Doctors declared the CEO dead—until a pregnant poor maid brought a strange herb, and a miracle happened.
There was no mirror, but she already knew what she would see.
A tired young woman, eyes older than her 26 years body, heavier now marked by whispers she could never outrun.
Pregnant and unmarried, the landlord had said two weeks earlier, standing at her door with crossed arms, “This place is not for disgrace.”
He had given her one month.
That morning, she dressed in her faded hospital cleaning uniform, the fabric stretched tighter than it used to be.
She hesitated before buttoning it, worried someone would notice the change more clearly today.
They always did eventually.
The walk to the private hospital took nearly an hour.
Howa saved transport fair whenever she could, especially now.
Every naira mattered.
As she walked, she passed billboards showing smiling families and luxury cars worlds she moved through like a ghost.
At the hospital gate, security barely looked at her.
She was invisible here.
That had always been the rule.
Inside the building, gleamed with polished floors and quiet authority, Howwa collected her mop and bucket and began her shift the way she always did, silently, methodically, careful not to draw attention.
She cleaned corridors, restrooms, waiting areas, places where anxiety clung to the air like perfume.
It was during her second round that she found herself near the ICU.
She told herself she had no reason to stop there.
Yet her feet slowed every time behind the thick glass machines surrounded the man in the bed like watchful sentinels.
Tubes ran from his arms, his chest rising and falling in shallow rhythm.
His face, though pale, carried a gravity that felt familiar to Hawa in a way she couldn’t explain.
Taiwo Ainyami.
She had learned his name from whispers.
Nurses spoke it with respect.
Doctors lowered their voices when they passed his door.
Even cleaners knew better than to linger.
Howwa did linger.
Not openly, just enough to look.
Something about him unsettled her.
Not because he was rich or powerful, those things meant little to her, but because each time she saw his face, a strange pressure formed behind her eyes.
A memory hovered just out of reach, like a word on the tip of her tongue.
Once, as she wiped the glass, her reflection overlapped with his still form.
For a brief second, she felt dizzy as though time had folded in on itself.
She stepped back, steadying herself.
“Don’t get attached,” she whispered under her breath.
“He doesn’t even know you exist.”
Later that morning, she was scrubbing a spill near the nurses station when two orderlys walked past talking freely.
“They say the CEO may not make it through the night.” One said.
“The board is already restless.”
The other replied, “Kunlay Ounlay has been here twice today.”
Howwa’s grip tightened on the mop handle.
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