meeting loomed, and she'd fight tooth and nail. Her shoulders bore the weight of Marta, Aron, and another victim: Dr. Henok.

Henok—the man who ignited her heart. Not just a friend, but a love she couldn't deny. She'd fight for him, for them. Her door knocked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Come in," she said, bracing for the next crisis. A nurse burst in, urgency in her eyes.

"Dr. Liya, emergency! We need you."

"Why me?" Liya protested, her patience fraying. "There are GP doctors and interns for this. Call me if anything needs my attention."

But the nurse stood her ground. "Dr. Liya, all the doctors and interns are on duty. There's a demolished building, many injured. We need specialists. Nurses are scarce too. Please, Doctor, we need your help."

Liya's shock dissolved into determination. She rushed to the ER, ready to heal, to mend, to be the beacon of hope in chaos.

The hospital corridors buzzed with urgency as Blen, Dr. Liya's secretary, approached Dr. Patric's office. "Dr. Patric," she began, "Dr. Liya isn't in her office. I believe she's on duty. I informed her that you requested her presence."

"Thank you, Blen," Dr. Patric replied, his customary warm smile intact. But Blen hesitated, her words heavy.

"Is there something else, Blen?" Patric asked, sensing her unease.

"The hospital is in absolute chaos," Blen blurted out.

"What do you mean?" Patric's tone turned serious.

"The ER is flooded with injured people," Blen explained. "All doctors, nurses, even specialists—they're stretched thin. The patient load exceeds our capacity."

Driven by urgency, Patric rushed to the ER. The scene was surreal—a bustling marketplace of life-saving efforts. Amid the chaos, he locked eyes with Liya. Anger and frustration surged within her. She blamed him, his leadership, for this crisis.

"Dr. Patric Solomon," Liya's voice cut through the chaos. "Your foolish deeds have consequences. We need more doctors, more nurses. But you prioritize selfish motives over reality. In my dictionary, doctors are selfless, caring, passionate. Their hands perform miracles. They're not greedy or money-driven. Next to the Almighty, they hold human lives. And I am that DOCTOR! Your definition of this career is wrong. This hospital exists for patients, not greedy owners. I'd rather shed this white gown than be selfish like you. I never imagined a doctor like you could exist." Tears flowed freely as she confronted him.

Amid the heated exchange with Dr. Patric, a gravely injured person stumbled toward Liya. She abandoned Patric and sprinted to the young man's side. Patric, stung by her words, questioned himself. Was he truly greedy? Was money his driving force? Had he ever prioritized wealth over healing? He swapped his white coat for surgical attire and hurried to the ER.

"Nurse," Liya's voice cut through the chaos, "prepare the operating theater. We need to operate on him." The injury looked severe, and Patric worried if Liya could handle it. He rushed to her side.

"I'll perform the surgery," Patric declared.

Liya shot him a sarcastic glance and proceeded toward the OT with the patient. But Patric's anger flared—he seized her hand, pulling her close. Their eyes locked, a silent standoff.

"Like it or not," Patric's voice was firm, "I'm the boss. Follow my orders. I'll lead this surgery. You can be my co-surgeon, but no scenes."

He released her hand and stepped into the OT. Patric had performed countless surgeries, but never with a co-surgeon like Liya. She anticipated his every need, wordlessly. Their hands moved in sync, a dance of skill and determination. Patric marveled at Liya—the most energetic, hopeful doctor he'd ever encountered. He yearned to explore her potential, to know her beyond the sterile walls of the operating room.