She pretended not to hear, but every word lodged inside her.
By midday, the weight in her body grew heavier.
Standing for too long made her legs ache.
When she bent to lift the bucket, a sharp pain shot through her back and she gasped softly.
That was when the supervisor noticed.
“Hey.” The woman snapped, eyes narrowing.
“What’s wrong with you?”
How was straightened too quickly.
“Nothing, Ma.”
The supervisor’s gaze dropped, lingering on her stomach.
Her expression changed, not with concern, but calculation.
“You’re pregnant,” she said flatly.
The corridor felt suddenly too bright, too quiet.
“Yes, Ma,” Hawa answered.
There was no point denying it anymore.
“How long?”
“Almost 6 months.”
The woman clicked her tongue.
“You should have said something.”
Howa lowered her eyes.
“I was afraid.”
“And you should be,” the supervisor replied.
“You know hospital policy. Temporary staff are expected to be presentable. We don’t need distractions.”
Howa felt heat rise to her face.
“I can still work. I don’t complain. I clean everything.”
“That’s not the point.” The woman cut in.
“People talk. Patients. Families talk.”
She glanced around before lowering her voice.
“I’ll report this. Management will decide.”
The rest of the day passed in fragments.
Howwa cleaned without seeing what she cleaned.
Her thoughts raced ahead to eviction notices.
Tonight’s without shelter, to the child growing inside her with nowhere to go.
At one point, she returned to the ICU corridor without realizing it.
Taiwo Akini lay as before, unmoving.
A doctor adjusted a monitor, his face tight with concern.
Hawwa watched from a distance, her heart pounding.
“Why does this matter so much?” she asked herself.
As she turned to leave, something caught her eye.
On Taiw’s wrist, partially hidden beneath medical tape, was a thin leather bracelet.
The design was simple, worn smooth with age.
Howa froze, her breath caught in her throat.
Years ago, many years ago, she had seen that bracelet before.
The memory rushed in suddenly, dust, heat, panic.
A younger Howa collapsed by the roadside in her village after drinking contaminated water.
Her vision blurred.
People gathered, unsure what to do.
Then a man, not rich looking, not guarded, had knelt beside her.
He wore that same bracelet.
“Stay with me,” he had said, offering her his bottle, calling for help.
Howwa staggered back now, the present colliding with the past.
Her knees weakened.
“It can’t be,” she murmured.
The man in the bed and the man from her memory overlapped in her mind, impossible and undeniable all at once.
A nurse cleared her throat sharply.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
Howa nodded quickly and moved away, her heart racing.
That evening, the supervisor called her aside again.
“Management has been informed,” she said.
“Until further notice, you are suspended.”
The word hit harder than any slap.
“Please,” Howa said, her voice breaking despite her effort to stay composed.
“I need this job. I can still work.”
The supervisor’s face remained unmoved.
“Collect your things.”
As Howa stepped out of the hospital at sunset, the city swallowed her whole.
She stood by the gate, unsure where to go, her hand resting protectively over her belly.
Behind her, in a quiet room filled with machines, Taiwin’s heartbeat faltered, and somewhere deep inside Hawwa, an old promise stirred, one she had never expected to remember.
The collapse happened in a room built for power.
Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows of the Akini Group headquarters, casting sharp lines across the long glass table where Taiwo Akini sat at the head.
Around him were men and women in tailored suits, tablets glowing, voices measured and confident.
The agenda was routine: quarterly logistics forecasts, port expansions, risk assessments—until it wasn’t.
Taiwo lifted his hand to speak, then paused.
For a moment, no one noticed.
He had a habit of thinking before he spoke, eyes narrowing slightly as he weighed words.
But this time, the pause stretched, his shoulders stiffened.
A faint tremor ran through his fingers.
“Sir?” someone asked.
Taiwo opened his mouth, but no sound came.
The room tilted.
The faces around him blurred into color and motion.
He tried to stand, pushing against the table, but his legs failed him.
The world narrowed to a ringing in his ears, and then darkness.
Chairs scraped back.
Someone shouted for help.
A security officer caught Taiwo before he hit the floor.
Within minutes, paramedics were rushing him out.
Sirens cut through midday traffic.
By evening, the news was everywhere.
CEO Taiwo Akini hospitalized after sudden collapse.
In the hospital, corridors filled with people who wore concern like a uniform.
Executives arrived first, then lawyers, then family.
Funka Akini came in silence, her face set in a mask that did not crack even when the doctor explained the severity.
“He’s in a coma,” the doctor said carefully.
“We’re doing everything we can.”
Funka nodded once.
“Make sure the press is controlled.”
Down the hall, Kunlay Ounlay waited until he was alone before allowing his expression to change.
His eyes flickered, not with grief, but with calculation.
By the next morning, Kunlay had positioned himself at the center of the crisis.
He spoke to board members in low, reassuring tones.
He answered questions the doctors refused to answer.
He reminded everyone subtly of company bylaws.
“If anything happens,” he said, folding his hands, “the business must continue.”
In the ICU, Taiwo lay suspended between worlds.
Machines breathed for him.
Medication flowed steadily into his veins.
To the doctors, it was an unsolved medical emergency.
To the board, it was a ticking clock.
To Hawwa Sadi, it was something else entirely.
She was no longer employed by the hospital, but she returned anyway the following day.
Not inside, just to the gate.
She stood across the street, watching the building as if it might speak.
Her mind replayed the image of the bracelet again and again.
The man who had saved her life years ago had spoken little, but his voice had been calm, grounding.
He had stayed until help arrived, refusing to leave her side.
Why would someone like that end up like this? she wondered.
A nurse passed through the gate carrying trash bags.
Howa caught her eye and recognized her from the ICU floor.
“Excuse me,” Howwa said softly. “Please. How is he?”
The nurse hesitated.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Leave a Comment